Page 6 of Executive Privilege (Event Horizons Agency #1)

I tape my hands methodically, the ritual as familiar as breathing.

Around me, the early morning climbers are preparing for their routes—checking gear, stretching, studying the wall like they're reading poetry.

This is my people. People who understand that sometimes you need to climb an impossible route just to prove you can.

"You're here early, even for you," says Leroy, one of the regulars, as he chalks his hands nearby. "Big day ahead?"

The wall is honest. Either you make the move or you don't. Either your technique is solid or you fall. No politics, no hidden agendas, no mysterious boss who brings you perfect coffee and looks at you like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

I start my warm-up route, letting muscle memory take over. Reach, grip, step up. Find the balance point. Trust the hold. The familiar burn in my forearms feels like coming home.

Halfway up the wall, I'm not thinking about Morrison Industries or Dallas business trips or the way Nicholas said my name in that parking garage. I'm just movement and breath and the simple satisfaction of going up.

I finish the warm-up and move to my projected route. The overhang looms above me, taunting. I've fallen at the same move twelve times, but today—

My phone buzzes from my gym bag. I ignore it and start climbing.

The first section goes smoothly. I'm in the zone, reading the route, feeling for the holds. The overhang approaches. This is where I always fall.

I take a breath, commit to the move, and—

I'm through. The hold I've been missing for weeks is suddenly right there, and I'm moving past the crux, climbing toward the top. When I ring the bell at the summit, a few people cheer from below.

"Finally!" Leroy calls up. "I was starting to think that route had it out for you personally."

I rappel down, grinning like an idiot. Sometimes you just need to trust that the hold will be there.

My phone is buzzing again. Three missed calls from Emma and a string of increasingly frantic texts:

"Call me" "Seriously, call me now" "SADIE MARIE REYNOLDS"

Full name. Never good.

I call her back while I'm cooling down and stretching.

"Finally," Emma says instead of hello. "I've been trying to reach you for an hour."

"I was climbing. What's wrong? Is everything okay?"

"That depends. Are you sitting down?"

"Emma, just tell me."

"I may have done a thing."

The way she says it makes my stomach drop. "What kind of thing?"

"The kind where I called Mom and told her about your hot boss and the business trip to Dallas."

"You WHAT?"

Several people in the gym turn to look at me. I lower my voice, grab my things, and walk toward the showers.

"Emma, why would you—"

"Because you sounded different when you talked about him. Happy. Excited. Like you actually care about someone for the first time since Brad."

Brad. My ex-boyfriend, the reason I moved to Austin in the first place.

Reliable, boring Brad who wanted to get married and have kids and live in the same town where we grew up, doing the same things for the rest of our lives.

Brad who couldn't understand why I wanted to move somewhere new and build my own path.

"This isn't about Brad," I say, pushing through the gym's front door into the morning air. "And it's definitely not about Nicholas. He's my boss, Emma. This is my career."

"Uh-huh. So when Mom asked if you were bringing anyone to dinner Sunday, what was I supposed to say?"

"That I'm busy working on the biggest project of my professional life?"

"I said you might bring Nicholas."

I stop walking. "You invited my boss to family dinner?"

"I said you might invite him. There's a difference."

"No, Emma, there really isn't." I lean against my car, trying to process this. "What exactly did you tell Mom?"

"That you're working with someone you really respect and admire, and that you might want to introduce him to the family."

"And she said?"

"She's making her famous enchiladas and Dad is promising to be on his best behavior."

Our father's idea of "best behavior" involves interrogating any man who comes within five feet of his daughters about his intentions, career prospects, and five-year plan. The last guy Emma brought home got a forty-minute lecture about the importance of financial stability.

"Emma, I can't uninvite my boss to a family dinner I never invited him to in the first place."

"So invite him for real."

"To what, a dinner where Dad will grill him about his quarterly earnings and Mom will ask when we're getting married?"

"Come on, Sadie. When's the last time you brought someone home? When's the last time you wanted to?"

Never, I realize. I never brought Brad home because I knew my family would see right through him. Would see that I was settling for safe instead of reaching for real connection.

"This is different," I say weakly.

"How?"

