Page 14 of Executive Privilege (Event Horizons Agency #1)

My phone buzzes with a text from Emma: "How's the business trip? Still pretending it's just business?"

I stare at the message, not sure how to answer. What am I supposed to say? That I'm falling for my boss who's made it clear he doesn't do emotional complications? That amazing sex in a cabin has me wondering if I'm setting myself up for heartbreak?

"Still working," I text back. "Talk when I'm home."

An hour later, I'm showered, dressed, and attempting to look like someone who spent the night in her own bed when I run into Nicholas near the main lodge.

"Morning," he says, his voice carefully neutral.

"Morning. Ready for today's activities?"

"As ready as one can be."

There's something different in his demeanor this morning—more distant than usual, like he's already rebuilding the walls that came down last night and over the last few days, I thought. The realization makes my chest heavy with disappointment.

"Everything okay?" I ask quietly.

"Fine. Just focused on making sure we get the content we need."

Right. Because everything always comes back to the work with Nicholas.

The morning is full of strategic planning sessions and collaborative exercises designed to showcase Morrison Industries as a forward-thinking company. Of course, we had to sign NDAs to listen in on the sessions.

I can’t help noticing how engaged everyone seems—like they aren’t just employees, but true believers in what they’re building here.

And honestly, I can see why. Morrison himself radiates this grounded, approachable charm, the kind of leader who makes people want to follow him, but also kind of feels like everyone's really sweet dad at the same time.

It’s no wonder they admire him, especially when they’re treated so well.

Every one of them had swag bags waiting this morning: sleek watches, high-end luggage, leather tech organizers, even luxury headphones—all the very goods the company sells.

Plus, we learned they all get insider prices most people could never dream of.

The generosity is real, and it shows in how fiercely loyal they are.

Nicholas and I work together with practiced efficiency, but there’s a careful distance between us that feels forced after last night.

It's during the lunch break that things start to unravel.

"Sadie," Morrison approaches me while I'm reviewing social media content on my phone. "Do you have a minute? I wanted to discuss the afternoon climbing demonstration."

"Of course. What did you have in mind?"

"Well, yesterday's session went so well, I thought we might do something more challenging today. Maybe have you and Nicholas tackle the advanced route together? Show the teamwork and trust that Event Horizons brings to client relationships."

My stomach drops. "I'm not sure that's necessary—"

"It would make excellent content," Morrison continues enthusiastically.

"Two professionals supporting each other, demonstrating the kind of partnership Morrison Industries values.

Nicholas seemed hesitant yesterday, but I've been watching him and his back seems fine.

I'm sure with your expertise guiding him. .."

I glance across the lodge toward Nicholas, who's deep in conversation with Sarah but somehow still aware of what's happening around him. He can't hear Morrison's suggestion from where he's sitting, but something in his posture suggests he knows he's being discussed.

"Mr. Morrison," I say carefully, "I think Nicholas prefers to document the activities rather than participate directly."

"Nonsense. Yesterday was just nerves. Today, with a partner he trusts, I'm sure he'll be more comfortable."

He pauses and give me a meaningful look. "The reason I do these retreats is so that everyone leaves feeling they've achieved something. That they've grown and leave stronger than they came as a group, and individually. Trust me, he should do it."

He will just not let this go. I take back the kind dad thoughts I was having. But then again, he seems to understand what's happening with Nicholas and he's giving him a push, just like a dad would do.

Before I can find a way to deflect, Morrison is already walking toward Nicholas with the kind of determined enthusiasm that spells trouble.

"Nicholas!" Morrison calls out, interrupting Nicholas's conversation. "Perfect timing. I was just discussing this afternoon's climbing demonstration with Sadie."

I watch Nicholas's expression shift almost imperceptibly—a tightening around his eyes, a slight tension in his jaw that most people would miss but I've learned to recognize.

"What kind of demonstration?" Nicholas asks, his voice professionally neutral.

"You and Sadie tackling the advanced route together. Teamwork, trust, professional partnership in action. It'll be perfect for the campaign narrative."

The silence stretches for just a moment too long before Nicholas responds. "I appreciate the suggestion, but I think we've captured sufficient climbing content—"

"Come on," Morrison interrupts with a laugh. "Where's your sense of adventure? Sadie's an expert, you'll be perfectly safe."

