I stayed seated as the room began to empty, shuffling papers into my folder like I had all the time in the world. Like my pulse wasn't racing.
Alicia paused beside my chair, voice low enough that only I could hear. "That load-balancing proposal was smart. Really smart." She tilted her head, something like respect flickering across her face. "I meant what I said about coordinating. My assistant will reach out Monday."
"I'll be ready."
She nodded once and moved toward the door.
Linda Cavanaugh was next, offering a brief handshake. "It's been a while since someone walked into this room and actually surprised me." A wry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Looking forward to seeing what else you've got, Ms. Sinclair."
"Thank you. I appreciate that."
She left, and then Farnsworth was standing beside me, coffee cup in hand, studying me with that unreadable expression I was beginning to recognize as his default setting.
"Ms. Sinclair," he said. "A word of advice, if you'll permit an old man his opinions."
I rose to meet him. "Of course."
He glanced toward the door—toward Nathan's retreating back—then returned his attention to me. "You handled yourself well in there. Better than most would, given the... reception." A pause. "Don't let the bastards grind you down."
A startled laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "I'll do my best."
His mouth curved—not quite a smile, but close. "I've been in rooms like this for forty years. Same arguments, same egos, same territorial pissing contests disguised as strategy." He lifted his coffee cup in a mock toast. "It's nice to see some new blood injecting life into these old bones. Don't lose that fire, Ms. Sinclair. This place could use it."
He left before I could respond, the door clicking shut behind him.
And then it was just us.
Damien's professional mask cracked—just slightly. Enough for me to see the warmth underneath.
"You did well," he said quietly.
"I survived."
"You more than survived." He moved closer, stopping just short of touching me. "Farnsworth doesn't give compliments. That was practically a standing ovation."
"And Nathan?"
"Nathan is Nathan." A humorless exhale. "He'll keep pushing. It's what he does."
"I noticed."
Silence stretched between us—charged, aching with everything we couldn't say here.
"I should go," I said. "Before someone notices we're alone."
He nodded, though his gaze said something different. "Dinner tonight? My place?"
"If I can stay awake that long."
The ghost of a smile crossed his face. "I'll make it worth your while."
I turned for the door, pulse thrumming, the weight of the day pressing down.
I'd held my own. I'd answered every question, deflected every attack, proven I belonged in that room.
But as I stepped into the hallway—Nathan's gaze finding mine from across the floor, that knowing smirk still fixed in place—I couldn't shake the feeling that today was just the opening move.
Chapter nine
