She pressed her lips into a demure, innocent smile. "Joanna, please don't overthink it. It was just a suggestion. You and Jonathan have so much private time together—why worry about one night?"
"So." My voice came out dry, scratching my throat. "You took her suggestion?"
The air in the office grew heavy. Thick enough to choke on.
Jonathan frowned, a crease appearing between his brows. "Joanna, stop. We are handling business as business."
"*Handling business as business.*" I repeated the phrase, a bitter laugh bubbling up in my chest.
"Then last year, and the year before, when I sat at your left hand—was that mixing business with pleasure?"
"The company wasn't this size back then." His tone sharpened with impatience. "Now, countless eyes are watching us. I have to consider the optics."
"What optics?" I stared him down, refusing to blink. "If I sit next to you, does it damage the company image? Hurt financing? Or does it ruin the image you're trying to sell to investors—that you're a dazzlingly single bachelor?"
Jonathan's face darkened instantly.
He rounded the desk and gripped my shoulder.
Once, this touch would have grounded me. Now, it felt like a shackle.
"Stop making a fuss," he commanded, his voice dropping to a low, persuasive rumble. "It's just a chair. Is this really necessary? Look, tonight, I'll cook your favorite seafood noodles. Just for us. Okay?"
Here it was again.
Every time we disagreed, he deployed the same tactic. *Don't make a fuss. You're being unreasonable. I'll make it up to you later.*
The old me would have melted, desperate for his approval.
But the woman standing here today was cold. Clear-headed.
"Fine." I forced the word out.
Jonathan exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. "Good. I knew you'd be sensible."
I didn't say another word. Snatched the seating chart back and turned on my heel.
Just as the door began to close, Anna's soft, concerned voice drifted through the gap. "Jonathan... is Joanna angry with me?"
"She's just like that. She'll get over it."
I leaned against the corridor wall, the cold plaster seeping through my blouse, and inhaled a shaky breath.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
A message from my father.
*The five-year agreement is almost up. What is the result?*
My heart constricted painfully against my ribs.
The cursor blinked on my screen, mocking my hesitation. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, paralyzed.