Chapter 4 0825
The job title of a public relations executive in the banking firm was ironically seen as a glorified excuse for keeping people company with smiles and alcohol.
Emma was stunned to realize she was now being equated with a role she disdained. Did he really believe last night was another of Mr. Taylor's arrangements?
The heat of humiliation flushed her cheeks, yet with the eyes of the room upon her, she swallowed her pride and stayed. The job was crucial; it was a lifeline for her mother's medical bills.
Sensing the chill in the room, Mr. Taylor was quick to interject with feigned cheer, "She's always been an assistant. Mr. Brown, you're reading too much into this. It's just that you and Emma share roots in Verdantopolis.
"I thought it'd make for shared conversation, that's all. If you're unhappy, she can leave right now."
After signaling Emma with a look, she immediately made a move to leave. However, Michael's command halted her. "Sit down."
Silence fell.
"Emma, didn't you hear? Mr. Brown told you to sit."
With her back ramrod straight, Emma sat. She was then met with Mr. Taylor's sharp glare that silently commanded her to pour wine for Michael.
As she reached for the bottle, Michael's hand obscured the glass.
"Mr. Taylor, if you want to succeed in good times, shady practices won't help. I've been monitoring the Skydancer project. Our company is on the back foot. File a margin call promptly to mitigate your losses."
It was a clear ultimatum from Michael. His brows were furrowed in a stern warning.
"Yes, Mr. Brown, certainly. This was my mistake. I assure you next time..."
Michael cut him off, saying, "There won’t be a next time."
He withdrew his hand, picked up his coat, and left with his assistant. He spared no one a second glance, least of all Emma.
When the door closed behind them, Mr. Taylor's fury found its target—Emma.
"Why am I even paying you if you can't crack a smile? Did you think Mr. Brown came just to gawk at your frown?"
Mr. Taylor, the very picture of frustration, did not understand. "Entertaining with drinks isn't in my job description," Emma replied, firm yet calm. "I wasn't hired for that."
The man's face turned red, the throbbing vein on his forehead a warning sign. "The nerve to argue! You know how hard I worked to organize this dinner?
"Normally, you're a gem—pretty and sharp. But today, you're utterly useless! You're on thin ice. I might just fire you!"
His outburst ended with a venomous look that followed her as he slammed the door on his way out.
This was a new low for Emma. It was a public scolding that stung more than she would admit. She braced for tears that never came. The industry had taught her to keep her head down and her feelings in check.
Then, there was Michael. She had misjudged him, mistaking last night's closeness for a thaw in his icy demeanor. She was wrong. The rumors of his coldness were not exaggerated.
Her heels clicked on the floor, producing a lonely echo as she made her way back. Her phone buzzed. It was a call from Isabella.
"Why were you booted from the Team Three group chat?" Her friend's voice was laced with concern.
"It's nothing," Emma deflected.
"Did your charm backfire?" Isabella's voice held a smirk. "Mr. Brown's a tough nut to crack. He's not one for the flirtatious type."
A forced laugh escaped Emma. "Mr. Brown? The same man who couldn't keep his hands to himself last night?"
Isabella was oblivious. "Oh, he's smitten alright. He has been for years… with someone else."
Those words, innocent as they were, brought a memory to Emma's mind. The tattoo on Michael's collarbone were the numbers '0825'. It was a date etched in ink and, perhaps, his heart.