The Forbidden Throb (Emma and Daniel) novel Chapter 85

Chapter 85

Emma’s POV:

The salmon melted on my tongue–perfectly seared, with just the right hint of lemon and dill.

“Yes,” I said, unable to contain the smile tugging at my lips. “My former supervisor connected me and offered me a

project.”

“That’s wonderful,” Daniel reached across the table to ladle more soup into my bowl–a gesture so automatic l almost didn’t notice. “This supervisor must think highly of you.”

Actually, Supervisor. The word felt oddly formal. Mentor felt more accurate to me.

“This mentor is amazing,” I said, warming to the subject. “I mean, barely in the early thirties but already established as an independent event coordinator. The connections, the portfolio-” I gestured vaguely with my fork. And the professionalism is just… impeccable.”

Something flickered across Daniel’s face–too quick for me to catch.

“Early thirties, he repeated, his tone neutral. “Married?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

1 blinked at the unexpected question. “I… I’m not sure, actually.

Why was he asking about that? “I don’t think so? At least, there was never any mention of a spouse.”

I paused, suddenly aware of how little I actually knew about Eve beyond work. “Why do you ask?”

Daniel’s expression remained unreadable. “Just curious.”

“Fine,” I didn’t notice the tightness around his mouth. “The achievement takes real courage and persistence. Not

many people could do that.”

The soup spoon met the bowl with a soft clink–barely audible, but in the quiet of our dining room, it rang like a

bell

I glanced up. Daniel’s expression remained composed. But his eyes… there was something there I couldn’t quite

read. A shadow, perhaps. A tightening.

I swallowed the rest of my sentence–the self–deprecating comment about my own inadequacies—and reached for my water glass instead.

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9:49 am P p pp

Chapter Be

“You seem quite fond of this mentor,” he said quietly, his tone carefully neutral.

*) suppose I am,” I admitted, wondering at the odd undercurrent in his voice. “I mean, when someone takes the time to remember your skills after a year and thinks of you for an opportunity like this… it means something.

duesn’t it?

Daniel’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his fork. “Yes, I imagine it does.”

“So,” I said, eager to change the subject before I could analyze his reaction further, “I was thinking about bringing a gilt. You know, to say thanks for the opportunity.”

picked at my salmon. “Do you have any suggestions? For a gift, I mean.”

“I’d suggest not bringing one.”

His voice was so quiet I almost missed it. I looked up, blinking, “Sorry, what?”

Daniel’s gaze remained fixed on his plate. “I don’t really understand these things. Wouldn’t know what to suggest.”

The words were casual enough, but something in his tone felt… off. Clipped. Like he was deliberately keeping his

voice level.

I set down my fork, studying him across the table.

This was the same man who always had suggestions. Who planned everything with meticulous precision. Who’d somehow known exactly what kind of desk lamp I’d prefer for the guest room without asking.

And now he “didn’t understand these things“?

What’s going on?

-The silence stretched.

“Oh.” } forced a smile. “Well, I can probably find something online.”

Probably.”

Okay, what the hell was going on?

He was acting strange tonight.

Had 1 suld something wrong? Offended him somehow?

辣麻

9:49 am PPPP

Chupter

1 replayed our conversation in my head. The opportunity, my enthusiasm… I’d probably sound like a fangirl, going

on and on about how amuzing Eve was.

But beyond that? Nothing unusual.

The more I thought about it, the more confused I became.

I gave up trying to decipher his mood and returned to my own dinner. But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t shake the image of Daniel’s expression. The tightness around his mouth. The careful neutrality.

And the thought that wouldn’t quite leave me alone:

Had that been jealousy?

The glow of my laptop screen cast everything in cold blue light. 2:47 AM, and I was still scrolling through Boston gift shops, toggling between product pages with increasing frustration.

Lobster–shaped chocolates or lighthouse candleholders?

Maybe both gifts, I decided. Better to be overly thoughtful than insufficiently grateful.

I added both items to my cart, then navigated to my calendar app.

Pushing back from the desk, I padded toward the door. The apartment was silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator downstairs. Daniel’s door remained closed, a strip of darkness beneath.

My phone buzzed just as I reached for the doorknob.

Daniel: Still awake?

I stared at the screen, pulse quickening. How did he-?

Daniel: Go to sleep, Emma. You can plan your trip tomorrow.

My gaze shot to the closed door across the hall. No light, no sound. Yet somehow he knew I was still up.

Before I could formulate a response, another message appeared:

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