Page 41 of Executive Privilege

"And what if I am?" he asks quietly. "What if you're right? What if I am too damaged to maintain anything more than a professional relationship with inappropriate physical benefits?"

"Then you're selling yourself short."

"Or I'm being realistic about my limitations."

"Your limitations, or your fears?"

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes," I say firmly. "Limitations are things you can't change. Fears are things you choose not to face."

Nicholas stares at me for a long moment, something warring in his expression. For a second, I think he might actually let me in, might actually admit that this is about more than just physical chemistry.

Then the professional mask slides back into place.

"We should head back," he says. "Morrison's expecting the final content review before dinner."

"Nicholas—"

"This conversation is over, Sadie."

And just like that, the walls are back up. Higher and stronger than before.

As we walk back toward the lodge in tense silence, I realize that caring about Nicholas Blackwood might be the biggest risk I've ever taken. Because unlike rock climbing, where the safety equipment is designed to catch you when you fall, falling for someone who's determined to push you away means there's no guarantee you'll survive the landing.

But as I watch him disappear behind his professional facade, I also realize that it's too late to worry about the risks.

I'm already falling.

The only question is whether he'll let me crash, or whether he'll find the courage to catch me before I hit the ground.

Chapter 11: Push and Pull

The flight back to Austin is a different kind of torture.

Nicholas sits beside me in first class, reviewing Morrison Industries content on his laptop with the focused intensity of someone who definitely isn't thinking about yesterday's emotional meltdown. Professional. Distant. Completely back in control.

But I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he's gripping his coffee cup too tightly, the careful way he's avoiding any casual contact that might bridge the space between our seats.

"The Morrison campaign exceeded expectations," he says without looking up from his screen. "Morrison was particularly pleased with the executive content and retreat documentation."

"Good," I reply, matching his professional tone despite the way my chest aches. "That should position us well for future opportunities."

"Exactly."

This is what we're reduced to now. Corporate speak and careful distance, like we didn't have desperate sex in a cabin two nights ago. Like he didn't tell me about falling from a tree at twelve years old and learning that the people who should protect you don't always come when you call.

Like I didn't tell him I care about him and watch him retreat behind walls so high I can barely see him anymore.

My phone buzzes with a text from Emma:"Flight lands at 2 PM, right? Can't wait to hear about the 'business trip.' Have details ready."

I glance at Nicholas, who's still determinedly focused on his laptop, and type back:"Might not be much to tell."

"Uh oh. That doesn't sound good. Emergency sister dinner tonight?"

"Maybe."

The plane touches down in Austin under gray skies that match my mood perfectly. Nicholas and I collect our bags and walk through the terminal in the kind of polite silence that screams unresolved conflict.