Page 2 of Executive Privilege (Event Horizons Agency #1)

My apartment looks like a marketing strategy exploded.

I'm sitting cross-legged on my living room floor, surrounded by printouts and sticky notes. My laptop has about twenty Morrison Industries research documents open. My coffee table has disappeared under color-coded folders, and I haven't seen my couch cushions in two days.

"This is either dedication or insanity," I mutter, reaching for my fourth cup of coffee since dinner.

My phone buzzes with a text from Emma: "Still alive?"

I glance at the time. 11:47 PM. On a Tuesday. Yeah, this is probably insanity.

"Still alive. Currently living in a nest made of research. Send food."

"Or a life," she texts back immediately. "Remember those? Where people do things that aren't work?"

I look around my apartment—the same space that felt so perfectly organized and adult when I moved in three months ago. Now it looks like the world's most boring hurricane hit it. But I can see the Morrison rebrand taking shape, and it's good. Really good.

My laptop chimes with a new email, and I almost ignore it until I see the sender: [email protected].

"Ms. Reynolds - Attached are Morrison's internal performance metrics from Q3. Thought they might be useful for your competitive analysis. - NB"

I stare at the screen. Nicholas Blackwood just sent me confidential client data. At midnight. On a Tuesday.

Either he's setting me up for success, or he's testing whether I can handle sensitive information responsibly. With Nicholas, it could easily be both.

I download the files and open the first spreadsheet. Within minutes, I'm completely absorbed in Morrison's quarterly performance data, cross-referencing it with my competitive analysis and market research.

The data confirms everything I suspected about Morrison's brand positioning problems, but it also reveals a crucial insight: their customer retention rates are actually solid. It's new customer acquisition that's killing them.

Which means my rebrand strategy needs to focus less on keeping existing customers happy and more on making Morrison relevant to people who've never heard of them.

By 2 AM, I've strengthened my entire presentation around this insight.

Around 3 AM, I'm wondering whether Nicholas sent me this data because he wanted to see if I'd catch the customer acquisition angle, or if he's just naturally helpful.

The more pressing question: why was Nicholas Blackwood sending me work emails at midnight in the first place?

***

Four hours of sleep later, I arrive at Event Horizons with that brittle energy that comes from too much caffeine and too little rest. The Morrison presentation is this afternoon, and I still need to finalize my visual designs and practice my delivery.

"You look like death," Frankie observes cheerfully as I swipe my badge at the security desk.

"Thank you. That's exactly the professional image I was going for."

"Rough night?"

"I stayed up way too late working on the Morrison strategy."

Frankie winces. "I have under-eye patches at my desk, help yourself."

"Yeah, well, at least Nicholas sent me some additional data to work with." I pause, realizing how that sounds. "Is it normal for him to send work emails at midnight?"

Frankie's expression shifts, becomes more suspicious. "Not particularly, no. Nicholas is intense about work, but he's usually good about boundaries."

I try to sound casual, but the truth is I've been thinking about that midnight email all morning. There's something almost intimate about knowing that Nicholas was working late on the same project, wherever he calls home.

"Sadie?" Frankie's voice pulls me back to the conversation. "Be careful with the midnight email thing."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean Nicholas has a reputation for being professional to the point of coldness. If he's making exceptions to his usual patterns..." She shrugs. "Just be careful. The last thing you want is office gossip about the new girl getting special treatment from the boss."

Special treatment. Is that what the Morrison project is? No. Can't be that. I earned this.

I'm still thinking about it when I reach my desk and find a coffee cup waiting for me. Not the usual office kitchen coffee—this is from The Grind, the expensive café three blocks away.

There's a note attached: "Fuel for the final push. - NB"

I look across the office toward Nicholas's corner office. He's just stepping through his door. He's changed from yesterday's charcoal suit to navy today, but the effect is the same: authority and control wrapped in perfect tailoring.

As if he can feel me watching, Nicholas glances back. Our eyes meet across the office floor, and he gives me the slightest nod—acknowledgment of the coffee, maybe, or just professional courtesy.

But there's something in his look that's disarming.

I take a sip of the coffee. It's perfect—exactly how I like it, which doesn't mean he knows my coffee preference, it means his assistant, Jennifer, does.

I think about what Frankie said about special attention from the boss, and I decide he's just supporting me because if I pull this off, it means a lot more money coming into the agency. He's betting on me. That's what this is all about.

I have his attention in a professional way. He's backing me and I appreciate it. I'm definitely not thinking about all the professional ways I could thank him for the coffee.

***

Friday afternoon arrives faster than I'm ready for.

The Morrison presentation is loaded on my laptop, backed up on a flash drive, and uploaded to the office server. Overkill, maybe, but I'm not taking any chances. I've practiced my delivery six times, memorized every transition, and prepared for every possible question.

