Page 17 of Executive Privilege (Event Horizons Agency #1)

I arrive at Event Horizons Monday morning with a plan and a coffee from The Grind—the expensive kind Nicholas always brings me, except this time I'm bringing it to him.

A peace offering. A conversation starter. A way to show him that I'm not giving up without a fight.

But when I reach the reception desk, Frankie's expression stops me cold.

"Morning, Sadie," she says, her usually bright smile subdued. "How was Dallas?"

"Good. Productive. Is everything okay? You look..."

"Worried," she finishes. "Yeah, I am. Nicholas has been here since six AM, locked in his office with the door closed. Won't let anyone interrupt him, not even for the Morrison debrief call that was supposed to happen an hour ago."

I glance toward Nicholas's corner office.

"Did something happen? A client emergency?"

"Not that I know of. But Jennifer tried to deliver some reports earlier and said he looked like he hadn't slept. Asked her to reschedule everything and hold all calls."

My chest tightens. This is about yesterday. About our conversation in the parking garage and his decision to retreat behind professional boundaries. Except instead of maintaining those boundaries, he's apparently having some kind of breakdown in his office.

"I should probably—"

"Sadie." Frankie's voice stops me. "I don't know what happened between you two, but be careful. I've never seen Nicholas like this."

I nod and head toward his office, my plan suddenly feeling inadequate for whatever crisis is happening behind that door.

I knock on his door and open it. When he looks up, the sight of him makes my breath catch. Frankie was right—he looks like he hasn't slept. There's something hollow in his dark eyes that makes my chest ache.

"I brought you a coffee." I say, keeping my voice light.

"Sadie." His voice is carefully controlled, but I can hear the strain underneath. "I thought I made it clear that we should keep our interactions professional."

"Relax, it's just coffee." I place it on his desk and step back, holding my hands up in mock-serender.

"Frankie said you missed the Morrison call, and since I handled half the content creation, I thought—"

"I'm handling Morrison myself."

"Nicholas, you look terrible. When's the last time you slept?"

"My sleep schedule isn't your concern."

I close the door behind me. "Maybe not, but your ability to function as my boss is. If you're having some kind of crisis—"

"I'm not having a crisis." But his voice cracks slightly on the words, and I can see him fighting to maintain composure.

"Then what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm simply reassessing some recent decisions and their impact on efficiency."

The corporate speak is so forced it's almost painful. I sit down in the chair across from him.

"Nicholas, look at me."

He does, reluctantly, and I can see the exhaustion and confusion warring in his expression.

"Talk to me. Not as your employee, not as someone you've been sleeping with, but as someone who cares about you. What's going on?"

For a moment, I think he might actually answer. His carefully controlled facade wavers, and I catch a glimpse of something raw and desperate underneath.

Then his phone rings.

"Nicholas Blackwood," he answers, his professional mask sliding back into place. "No, that timeline isn't acceptable... I'll handle it personally."

As he talks, I study his face, noting the tension around his eyes, the way his free hand keeps clenching and unclenching. Whatever's happening on this call, it's not good.

"Understood," he says finally. "I'll be there within the hour."

He hangs up and immediately starts gathering papers from his desk with movements that are just slightly too controlled, like he's fighting to keep his hands steady.

"Crisis?" I ask.

"Client emergency. One of our major accounts is threatening to terminate their contract unless we can resolve a campaign issue immediately."

"Which client?"

"Hartwell Industries."

I know Hartwell—a tech company whose marketing campaign launched three months ago to great success. What kind of emergency could have developed overnight?

"What's the issue?"

Nicholas pauses in his paper gathering, and for the first time, he looks directly at me. "They received an anonymous tip that their campaign strategy was leaked to competitors before launch."

"What? Leaked how?"

"Industrial espionage. Someone with access to confidential information sold the strategy to competing agencies."

My mouth goes dry. Industrial espionage. Leaked information. Anonymous tips. It couldn't be from here, the way he has this place locked up.

"Nicholas—"

"I have to go," he says, standing abruptly. "Hartwell's board is meeting in an hour, and if I can't prove Event Horizons had nothing to do with the leak, we'll lose a multi-million-dollar account."

"Let me help. I can review the security protocols, check access logs—"

"No." The word comes out so sharp it startles me. "This is something I need to handle personally."

"Because you don't trust anyone else with sensitive information?"

The question stops him mid-stride toward the door. When he turns to look at me, there's something almost desperate in his expression.

"Because I can't afford to be wrong about who I trust again."

The admission hangs between us, loaded with implications about more than just client security. This isn't really about Hartwell Industries. It sounds somehow personal to him. Maybe I was right that it wasn't just his babysitter who let him down in his past.

"Nicholas, you know I would never—"

"Do I?" he asks quietly. "Three days ago, I told you things I've never told anyone. Personal things. Vulnerable things. And now there's a security breach involving confidential client information."

