Page 25 of Executive Privilege

"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 Blackwoodand 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?"