"Because Nicholas is..." I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

"Because Nicholas is what?"

"Complicated. Intense. Way out of my league."

"Since when has being out of your league stopped you from trying?"

I hate it when Emma uses my own metaphors against me.

"I have to go," I say. "I need to shower and get to work and figure out how to pretend this conversation never happened."

"Think about it, Sadie. What's the worst that could happen?"

I hang up with Emma and hop in the shower.

I try to picture Nicholas Blackwood at my family's dinner table.

My mom asking if he wants seconds of enchiladas.

My dad showing him photo albums from my childhood.

Emma making pointed comments about how cute we are together.

Actually, I think he'd get along great with all of them.

I laugh out loud. "Never going to happen."

***

An hour later, I'm showered and dressed and walking into Event Horizons with damp hair and a plan I'm probably going to regret.

"Morning, Sadie," Frankie calls from the reception desk. She's wearing a burgundy blazer that brings out the warm undertones in her skin, and her smile is as bright as always. "You look energized today. Good workout?"

"Conquered a route that's been beating me up for weeks," I say, and it feels like a good omen.

"Nice! There's nothing better than finally breaking through a barrier."

"Speaking of breaking through barriers..." I pause at her desk. "Hypothetically, if someone were to invite their boss to a family dinner, that would be completely insane, right?"

Frankie's eyebrows shoot up. "Are we talking about Nicholas?"

"Hypothetically."

"Hypothetically, it would depend on whether the boss in question is the type to appreciate home-cooked meals and family chaos, or the type to run screaming."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you didn't know? Nicholas lives at the Four Seasons downtown. Has for over a year. Never talks about it, but I handle his mail when Jennifer is on vacation." She leans forward conspiratorially. "I don't think he eve has his own furniture. Just hotel living."

That explains so much. The perfect suits, the emotional distance, the way he seems to exist in professional mode twenty-four seven. He's literally living like he's passing through his own life.

"That's..." I search for the right word.

"Lonely," Frankie supplies. "That man needs someone to remind him how to actually live instead of just exist."

Before I can respond, Angie bounces over to the reception desk, her short blonde bob catching the morning light and her energy already at ten despite the early hour.

"Did someone say Nicholas is living like a hermit?" she asks cheerfully. "Because I've been saying for months that man needs a serious intervention. He works too much, eats too many meals alone, and I'm pretty sure his idea of relaxation is reviewing quarterly reports."

"We were just discussing whether it would be completely crazy to invite him to a family dinner," I say.

Angie's blue eyes light up. "Are you serious? That's either the best idea ever or relationship suicide. There's no middle ground."

"It's not a relationship—"

"Honey," Frankie interrupts gently, "I've seen how you two look at each other during meetings. There's definitely something there."

"We have good professional chemistry," I protest.

"Professional chemistry," Angie repeats, grinning. "Is that what we're calling it?"

Before I can defend myself further, I spot Nicholas walking through the main entrance. Even from across the lobby, he carries an aura of controlled authority that makes people step aside without realizing they're doing it.

"Speak of the devil," Angie whispers, smiling her sweetest smile. "Good luck with your hypothetical dinner invitation."

"I'm not actually going to—"

"Morning, ladies," Nicholas says as he approaches the reception desk. "Sadie, do you have a few minutes to discuss the Dallas logistics?"

"Of course."

As we walk toward his office, I can feel Frankie and Angie watching us with barely concealed amusement. This is what I get for having this conversation with office gossip central.

Nicholas's office is sleek, modern, and meticulously organized.

Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a commanding view of downtown Austin, and the walls are covered with incredible dark monochromatic paintings that make you stop and feel sad and also angry.

It's an odd feeling, looking at them. I have to look away or else get caught up in them. They feel personal to Nicholas somehow.

"Close the door," he says, settling behind his desk.

I do, then take the chair across from him, trying not to think about the fact that we're alone in his office with the door closed. Despite myself, I take a mental image in case I need it for my next inappropriate fantasy.

"I spoke with Morrison this morning," Nicholas begins, pulling up information on his computer. "They're happy with the timeline we presented, but they want to add another element to the executive content."

"What kind of element?"