Page 35 of Take It Offline

Emma ducks her head, hiding behind a curtain of blond hair, but not before I catch the blush on her cheeks.

“We don’t have to talk about that,” she says, her voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.

My worn, pessimistic heart aches. “I think we do.”

Her hand slips out from under mine. “Things got heated, and we got carried away. It’s…”

She looks around, lips pressed together, as if she’s searching for what to say, but I’m too focused on what she’s not saying. There’s no sorry, no screaming about how I took advantage. No, it’swegot carried away. Both of us. Together.

My chest tightens, remembering the sting of her teeth and the lash of her tongue and?—

“It’s fine,” she finally says. “It won’t happen again.”

My heart sinks. Damn. “Okay.”

She nods, and I immediately want to take it back. I also want to kiss her again, but I’m pretty sure I just lost my chance.

For eight years, I’ve busted my ass at this company. Around the six-year mark, I almost quit. I’ve never been good at standing still, and in a place like this, where they’ve crushed the hopes of people twice as smart as me? I didn’t want to go out that way.

But time disappeared in a blink. Now, they must know I’m getting the itch again, because this promotion is the first opportunity I’ve been offered to move out of Ops, and I need it, or else I’ll never get out.

I hate feeling stuck, but without a degree, it’ll only get harder if I leave. Landing a job here without one was a miracle. I’m not going to have the same luck twice.

Experience only goes so far, and I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

So when Roberts pulls me into his office because he wants to “check in on progress,” I’m immediately suspicious.

Of course, I’m proven right, but it’s so much worse than I expected.

“How would you say the project is going so far?”

Roberts might as well be a stock image. Ill-fitting button-down, black pants, and the same bulk-billed haircut as every other middle-aged man in a middle management position.

Needless to say, I don’t trust him.

“Great,” I say, lying through my teeth. Until I know what his angle is, I’m not giving him anything.

By the frown marring his face, that’s not what he wanted to hear.

“Because if there are any roadblocks, I want you to tell me. No matter how slight you think they might be.” He rests his elbows on his desk and clasps his hands. “You know, I’ve been looking forward to working with you. After last year, your name has been getting around. That’s good. That’s exactly what we need in Digital. Make sure you keep that proactive attitude; it’s going to get you far in this business.”

Does he have any idea how easy he is to read? He is everything I’ve heard people say about him behind his back. Opportunistic. Chauvinistic. Charmless.

Then he gets to the meat of the conversation, and, oh boy, is it juicy.

“To be honest with you, Charlie, if it were up to me, I’d give the lead job to you right now. Forget all this red tape.”

The fuck? A muscle in my jaw twitches when I clench it too hard. “So why the test?”

He smirks, and cold, hard realization slams into me.

This isn’t a test. It’s a game.

A check-in-the-box bullshit exercise masquerading as fair play.

But a real game—an honest one—has rules, and every opponent has an equal shot.

Not this one.

---