Page 45 of Babies for the Big Shot

She doesn’t speak, but the shift in her expression says enough. I see it, the sting of the line being drawn.

And I hate that it’s necessary.

“For now,” I say, voice level. “We don’t cross paths. No contact at the office. No appearances together outside of work. Nothing that can escalate this.”

She leans back, folding her arms, constructing distance. The armor is familiar; I’ve seen her wear it before. “So what, you just want me to ignore you in the hallway? Pretend last night didn’t happen?”

“No,” I answer. “I want you employed. I want you protected. And I want the chance to revisit this when it isn’t framed by scandal, HR protocols, or internet commentary on your wardrobe.”

That earns me something real. A small smile, unguarded at the edges.

She exhales, nods once. “Okay. No contact at work. We keep our distance.”

I straighten, locking down the instinct to reach for more. “I’m sorry this happened.”

She rises too, brushing a hand through her hair, the movement revealing more steadiness than she probably feels. “You didn’t take the photo. And you didn’t leak it.”

“No. But I should have anticipated it. I should’ve protected you better.”

She studies me for a long beat, then says quietly, “You’re trying to. Now.”

I hold her gaze. “Let me handle it.”

She lifts her chin. “I trust you.”

The weight of that word lands in the center of my chest, heavy and absolute. She doesn’t give it lightly. Not to someone like me.

I nod once and step back, giving her space. It’s the right decision. But it doesn’t feel right. Not when every part of me is still aware of her presence. Not when I already know the distance won’t hold.

By the time I’m back in my office, the decision is made. It goes against every protocol I’ve enforced over the last two decades, but none of those rules were built with her in mind.

I’ve built a career on calculated risks. And this, her, is the one I’m willing to take…

Later that afternoon, once the noise in the building softens and the cycle shifts to newer distractions, I type out a message and send it before I can second-guess the impulse.

Nick: There’s a charity event Saturday night. It’s mine. Private guest list. No press. Quiet venue. Come with me.

Five minutes pass. Then ten. The silence isn’t surprising. She’s weighing consequences.

Then finally…

Sara: Does that seem like a good idea? With everything going on?

Nick: No press. No one from the office. Just a night away from all of this.

Sara: I have nothing to wear to a fancy event like that…

I exhale through a grin.

Nick: That’s the easiest problem I’ve solved all day. A car will pick you up Saturday at 6. I’ll handle the rest.

There’s a pause.

Sara: You’re impossible.

Nick: I know. See you Saturday.

I close the chat window and lean back in my chair.