The Forbidden Throb Chapter 66

Emma's POV:

The question hung in the air between us, Daniel's eyes steady on mine as he waited for an answer.

I swallowed, my fingers tightening on the paper bag in my lap.

The warmth from the sandwich seeped through, grounding me in something tangible while my thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind.

"I... what do you want?" The words came out smaller than I'd intended.

Daniel pulled away from the curb with practiced ease, merging into Boston traffic.

"Dinner seems too ordinary," he said finally, his tone measured. "A gift lacks originality."

My heart skipped. *What then?*

"There's something I'd like, though." He glanced at me briefly, then back to the road. "In a few days, I'm meeting some friends. I'd like you to come with me."

The sandwich bag crinkled under my grip. *Friends.* This was Daniel's personal circle—the kind where people only introduced those who truly mattered to them. As if he wanted to include me in his life.

I pushed the thought away before it could take root.

*Don't read into this.* This was part of our arrangement—appearing as a real couple meant integrating into each other's social circles. He probably didn't mean anything beyond that.

"I..." My throat felt tight. "Of course. I'd be happy to."

Daniel's shoulders relaxed slightly, as if my agreement had eased some tension I hadn't noticed him carrying.

"Thank you, Emma."

---

Back at the apartment, I barely waited for the door to close before heading straight to my room, diving into my laptop.

The cardboard box from the newspaper office sat in the corner of my room—a reminder of endings, but also of new beginnings.

I pulled up job search sites, my fingers flying across the keyboard with determined efficiency.

*Journalism. Communications. Media relations.*

I'd cast a wide net, applying to everything from local publications to corporate PR positions.

But graduation season had turned the market into a battlefield. Every posting seemed to have hundreds of applicants, my carefully crafted cover letters disappearing into digital voids.

By the time my laptop's clock showed nearly evening, I'd submitted seventeen applications and received exactly zero responses.

I was about to close the browser when my email pinged.

**Subject: Medical Exchange Forum - Team Assignment**

Professor Laurent.

My pulse quickened as I opened the message. The Paris medical journalism project—I'd almost forgotten about it in the chaos of the past few days. The professor's words were characteristically brief:

*Emma,*

*The forum is confirmed for late December. I'm adding you to the team group chat. These are accomplished journalists—learn from them. This is an excellent opportunity.*

*—Professor Laurent*

Below was a link to join a messaging group. I clicked it, my screen filling with a list of names that made my breath catch.

*Robert Chen - Senior Medical Correspondent, Boston Herald*

*Sarah Martinez - Editor, New England Medical Journal*

*David Park - Pulitzer finalist, healthcare investigative journalism*

*Michael Thompson - Documentary producer, PBS*

Each name was a heavyweight in Boston's medical journalism scene—people whose bylines I'd studied in class, whose work I'd analyzed in term papers.

*What am I doing here?*

My finger hovered over the keyboard, suddenly paralyzed by a wave of inadequacy.

These were professionals with decades of experience, with Pulitzers and Peabodys—and here I was, a soon-to-be graduate who'd just lost her first real job.

*What made Professor Laurent think I belonged among them?*

My phone buzzed with a notification. Someone had added me to the group chat.

**Robert Chen:** Welcome to the team, everyone! Looking forward to working with you all in Paris.

**Sarah Martinez:** Excited for this project. Should be fascinating.

I stared at the screen, my heartbeat loud in my ears. *Just say hello. It's basic courtesy.*

My fingers felt clumsy as I typed:

**Emma Johnson:** Hello everyone. I'm Emma, still finishing my degree at Boston University. Looking forward to learning from all of you.

I hit send before I could overthink it, then immediately wanted to delete it.

*Too casual? Too deferential? Too—*

**David Park:** Emma! Professor Laurent speaks very highly of you. Welcome aboard.

**Michael Thompson:** Any student Laurent recommends is worth knowing. Glad to have some fresh perspective on the team.

**Sarah Martinez:** Emma, weren't you the one who broke that city council story last month? The video that went viral?

My face heated. *Of course, someone would remember that.*

**Emma Johnson:** Yes, though I'm not sure 'broke' is the right word. More like accidentally created a social media moment...

**Robert Chen:** Don't sell yourself short. That took guts, asking those questions.

The conversation flowed around me, warm and welcoming in a way I hadn't expected.

But sometimes, being too welcoming had its drawbacks.

**Michael Thompson:** So Emma, are you seeing anyone? My nephew is a resident at Mass General, great guy, very stable...

**Sarah Martinez:** Mike, really? Five minutes in and you're playing matchmaker?

**David Park:** Let the poor girl settle in first before you start the arranged marriages.

My fingers moved before I could stop them:

**Emma Johnson:** I appreciate the thought, but I'm actually married.

The chat went silent for a beat. Then:

**Sarah Martinez:** Married?? Emma, you're what, 23?

**Robert Chen:** Kids these days move fast!

**David Park:** Congratulations! Well, looks like your nephew is out of luck, Michael.

**Michael Thompson:**Ah well, my nephew wasn't fortunate enough.

Professor Laurent's next message appeared:

**Professor Laurent:** Emma, a word about the project scope. This forum focuses on cutting-edge cardiac research and surgical innovations. The medical terminology will be challenging. I'm sending you preparatory materials—study them carefully.

**Emma Johnson:** Thank you, Professor. I will.

An email notification followed immediately. I opened it to find a PDF attachment titled "Advanced Cardiac Procedures: Terminology Guide for Journalists."

I downloaded it, then made the mistake of opening it.

*Transcatheter aortic valve replacement. Ventricular assist devices. Myocardial revascularization.*

The words swam before my eyes like a foreign language.

I'd taken basic biology, sure, and I could fake my way through general health reporting, but this was something else entirely.

This was entirely Daniel's world.

*But I can't just run to him every time I hit a wall.* The thought made me shift uncomfortably in my chair.

If I kept asking for help with everything, I'd become completely dependent on him.

I forced myself to stay focused, pulling up medical journals and YouTube videos, trying to parse the terminology on my own.

Thirty minutes later, my notes were a jumbled mess of half-understood concepts and question marks.

The frustration built behind my eyes, a headache forming at my temples.

*This is ridiculous.*

I stared at the screen, then at the closed door of my room. Daniel was just down the hall. He could probably explain all of this easily.

*Free resources don't use themselves,* I thought wryly, already reaching for my phone. *Might as well take advantage of having a cardiac surgeon in the house.*