Page 84 of Protected By My Best Friend's Brother

Emma

Le Petit Bistro feels deliberately chosen—intimate enough for conversation yet public enough to maintain a professional distance. The restaurant’s soft lighting and muted palette create an atmosphere of understated elegance that suits Judith Walsh perfectly. She sits across from me, radiating corporate polish as she outlines what might be the opportunity of a lifetime.

I’d arrived ten minutes early—a habit born from years of overcompensating for my natural chaos. Walsh had been waiting already, immaculate in a tailored suit that likely cost more than my monthly rent, her silver-streaked hair pulled into a sleek chignon. Everything about her exudes confident authority.

“We’ve been following your work in sustainable technology integration,” she says, cutting her salmon with precise, economical movements. Like someone who maximizes efficiency in every aspect of life. “Particularly your innovative approach to combining human factors with technical solutions. The Johnson implementation success merely confirmed what we already knew—you’re exactly who we need to lead our global initiative.”

I take a sip of water, buying time to steady my voice. My mind races with questions, but I focus on maintaining my professional composure. “And what exactly would that entail?”

“Head of Strategic Development for Sustainable Technologies.” She slides a sleek folder across the table, Goldman Sachs’ logo embossed in subtle gold. “Based in London. Overseeing implementation across Europe and Asia. Six offices under your direct supervision. A thirty-million-dollar innovation budget. Complete creative control of our green energy initiatives.”

Numbers in the folder make me blink. The salary alone is staggering—nearly triple what I make now—not to mention the benefits package and relocation allowance. I resist the urge to color-code the organizational chart that shows my position reporting directly to Walsh, with teams across two continents under my supervision.

“This is quite an opportunity,” I manage, proud of how steady my voice sounds despite the sudden dryness in my throat.

“It’s more than that.” Walsh leans forward, her voice taking on a rare note of passion. “It’s the chance to revolutionize sustainable technology on a global scale. The programs you’d develop would shape how continents approach environmental innovation.” She pauses delicately, her eyes sharp as she studies my reaction. “Though I understand there might be personal factors to consider.”

The comment lands precisely as intended. Lucas flashes in my mind—probably buried in board reports right now, trying not to wonder about this lunch. This morning, he’d squeezed my hand before I left, his eyes saying more than his words. He assured me that whatever happened, he supported me completely.

“I’ll need time to think it over,” I say, closing the folder, though the numbers and opportunities depicted inside seem to glow through the cover.

“Of course. Take a week.” Walsh signals for the check with a subtle gesture that immediately brings the server to our table. “Though I should mention—this position level isn’t often available. We’re looking to implement changes immediately.”

The slight pressure isn’t lost on me. In Walsh’s world, opportunities like this don’t linger—you either seize them, or someone else does.

As we part outside the restaurant, Walsh holds my gaze a moment longer than necessary. “Ms. Hastings, I’ve built my career identifying people with exceptional potential. I don’t often make personal recommendations for positions at this level. Whatever you decide, remember that talent like yours deserves the broadest possible platform.”

By early afternoon, the walk back to Walker Enterprises feels surreal, the surrounding town continuing its normal rhythms while my world has potentially shifted on its axis. The folder in my bag might as well be glowing, and its contents could change everything I’ve built here—my career trajectory, professional identity, and relationship with Lucas.

I glance up at Walker Enterprises’ headquarters. The familiar building suddenly looks different—not lesser, but finite in a way I hadn’t considered before. Goldman Sachs offers something beyond these walls: global reach, resources beyond imagination, and a platform to implement sustainable technology across continents.

But it also means leaving. Leaving the team I’ve built, the systems I understand, the innovations we’re still developing. Leaving Lucas, unless we find some way to navigate an ocean and multiple time zones.

I find Lucas in his office, standing the moment I appear in his doorway. His eyes meet mine, tense with all he’s been carrying all afternoon—that perfect posture he adopts when trying too hard to appear calm, the slight tightness around his mouth.

“Lucas...”

I close the door and perch on the edge of his desk, our usual position for important conversations. The folder in my hands feels impossibly heavy. His hand finds mine automatically, and for a moment, we sit in weighted silence, everything we’ve built together seeming to hang in this moment.

“Let me process it first?” I ask softly. “I need... I need time to think.”

He stands and opens his arms, letting me come to him. I fit against him perfectly, drawing strength from his steady presence even as the slight tremor in his hands betrays his carefully controlled emotions. He presses a kiss to my temple, then forces himself to step back.

“Take whatever time you need.”

He has a board meeting to attend, but before he leaves, he turns back.

“Em? Whatever they offered... just know that I—” He stops, and I know he’s holding back to avoid influencing my decision. “I believe in you. Always have.”

He leaves me standing at his desk, the full weight of Goldman Sachs’ offer still unshared between us. I haven’t even told him the specifics—the London office, the six European teams, the thirty-million-dollar budget. The way it would change everything.

One week to decide.

One week to choose between everything I’ve dreamed of professionally and everything I’ve found here.

I’m left holding a folder that weighs more than paper has any right to.

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