Page 24 of Executive Privilege

He finds his scattered clothes, dressing himself slowly.

"I should go though," he says, not quite meeting my eyes.

"So go," I say, grabbing the throw blanket off my chair and wrapping it around myself.

He pauses at my bedroom door, looking back. "Sadie—"

"It's fine, Nicholas. No expectations, remember?"

The relief in his expression tells me everything I need to know about what this was to him. Physical intimacy he can handle. Emotional intimacy—staying the night, morning conversations, the kind of vulnerability that comes with daylight—that's where his walls go back up.

Which should bother me more than it does.

The sex really was incredible, and if amazing physical chemistry without emotional complications is what Nicholas Blackwood can offer, maybe that's enough.

At least for now.

Chapter 7: Professional Distance

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?"