Two days later, the conference room smelled like lemon cleaner and expensive paper.
The paralegal set a pen on a blue folder and left, door sighing shut. Walter stood by the window pretending the view could teach him a different ending.
Emma slid into a chair. “Sit."
He did, after a beat, as if gravity had to negotiate with pride. “We can still—"
“No," she said. “We're here to sign."
He looked at the folder as if it were a patient refusing anesthesia. “I talked to the chief," he said, reaching for safer ground. “HR. Ethics. I'm—working through it."
“That's separate," Emma said. “Today is this."
He studied her face. “You look… better."
“I'm vertical," she said. “Let's not make it sentimental."
He drew in a breath that sounded like a rehearsal. “Emma—"
“Don't say 'never agree.' It'
