Emily tried to focus.
Tried to pretend she wasn't listening.
Tried not to think about the way Martha laughed so freely around Damian, or how confidently she'd draped herself across his desk like she belonged there.
The glass walls made it impossible to ignore them.
Martha's crisp white pantsuit glowed in the sunlight pouring into the office, a sharp contrast to Emily's soft, simple blouse and structured slacks. She wasn't dressed poorly — she knew that. But everything about Martha screamed expensive, polished, connected.
She was the kind of woman who fit in Damian Walker's world.
And Emily?
She was the assistant who brought him coffee and flinched when he raised his voice.
But she kept her head down. Typed her notes. Sent her emails.
And quietly reminded herself that it wasn't her business.
He could talk to whomever he wanted. Laugh with whomever he liked. She didn't have a right to feel anything.
But that didn't stop her from feeling it anyway.
This is ridiculous, she thought, chewing lightly on the end of her pen. I don't even like him like that… do I?
The answer, of course, was too complicated to unpack during working hours.
She was spared the spiral when she heard the office door open.
Martha's heels clicked against the polished floor as she stepped out of Damian's office, phone in hand, designer purse slung effortlessly over her arm. She was still smiling from whatever final comment he'd made behind her — a satisfied, playful curve of her lips.
And then her eyes met Emily's.
It wasn't hostile. It wasn't friendly either. Just… unreadable.
For a moment, the world narrowed to that one glance. Martha's hazel eyes flicked over Emily again — just briefly — like she was assessing her. Not just her clothes, not just her posture, but something deeper.
Like she knew something Emily didn't.
And then she smiled — faint and deliberate — and said, "Nice meeting you, Emily."
Her voice was smooth, with that same effortless grace that had made Emily feel awkward the entire visit.
"You too," Emily replied with practiced politeness, even as her throat tightened.
Martha nodded, tossed her hair, and turned back toward the elevator. She didn't say goodbye to anyone else. Didn't look back.
Just left.
And the look she left behind lingered far longer than her perfume.
Emily sank a little lower into her chair once the doors closed behind her.
What was that?
She couldn't tell if Martha had been trying to intimidate her or… pity her. Or maybe it was worse — maybe it was that kind of knowing look one woman gives another when she sees right through her. When she recognizes feelings the other one hasn't even admitted yet.
Emily hated how self-conscious she suddenly felt. How vulnerable.
Because deep down, she couldn't stop wondering…
Had Martha noticed something between her and Damian that even she hadn't fully accepted?
That maybe, just maybe…
She cared more than she wanted to admit.