Chapter 12 In Close Quarters

Emma lingered at the car door, watching Michael wrap up his phone call before joining him. "We're having Verdantopolis cuisine." His tone was chilly, resonating with a depth that reminded her of a cello. "Oh," Emma murmured, taken aback. Did this mean Michael remembered her from their school days? Perhaps he had always known. Standing next to him felt like standing in the shadow of a skyscraper. He was impeccably dressed and the picture of success. Meanwhile, she felt like the word 'assistant' was practically flashing in neon over her head. As they settled into the restaurant, her discomfort peaked. What was she supposed to do now? Reminisce about the past? Hardly. Michael was at ease, as though he was dining with a colleague he saw daily. With a graceful motion, he rolled his shirt sleeves and flagged down the waiter to order. "Are you heading the MystiCorp project?" His sudden question about work caught Emma off guard, and she nodded quickly. "Yes, that's me." "Did you take a close look at their finances?" He leaned back, an expectant look in his eyes. "Yes, I did. Their figures are all legitimate and thoroughly vetted for accuracy. There are no discrepancies." He half-smiled, taking a casual sip of water. "Emma, clean data doesn't always mean the finances are sound." She froze, her mind racing. Michael slid a document across the table to her. "MystiCorp's readily accessible liquid assets stand at 50 million, yet their capital commitment suggests 80 million. Who's covering the shortfall?" Silence hung between them. "Don't rush through projects," he said, his voice a stark contrast to the stern tone he had used on Mr. Taylor. There was a hint of earnestness, almost a gentleness. Emma nibbled her lip, chastising herself for her oversight. However, she could not help being impressed by Michael's abilities. He had pinpointed a problem in a heartbeat, and it was a problem she had missed. With that comment hanging in the air, Emma's desire to eat vanished. All she could think about was racing back to the office to pore over MystiCorp's details. Michael must have caught her urgency. As he helped himself to the food that had just arrived, he served her a portion too. "Take your time with dinner. We've got the whole night ahead of us." The whole night? Emma's eyes widened in disbelief. "Am I supposed to stay with you tonight?" Michael arched a knowing eyebrow. "It'll make the early morning registration easier." "I didn't mean..." She faltered, her hands balling into fists under the table. Gathering her courage, she asked plainly, "Does this mean we'll live as a couple after signing the papers?" Would she actually share a life—and a bed—with him? "What else?" Michael's reply carried an undertone that made her question sound ludicrous. Emma's mind raced. If he was pulling strings to get top doctors for her mother and covering the exorbitant medical bills, this could not just be a simple matter of signing documents. Isabella's words echoed in her mind—all men ultimately had one thing on their minds. Emma chastised herself for her naivety. "Is there a problem?" "No." "Alright. Eat up, then." Michael's voice was smooth as silk, his manner almost intimate as he offered her more food. He was like a groom to his bride-to-be. Emma pushed the food around her plate, her appetite gone. A heavy weight settled in her chest. The dread only grew as they drove closer to Michael's place. With each passing mile, her anxiety ticked up a notch. Beside her, Michael did not glance her way as he quietly rattled off instructions to his assistant. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added something that jolted her. "Oh, and pick up some condoms on your way back."