Enough was enough.
Emma had spent the two days being yanked around like a puppet on Damien’s strings—his floor, his rules, his infuriating smirk every time she tried to assert some semblance of professionalism. Well, no more.
The only good thing that happened in that was Damien kept his word and gave her the paycheque upfront.
Emma marched into HR first thing in the morning with a relocation request in hand.
"I would like to move my desk to the thirtieth floor. My team is there, and collaboration would be smoother."
The HR rep barely glanced at the form before stamping it. Approved.
Just like that.
No questions. No pushback.
Emma should’ve been relieved. Instead, it made her skin crawl. Was this how things worked now? Did Damien’s name—or worse, his interest—grant me
