Page 225 of Terms of Exposure
The honesty in his answer didn't comfort me. If anything, it made the unease worse. Damien always had a read on Nathan—years ofboardroom battles had taught him to anticipate the man's moves three steps ahead. But this…
This was new.
We walked back to the elevator in silence. My mind was stuck on Nathan's face. That smooth, unreadable mask. The way his hand had risen with the others, voting yes without hesitation. His usual allies had done the same—no glance at Nathan, no pause before raising their hands.
This had been planned. His response premeditated.
The elevator doors closed.
Sealing us in.
"He's got something," I said quietly. "Something bigger than today. Something he's saving."
Damien didn't argue. He stood beside me, staring at the descending floor numbers, his reflection ghosted in the polished metal doors.
He exhaled slowly. "He's waiting for the right moment. Maximum damage."
"When?"
"I don't know. Some public venue where he can make a spectacle. Or he's waiting for us to let our guard down. To get comfortable."
The elevator dinged. The doors slid open to the executive floor.
Neither of us stepped out.
"We should be celebrating," I said. "We just told the board. It's official. HR has the paperwork. This is supposed to be the happy part."
"It is the happy part."
"Then why do I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop?"
Damien turned to face me. His hand came up, cupping my cheek, thumb brushing my cheekbone.
"Because you're smart," he said. "And because Nathan Bell has never let anything go in his life." His gaze searched mine. "But we knew this wasn't over. We planned for it. Jennifer's running interference, the board's on our side, and whatever he's holding—we'll handle it. Together."
"Together," I echoed.
He kissed my forehead—soft, brief, achingly tender.
"Now," he said, stepping out of the elevator, "let's go pretend to work while the entire office pretends not to gossip about us."
The whispers started before we'd made it ten feet down the hall. Heads swiveling. Conversations dying mid-sentence. That particular silence—everyone watching while pretending they weren't.
Tessa materialized at my side like she'd been waiting.
"So," she said, falling into step beside me. "HR. Board meeting. Official paperwork." She practically buzzed beside me. "Is it happening? Can I finally stop pretending I don't know?"
"It's happening," I said, with a hint of a smile.
She made a sound—half squeal, half whisper. "I knew it. I knew it. I told Maria—those two are absolutely together—and she said I was projecting," she wagged a finger. "But I knew—"
"Tessa," Damien admonished with a chuckle.
"Right. Sorry. Professional. I'm being professional."
She straightened her blazer, attempting composure.
It lasted two seconds.