I'm also running on approximately twelve hours of sleep over the past three days, which means I'm existing in that strange space where everything feels both crystal clear and slightly surreal. Like I'm walking around in the movie Labyrinth.

"Showtime," I murmur to myself, heading to the conference room.

The Morrison Industries team arrives fifteen minutes early: three executives in expensive suits who look like they're expecting to be bored. Perfect. Nothing I love more than exceeding low expectations.

The Event Horizons team files in next. Jennifer, Nicholas's assistant, settles into her usual seat. She shoots me a quick encouraging smile and then is back to her 'all business' face.

Nicholas enters last, closing the conference room door behind him with quiet authority that immediately focuses everyone's attention. He takes his seat at the head of the table, and I can feel the entire room's energy shift.

"Ms. Reynolds," he says, his voice carrying just enough volume to command attention without effort. "The floor is yours."

This is it. Make or break time.

I advance to the first slide of my presentation, and suddenly all the exhaustion and caffeine-fueled anxiety fades away. This is what I'm good at. This is why I was hired. It's why I'm here.

"Morrison Industries has a problem," I begin, making eye contact with each member of the Morrison team. "But it's not the problem you think you have."

For the next forty-five minutes, I walk them through my analysis. Morrison's brand confusion. Their invisible customer acquisition problem. The disconnect between their reputation and their current market positioning.

And then I show them the solution.

The rebrand I've designed isn't just a new logo and color scheme.

It's a complete repositioning that honors Morrison's legacy while making them relevant to customers who weren't alive when the company was founded.

Clean, modern visuals that feel both established and innovative.

Messaging that talks about reliability without sounding outdated.

When I advance to the mock-up advertising campaigns, I can see the Morrison executives lean forward in their chairs.

When I show them the projected market impact data, their poker faces finally crack into genuine interest.

When I finish, the room is completely silent for about ten seconds—which, in presentation terms, feels like ten hours.

Finally, Morrison's CEO speaks. "Ms. Reynolds, this is exactly what we needed to see."

Relief floods through me so fast I actually feel dizzy.

"When can we start implementation?"

I glance at Nicholas, who gives me an almost imperceptible nod.

"We can have a full implementation timeline to you next week," I say, proud of how steady my voice sounds despite the adrenaline currently rewiring my nervous system.

After the Morrison team leaves—with handshakes, business cards, and promises to finalize contracts by end of week—I'm left alone in the conference room with Nicholas and the Event Horizons team.

"Well," Marcus from creative says, "that was fucking brilliant."

"Language," Jennifer murmurs automatically, but she's smiling.

"No, seriously. That customer acquisition angle? The way you repositioned their entire value proposition? That's the kind of strategic thinking that wins awards."

I'm getting congratulations from the rest of the team, but I'm only half-listening because Nicholas hasn't said anything yet. He's just sitting at the head of the table, watching me with an expression I can't read.

Finally, after everyone else has cleared out, he speaks.

"Impressive work, Ms. Reynolds."

"Thank you." I'm suddenly aware that we're alone in the conference room, that he's looking at me with possibly approval, and that my heart is beating faster than post-presentation adrenaline can account for.

"The customer acquisition insight was particularly sharp. How did you identify that angle?"

"The Q3 data you sent me. Their retention rates didn't match their acquisition numbers, which suggested the problem wasn't with their existing customers."

Nicholas nods slowly. "And you restructured your entire presentation around that insight in less than forty-eight hours."

"I restructured it because it was the right approach. The timeline was just what I had to work with."

He's quiet for a moment, studying me with an intensity that makes me feel like he's trying to decide on something. Then his mouth curves into the beginning of a smile.

"Well done, Ms. Reynolds. Morrison Industries is lucky to have you working on their account."

The compliment hits me harder than it should, probably because it's coming from someone who doesn't give praise lightly. Or maybe because of the way he's looking at me—like I've surprised him in the best possible way.

"Thank you for the data. And the coffee this morning. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have survived without either."

"I noticed you were online, working late. Seemed like the least I could do."

There's weight behind those words, an acknowledgment that he was paying attention to my schedule, my needs. It should feel professional. Instead, it feels personal.

"I should let you get back to your day," Nicholas says, standing up from the conference table. "I'm sure you have implementation planning to do."

"Right. Yes. Implementation." I gather my presentation materials, hyperaware of his physique as he moves toward the door. Broad shoulders, nice butt.

He pauses with his hand on the doorframe, looking back at me even more intensely. "Ms. Reynolds?"

"Yes?"

"I like what I'm seeing."

Ditto .

Then he's gone, leaving me alone in the conference room, wondering if there is something that's developed between us, or if it's just my imagination running away with me.