Chapter 5

The sound of paper shuffling echoed through Faith's earbuds. Emerson's breathing was steady, picked up with devastating clarity by his high-end microphone.

"The fatal flaw is on page three," Emerson's deep voice vibrated in her ears. "Your word choice here is too frivolous. AURA's target demographic is old money holding onto capital, not some hotshot kid on Wall Street who just got his first bonus."

Faith chewed on the end of her pen. "But the brief explicitly said to capture the attention of the younger generation."

Emerson let out a low, breathy chuckle.

The sound slid straight down Faith's spine like a sudden jolt of electricity, leaving a tingling sensation buzzing at her fingertips.

"The younger generation wants the privilege of old money," Emerson explained smoothly. "They don't want to turn old money into a streetwear brand. Change the word."

Faith surrendered to his logic. She typed the correction.

Two hours of intense, high-pressure editing left Faith's throat completely parched. She unconsciously licked her dry lips and swallowed.

The faint, wet sound of her swallow was magnified by the microphone.

On the other end of the line, Emerson stopped mid-sentence. His eyes darkened. He tapped his knuckles against the mahogany desk.

He forced his focus back. "Take five minutes. Go get some water."

Faith pulled out her earbuds, sprinted to the kitchen, chugged a glass of ice water, and ran back. She shoved the earbuds back in, panting slightly.

"Why are you running?" Emerson asked, a hint of genuine amusement bleeding into his voice.

"I'm afraid you're billing me by the second," Faith joked, her voice still soft and breathless. "I can't afford it."

Emerson leaned back in his leather chair. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Her soft, slightly nasal voice was doing strange things to his chest.

Then, a thought struck him. Since the landmine about her degree, he hadn't verified a single detail about her life.

"Leo said you're a writer with potential," Emerson asked casually. "How long have you been doing this?"

Faith stiffened. Her fingers gripped the edge of her laptop. "A while," she answered vaguely.

Emerson listened to her evasive, deer-in-the-headlights tone. His analytical brain rapidly pieced the data together.

She dropped out of school. She had zero corporate defense mechanisms. Her voice sounded incredibly young. She was terrified of a standard contract penalty.

The conclusion hit him like a bucket of ice water.

There was a raw, unpolished genius in her writing, mixed with a reckless, desperate impulse that reminded him of the brilliant but fragile Ivy League freshmen he occasionally guest-lectured. He painted a picture in his mind: a girl fresh out of school, incredibly talented but completely defenseless. She was probably nineteen. Maybe twenty. Barely out of high school.

Emerson was thirty. He was a ruthless, seasoned corporate shark.

A heavy, suffocating wave of moral guilt crashed down on him. The physical attraction he had felt toward her voice just moments ago suddenly felt deeply inappropriate. Sickening, almost.

The atmosphere on the call plummeted below freezing. Faith felt the shift instantly.

"Let's keep moving. Work only," Emerson said. His voice was completely stripped of warmth. It was pure ice.

Faith's chest ached. She didn't understand what she had done wrong, but she swallowed the hurt and nodded, even though he couldn't see her.

For the next hour, Emerson was a machine. He was efficient, brutal, and entirely cold.

At 4:00 AM, the copy was perfect. Faith stared at the final draft, letting out a long sigh of relief.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Beard," she said, using the most formal, respectful tone she could muster.

Emerson heard the word Mr. It cemented his theory. He let out a silent, self-mocking sigh.

"Send the invoice to AURA," he replied flatly. "If you have work questions in the future, use email."

He cut the connection before she could say goodbye.

Faith listened to the dead silence in her earbuds. She stared at the black screen of the app. A hollow, painful ache settled in her chest, as if someone had just snatched a precious gift right out of her hands.