Page 9 of Executive Privilege (Event Horizons Agency #1)

I wake up alone in my bed, which shouldn't surprise me but somehow does.

Even after showering and sleeping like I ran a marathon, I half-expected... what when I woke up? That he'd still be here? That "no expectations" didn't actually mean he'd get dressed and leave before I could even catch my breath?

I check my phone. Nothing.

Which is exactly what we agreed on, isn't it? Just sex. No complications. No expectations.

So why does my apartment feel so empty?

The climbing gym at 6 AM is my salvation. Reach. Grip. Step up. Don't think about how Nicholas looked when he lost control. Don't think about the way he said my name like he was a drowning man. Don't think about how quickly he reached for his clothes afterward.

I make it past the crux, ring the bell at the top, and rappel down feeling slightly more human.

***

By the time I get to the office, I've convinced myself that whatever happened with Nicholas was exactly what we agreed it would be—really good sex between consenting adults. No complications, no expectations, no lingering morning conversations about what it meant.

"Morning, sunshine," Frankie calls from the reception desk, her warm smile faltering slightly when she gets a good look at me. "Rough night?"

"Great night, actually. Just tired."

"Uh-huh." She tilts her head, studying my face with those perceptive brown eyes. "Want to talk about it?"

"Nothing to talk about. How's your morning going?"

Before Frankie can call me on the obvious deflection, Nicholas walks through the main entrance.

"Morning, Sadie, Frankie." he says as he passes the reception desk, his voice professionally neutral but without his usual warmth. Like he doesn't know exactly what I sound like when I come.

No pause to chat. No eye contact. Just a polite acknowledgment before he continues toward his office without looking back.

If Frankie notices the sudden coolness between us, she's smart enough not to comment. But I catch her raising her eyebrows.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of Morrison Industries prep work and carefully avoided eye contact.

Nicholas treats me with polite professionalism—requesting timeline updates via email instead of stopping by my desk, discussing project logistics with the same tone he'd use for any employee.

It's exactly what we agreed to. So why does every clipped interaction feel like he's erasing what happened between us?

"Sadie!" Angie bounces over to my desk around eleven, her energy already at ten despite the early hour. "You look... weird. Good weird, but weird. Did something happen?"

"Nothing happened. I'm just focused on the Morrison timeline."

"Uh-huh." Angie perches on the edge of my desk, studying me with those bright blue eyes. "Because you have that glow that comes from really good—"

"Angie."

"I'm just saying, if something did happen with a certain someone, you'd tell your friend, right?"

"Nothing happened," I say firmly.

"Okay, but if nothing did happen, it was probably amazing nothing."

Before I can respond to that piece of Angie logic, my computer chimes with a new email. From Nicholas, sent to the entire Morrison project team:

"Morrison Industries Timeline - Team Meeting at 2 PM today. Conference Room A. - NB"

***

The 2 PM meeting is torture.

Nicholas sits at the head of the conference table in his perfectly tailored suit, running through project timelines and vendor coordination with the same controlled authority he brings to every professional interaction.

When he asks me questions about the social media strategy, his tone is politely interested but lacks his usual engaged follow-up questions.

When I present my influencer research, he nods approvingly and takes notes, but doesn't offer the kind of insightful commentary that usually sparks our best collaborative moments.

I start to think I might have imagined last night, but every time our eyes accidentally meet across the table, heat flickers between us before we both look away.

Every time he says "Sadie," there's the slightest hesitation, like he's hyper-aware of using my name.

Every time he gestures toward my presentation materials, I remember exactly what those hands felt like on my skin.

"The Dallas timeline looks aggressive," says Marcus, reviewing my implementation schedule.

"Sadie has confirmed all vendor availability," Nicholas replies smoothly. "The timeline is ambitious but achievable."

"And the executive content strategy?"

Nicholas glances at me briefly, so briefly anyone else would miss it. "Sadie will be accompanying me to Dallas to handle the executive interviews and behind-the-scenes content."

I keep my expression neutral, but inside my stomach is doing complicated gymnastics.

"When do you leave?" Angie asks.

"Tuesday morning," Nicholas replies. "Return Friday evening, possibly extending through the weekend depending on Morrison's retreat schedule.

