Emma paced her office, phone pressed to her ear. "Nathan, you need to get here. Now."
"I'm already on my way," Nathan replied, the sound of his car engine humming in the background. "My father called at six this morning. I'm guessing yours did too?"
"Yes. He wants us both in his office at nine."
"For what? Damage control?"
"More like execution," Emma said grimly. "Those photos look... suggestive."
"We were talking at a public event," Nathan protested. "How is that news?"
"It's not what we were doing. It's how we looked doing it."
The line went quiet for a moment. "How did we look?"
Emma hesitated. The truth was, the terrace photo had captured something real—a connection that had been growing despite their best efforts to keep things professional.
"Like two people who don't hate ea
