Page 15 of Executive Privilege (Event Horizons Agency #1)

Whatever this is about, it's bigger than just Morrison's climbing demonstration. This is about something personal, something that's been haunting him longer than a simple fear of heights.

"Okay," I say. "But we go slow. One move at a time."

The next ten minutes are some of the longest of my life. Nicholas continues climbing with sheer determination, fighting through whatever demons are telling him to quit. His movements become more erratic as he gets higher, less controlled, more desperate.

At thirty feet, disaster strikes.

Nicholas reaches for a hold, tests it, commits to the move. His hold slips.

He falls.

For a split second that feels like eternity, Nicholas is falling through space with nothing but air beneath him. Then the rope catches, the belay system engages, and he jerks to a stop about five feet below where he started falling.

He's safe. The equipment worked perfectly. But when I look up at him, suspended in his harness and breathing hard, I can see that safety isn't what he's feeling.

"Nicholas! Are you okay?"

"Get me down," he says, his voice hollow. "Now."

I lower him to the ground as quickly as safety allows. The moment his feet touch solid earth, he's working to get out of his harness with shaking hands.

"That was exciting!" Morrison calls out, approaching with his usual oblivious enthusiasm. "Great demonstration of how safety equipment works. Perfect content for showing Morrison Industries' commitment to employee wellbeing."

"Excuse me," Nicholas says, finally getting his harness off and walking away from the group without another word.

I watch him go, torn between following him and maintaining professional appearances with Morrison. I can't abandon the client—but every instinct is telling me to go after Nicholas.

"He'll be alright," Morrison says.

"Yes, he just needs a moment," I say. "Adrenaline from the fall. Perfectly normal reaction."

But there was nothing normal about the expression on Nicholas's face when his feet hit the ground. That was the look of someone reliving trauma, not someone processing a minor climbing incident.

Twenty minutes later, after wrapping up with Morrison and his team, I find Nicholas sitting on a bench behind his cabin, staring out at the pine trees with an expression I've never seen before. Vulnerable. Shaken. Completely stripped of his usual control.

"Hey," I say quietly, sitting beside him on the bench.

"Hey."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly."

We sit in silence for a while, and I can feel the walls rebuilding around him with every passing minute. Whatever crack last night's intimacy created, today's climbing incident just sealed it shut again.

"It wasn't about the fall," I say finally.

"What?"

"Just now, on the wall. Your reaction wasn't about falling thirty feet. It was about something else."

Nicholas is quiet for so long I start to think he's not going to respond. Then: "I was twelve. Climbing a tree in my backyard. I fell about fifteen feet onto our concrete steps."

"Jesus. I assume you were hurt?"

"Broken arm, concussion, couple of cracked ribs. But that wasn't the worst part."

I wait, sensing there's more to this story.

"The worst part was lying there, hurt and scared, calling for help. I was right outside the door. I could hear my babysitter inside fighting with her boyfriend on the phone. She didn't hear me."

My chest tightens. "How long were you out there?"

"Long enough to realize that the people who are supposed to keep you safe don't always come when you call."

The admission hits me like a physical blow. This isn't just about fear of heights. This is about abandonment, about trust, about what happens when the people who are supposed to look out for you, just don't.

"Nicholas—"

"I should have just told Morrison no from the beginning," he says, standing up abruptly. "This was a mistake."

"What was a mistake? The climbing, or telling me about it?"

"Both."

He starts walking back toward the lodge, and I have to hurry to catch up with him.

"Don't do this," I say.

"Do what?"

"Shut down. Build the walls back up. Pretend this conversation never happened."

"This conversation shouldn't have happened."

"Why? Because it was honest? Because it let's me know you? You know me. I'm an open book, but I feel like I barely know you."

Nicholas stops walking and turns to face me, his expression carefully controlled again. "Because it's not relevant to our professional relationship."

"This isn't about our professional relationship and you know it."

"What is it about, then?"

The question hangs between us, loaded with implications neither of us is prepared to address.

"It's about the fact that I care about you," I say finally. "As more than just a colleague or a convenient sexual arrangement."

"Sadie—"

"No, let me finish. I care about you, Nicholas.

I care about what scares you and what hurts you and what makes you happy.

I care about the fact that you're brilliant and successful and completely isolated.

I care about the fact that you live in a hotel because you're afraid of creating anything permanent enough to lose.

And I care enough to want to know why that is. "

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're so afraid of being abandoned again that you won't let anyone close enough to stay."

As I say it, I consider that there is no way that all of those things have anything to do with falling from a tree. There must be something else. But the words hit their target. I can see it in the way Nicholas's expression shifts, the way his hands clench at his sides.

"And what if I am?" he asks quietly. "What if you're right? What if I am too damaged to maintain anything more than a professional relationship with inappropriate physical benefits?"

"Then you're selling yourself short."

"Or I'm being realistic about my limitations."

"Your limitations, or your fears?"

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes," I say firmly. "Limitations are things you can't change. Fears are things you choose not to face."

Nicholas stares at me for a long moment, something warring in his expression. For a second, I think he might actually let me in, might actually admit that this is about more than just physical chemistry.

Then the professional mask slides back into place.

"We should head back," he says. "Morrison's expecting the final content review before dinner."

"Nicholas—"

"This conversation is over, Sadie."

And just like that, the walls are back up. Higher and stronger than before.

As we walk back toward the lodge in tense silence, I realize that caring about Nicholas Blackwood might be the biggest risk I've ever taken.

Because unlike rock climbing, where the safety equipment is designed to catch you when you fall, falling for someone who's determined to push you away means there's no guarantee you'll survive the landing.

But as I watch him disappear behind his professional facade, I also realize that it's too late to worry about the risks.

I'm already falling.

The only question is whether he'll let me crash, or whether he'll find the courage to catch me before I hit the ground.