The Wall Street Journal headline glared up at Emma from her desk: "Sterling & Co.: Corporate Governance or Bedroom Governance?" Beside it, a paparazzi shot of her and Daniel in Bali—his hand possessive on her waist, her laugh frozen mid-joy—felt like a gut punch.
"Well." Daniel leaned against her cubicle, sipping his fifth espresso of the morning. "At least they got your good side."
Emma crumpled the paper. "This isn't a joke. Thompson's faction is demanding an emergency board vote."
"Let them." He tossed his phone onto her desk. The screen displayed plummeting stock prices. "I've survived worse."
"We haven't." She stood, voice trembling. "Do you have any idea what they're saying? That I slept my way into promotions. That you're a liability."
Daniel's smirk faded. He stepped closer, but Emma sidestepped.
"Don't. Someone's always watching now."
He cursed under his breath. "Then let them watch this."
Before she could react, he hauled her into the supply closet.
---
The Closet Confrontation:
Dim light filtered through the shelves of paper towels and toner. Daniel caged her against the wall, his breathing ragged.
"You think I care about stock prices?" His whisper was raw. "I care that they're making you doubt us."
Emma's nails dug into his forearms. "This isn't just about us. Your employees—Jenny in accounting, Mark in IT—they'll pay if the company tanks."
Daniel stilled. "Since when do you call the shots?"
"Since always." She shoved him back. "You just never noticed until I was in your bed."
The hurt in his eyes gutted her.
"Emma." He caught her wrist. "I noticed you the day you corrected my Mandarin during the Shanghai call. You were the only one brave enough to tell me I was wrong."
Her anger faltered. "You fired the last assistant who 'corrected' you."
"No." His thumb traced her racing pulse. "I promoted her."