The accusation hits like a slap. "You think I leaked Hartwell's strategy?"

"I think the timing is suspicious."

"The timing of what? Me caring about you and industrial espionage? You think those are connected?"

"I think I've made this mistake before."

The words are barely above a whisper, but they cut deeper than shouting would have. Because now I understand what's really happening. It's finally clicked into place. This is about Victoria Sterling.

Office gossip doesn't exclude the boss. Frankie, Jennifer, Marcus, and Angie have all hinted to me about a woman named Victoria being the reason security is what it is, but they never hinted at a relationship between them. Or maybe I didn't want to make the connection for my own reasons.

"I'm not her," I say firmly.

"Her?"

"Whoever she was. The woman who hurt you so badly that you live in a hotel and assume anyone who cares about you is planning to betray you."

Nicholas goes very still. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. Someone used your feelings against you. Someone you trusted. And now you're so terrified of it happening again that you'd rather push away anyone who might actually care about you." I'm guessing at all of this, but it sounds right.

"This isn't about—"

"This is entirely about her. You're not seeing me when you look at me right now. You're seeing her."

Nicholas's jaw tightens. "You don't know anything about my past relationships."

"I know enough. I know someone hurt you badly enough that you think caring about someone is the same as giving them weapons to destroy you."

"Maybe because that's realistic."

"Or maybe because it's easier than doing the work to heal from whatever she did to you."

Nicholas flinches, barely.

"You need to leave," he says quietly.

"Nicholas—"

"You need to leave my office, and you need to stay away from anything related to the Hartwell investigation. I can't afford to have this complicated by personal feelings."

"So you're going to handle a major client crisis while sleep-deprived and emotionally compromised, and you're going to do it alone because you've convinced yourself that's safer than accepting help from someone who cares about you."

"Yes."

The simple admission breaks something in my chest. "That's the most self-destructive thing I've ever heard."

"It's the most practical thing. Personal feelings compromise professional judgment."

"Do they? Because my personal feelings are telling me to help you figure out who actually leaked Hartwell's information so you don't lose a major client due to paranoia and trust issues."

"And my personal feelings are telling me that the last time I trusted someone with confidential information, it almost cost me everything I'd built."

There it is. The truth underneath all his careful control and professional distance. Someone did betray him. Someone he trusted, someone he cared about, someone who used his feelings to almost destroy his business.

"I'm not going to betray you," I say quietly.

"You can't promise that."

"Yes, I can. Because I'm not her, Nicholas. I'm someone who genuinely cares about your success and your happiness and your ability to trust people again."

Nicholas stares at me for a long moment, and I can see the war playing out in his expression. Want versus fear. Trust versus self-protection. The possibility of letting someone in versus the certainty of staying safe behind walls.

Fear wins.

"I need you to leave," he says again. "Now."

"If I leave now, if you handle this crisis alone and refuse help from people who care about you, what happens to us?"

"There is no us. There never was."

I can see in his expression that he's made his choice. Whatever we had, whatever we could have had, he's willing to sacrifice it to maintain the illusion of safety.

"Fine," I say, standing up. "Handle the Hartwell crisis alone. Destroy your business rather than risk trusting someone. Live in your hotel suite and convince yourself that isolation is the same as strength."

"Sadie—"

"But when you figure out that I had nothing to do with this crisis, when you realize you've thrown away something real, don't expect me to be waiting."

I head toward the door, then pause with my hand on the handle.

"For what it's worth, I think you're worth fighting for. But I can't be the only one who thinks so. You have to want to fight for it too."

I leave his office without looking back, walking past Frankie's concerned expression and Angie's curious glances. In the elevator, my hands shake as I press the button for the parking garage.

That really didn't go as planned. Nicholas Blackwood just accused me of industrial espionage rather than face the possibility that he might actually care about someone enough to be vulnerable.

My phone rings. Emma.

"How did operation 'fight for love' go?" she asks.

"Spectacularly badly. He thinks I leaked confidential client information to competitors."

"He what?"

"There's a security breach involving one of their major accounts, and rather than investigate properly, Nicholas decided it must be connected to me getting close to him. Because apparently that's what happened before."

"Before?"

"Long story."

Emma is quiet for a moment. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to prove I had nothing to do with the security breach, save his client relationship, and then probably start looking for a new job."

"Why?"

"Because he's going to self-destruct if I don't. I'll do this and then I'm done with him."

"No matter how much I care about him, he's gone to far with this accusation."

After we hang up, I drive home and spend the rest of the day researching Hartwell Industries, trying to figure out how their campaign strategy could have been leaked and who had access to the information.

Not because I think Nicholas will thank me for the help.

By evening, I have a theory about the real source of the leak. Tomorrow, I'm going to prove it, save Nicholas's client relationship, and then figure out how to move on from the most complicated man I've ever fallen for.

A man who'd rather lose everything than risk trusting someone who could really and truly love him.