"It's not about safety," Nicholas says, and there's something sharper in his voice now.

"Then what's the problem?"

I can see Nicholas struggling between his professional obligations and his personal boundaries. Morrison isn't being malicious, but he's also not accepting no for an answer, and Nicholas is caught between looking weak in front of a client and facing something that clearly makes him uncomfortable.

"There's no problem," Nicholas says finally, his professional mask sliding back into place. "If you think it would be valuable for the campaign, we can certainly arrange something."

"Excellent! Sadie, you can walk him through the route beforehand, make sure he's comfortable with the holds."

After Morrison walks away, clearly pleased with himself, I approach Nicholas with careful steps.

"You don't have to do this," I say quietly.

"Morrison's right. I should just man up and do it."

"Nicholas, look at me." I wait until his dark eyes meet mine. "You don't have to prove anything to Morrison. Or to me. Or to anyone."

"I'm not trying to prove anything."

"Then why did you agree?"

He sighs. "Because sometimes professional obligations require personal sacrifices."

"This isn't a sacrifice, it's torture. I can see how uncomfortable you are."

"I can handle discomfort, Sadie."

"I know you can. But you shouldn't have to."

Something flickers across his expression—surprise, maybe, or gratitude. Like he's not used to someone advocating for him. I don't know if he's going to lash out at me or thank me.

"It's just a climbing wall," he says, but his voice lacks conviction.

"Is it? Because you've been tense since Morrison brought it up, and yesterday."

Nicholas is quiet for a long moment, staring out the lodge windows toward the climbing wall visible through the trees. "I had an accident when I was younger. A fall. Nothing dramatic, just... enough to make me prefer solid ground."

The admission is careful, controlled, but I can hear the weight behind it. "How bad?"

"Bad enough." He turns back to me. "But that was a long time ago, and this is a controlled environment with safety equipment. I'll be fine."

"You don't sound fine."

"I will be fine," he corrects harshly. And then more softly, "Especially with an expert belayer."

The trust implicit in that statement makes my chest tight. He's going to face something that terrifies him because Morrison asked, but he's trusting me to keep him safe while he does it.

"Okay," I say. "But we do this my way. I pick the route, I control the pace, and if you want to come down at any point, we come down. No questions, no explanations to Morrison."

"Agreed."

Two hours later, I'm standing at the base of the climbing wall with Nicholas, both of us in harnesses and helmets, while Morrison and his team gather to document our "professional partnership in action."

"Remember," I say quietly, adjusting Nicholas's harness, "this is about trust, not speed. I'm on belay, which means I control your safety line. If you slip, I've got you."

"And if you slip?"

"I don't slip."

Nicholas's mouth quirks upward despite his obvious tension. "Confident."

"Experienced. There's a difference."

I've chosen an intermediate route that looks challenging but has solid holds and good resting spots.

"Ready?" I ask.

Nicholas looks up at the wall, and I can see him mentally preparing himself for something he clearly doesn't want to do. "Ready."

He starts climbing with careful, controlled movements. His technique is actually better than I expected—precise and methodical, though lacking the fluid confidence that comes with experience. About ten feet up, he pauses at a resting hold.

"How are you doing?" I call up.

"Fine," he replies, but his voice is tighter than before.

He continues climbing, making steady progress despite the obvious effort each move requires. At twenty feet, he pauses again, this time for longer.

"Nicholas? Talk to me."

"Just... taking a moment."

I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he's gripping the holds tighter than necessary. He's fighting something internal, and it's taking everything he has to continue.

"You're doing great," I say. "Nice controlled movements. Do you see the big hold about three feet above your right hand?"

"I see it."

"That's a good resting spot. Take your time getting there."

He makes the moves, reaches the hold, and settles into a more stable position. But when I look up at him, I can see something close to panic in his expression.

"I need to come down," he says, his voice carefully controlled.

"Okay. Just lean back into your harness and I'll lower you."

"No." The word comes out sharper than intended. "I need to finish this."

"Nicholas, you don't—"

"I need to finish this," he repeats, and there's something almost desperate in his voice.