Damian's Pov
I sat on the edge of her sofa, a quiet, unfamiliar space in Emma's apartment. It smelled faintly of old books and fresh coffee, and for the first time since yesterday, the sharp edges of my control started to dull.
This wasn't a boardroom. This wasn't a construction site. This was her sanctuary, and I was sitting in it, trying desperately not to crowd the space she had so carefully rebuilt.
She moved around the small living room, picking up the discarded wine glass, avoiding eye contact. She was trying to reestablish normalcy, to prove that the conversation on the landing hadn't happened, that I was just a visitor. I let her. I could afford the silence.
"I need to call my office," she said finally, her voice still rough around the edges. "I've got a deadline for the Sterling project."
"Call them," I agreed, watching the way her hair fell around her face as she leaned over the kitchen counter, fumbling for something.
