Page 15 of Executive Privilege

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?"