Next year, if everything goes well, you'll be the one managing the retreat for them, Angie.

This deepening relationship with Morrison is going to mean more work for all of us. "

I'm no longer listening. I'm imagining a week of professional politeness and carefully avoided eye contact in Dallas. I might go insane.

The rest of the afternoon drags by. Every email exchange with Nicholas is painfully polite. Every time he walks past my desk without stopping, the tension coils tighter in my chest. By the time the office starts emptying out around six, I'm wound so tight I might snap.

My phone buzzes with a text from Emma: "How was art night? Any finger painting?" Then another immediate text. "That's gross. Forget I said that."

I stare at the message for a long moment, not sure how to answer. How do I explain that I slept with Nicholas Blackwood and it was incredible, but now he's treating me like he did in the first few weeks of me joining the company, like a stranger?

"Educational," I text back.

"That's the most boring response ever."

"Can't. At work. Talk later."

I put my phone away and try to focus, but my mind keeps drifting to last night. The way Nicholas looked at me when he lost control. The way he couldn't get dressed fast enough afterward.

***

By seven o'clock, the office is nearly empty. I'm still at my desk, absorbed in my work and trying not to think about Nicholas, when I hear footsteps approaching.

"Still here?"

"Just finishing up the Morrison logistics. I want to make sure everything's confirmed before we leave Tuesday."

Nicholas pulls up the chair beside my desk, without asking this time.

"Are the Morrison executive interviews booked?"

"Scheduled for Wednesday and Thursday morning. I've the individual profiles for each team member, including talking points that should feel natural rather than scripted."

"Thorough," he says, his voice lower than before. "You've identified personality types, communication styles, even potential topics that would resonate with different audience segments."

"I figured the more we know about their individual strengths, the better we can tailor the content."

I can see the moment his professional facade starts to crack. His eyes drop to my mouth, then back to my eyes, and the air between us becomes stills.

"Sadie," he says quietly, and there's heat in his voice has me tingling immediately.

"Nicholas." I turn in my chair to face him fully.

"I'm sorry I've been so cold today."

"You were following our agreement. Keep things professional at work."

"Fuck our agreement," he says, inching closer. "I've been thinking about you all day. About last night. About how you felt."

His hand comes up to cup my face, but then stops. "I told myself I could keep this compartmentalized. Work here, everything else somewhere else. But I can't stop thinking about the sounds you made when I—"

I lean forward enough to whisper, "I loved how hard you fucked me against my wall."

"My office," he says. "Now."

We gather our things and try to look professional as we walk across the empty office floor. But the moment his office door closes behind us, we're on each other with desperate hunger.

"Lock it," he says, backing me toward his desk.

I reach behind me to turn the lock, and when I face him again, the look in his eyes takes my breath away.

"Come here," he says, and the command in his voice sends heat straight through me.

He lifts me onto his desk, standing between my legs as his mouth finds mine. His hands slide under my skirt, fingers finding the edge of my underwear.

"I told you I wanted to devour you," he reminds me, his voice rough with desire. "I meant it."

He drops to his knees in front of me, pushing my skirt higher as his hands slide up my thighs. His fingers hook into my underwear, pulling them aside as his mouth finds my inner thigh first, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.

"Nicholas," I breathe, my hands gripping the edge of his desk.

When his tongue finally finds where I need him most, I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. He works me with deliberate precision, alternating between slow, broad strokes and focused attention that has me trembling within minutes.

"Quiet," he murmurs against me when I make a soft sound. "Anyone could walk by."

The reminder that we're in his office, that the door is locked but people could still be in the building, only makes everything more intense. I'm gripping the desk so hard my knuckles are white, struggling to stay silent as he brings me closer to the edge.

When I'm trembling and breathless, right on the verge of coming apart, he pulls away.

"The couch," he says, his voice strained with control. "More room."

He helps me down from the desk, and we move to the leather couch in his office seating area. The moment we sink into the cushions, his mouth is on mine again, hands working at the buttons of my blouse with urgent precision.

"Nicholas," I breathe as he pushes the fabric aside, his mouth trailing down my throat.