"You're a good man," I whispered. "The best one I know."
I wrapped my arms around him, squeezing tight.
"You see too much good in me," he whispered.
I rested my cheek against his chest, his heartbeat steady in my ear.
"You don't see enough."
Chapter thirty-seven
Emma
The workweek passed in a blur of stolen glances and shared coffee runs.
Jennifer's plan was working.
Every day, Damien found a reason to stop by my office—
a question about the Henderson proposal,
a follow-up on the quarterly projections,
a document that absolutely could have been emailed but, somehow, required hand delivery.
And every day, I found myself drifting toward his office for the same invented necessities.
We ate lunch together in the café—Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday.
Same table. Same chicken Caesar salad.
Tessa joined us twice, her sharp gaze tracking the way Damien's hand brushed mine when he passed the salt, the way I leaned in when he spoke—
the quiet gravity pulling us closer before either of us noticed.
But she did.
Said nothing.
The smile she hid behind her juice bottle saying plenty.
By Friday, the whispers had started.
Not loud. Not malicious.
Did you see them at lunch again?
He never used to eat in the café.
She laughed at something he said and his whole face lit up.
I'd heard that last one in the bathroom—two women talking quietly, but not quite quietly enough.
I'd stayed in the stall an extra thirty seconds, hand over my mouth, just to keep from laughing.
It felt like dating him for the first time all over again.
Except this time, we didn't have to hide.
