Page 40 of Executive Privilege

"What?"

"Just now, on the wall. Your reaction wasn't about falling thirty feet. It was about something else."

Nicholas is quiet for so long I start to think he's not going to respond. Then: "I was twelve. Climbing a tree in my backyard. I fell about fifteen feet onto our concrete steps."

"Jesus. I assume you were hurt?"

"Broken arm, concussion, couple of cracked ribs. But that wasn't the worst part."

I wait, sensing there's more to this story.

"The worst part was lying there, hurt and scared, calling for help. I was right outside the door. I could hear my babysitter inside fighting with her boyfriend on the phone. She didn't hear me."

My chest tightens. "How long were you out there?"

"Long enough to realize that the people who are supposed to keep you safe don't always come when you call."

The admission hits me like a physical blow. This isn't just about fear of heights. This is about abandonment, about trust, about what happens when the people who are supposed to look out for you, just don't.

"Nicholas—"

"I should have just told Morrison no from the beginning," he says, standing up abruptly. "This was a mistake."

"What was a mistake? The climbing, or telling me about it?"

"Both."

He starts walking back toward the lodge, and I have to hurry to catch up with him.

"Don't do this," I say.

"Do what?"

"Shut down. Build the walls back up. Pretend this conversation never happened."

"This conversation shouldn't have happened."

"Why? Because it was honest? Because it let's me know you? You know me. I'm an open book, but I feel like I barely know you."

Nicholas stops walking and turns to face me, his expression carefully controlled again. "Because it's not relevant to our professional relationship."

"This isn't about our professional relationship and you know it."

"What is it about, then?"

The question hangs between us, loaded with implications neither of us is prepared to address.

"It's about the fact that I care about you," I say finally. "As more than just a colleague or a convenient sexual arrangement."

"Sadie—"

"No, let me finish. I care about you, Nicholas. I care about what scares you and what hurts you and what makes you happy. I care about the fact that you're brilliant and successful and completely isolated. I care about the fact that you live in a hotel because you're afraid of creating anything permanent enough to lose. And I care enough to want to know why that is."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're so afraid of being abandoned again that you won't let anyone close enough to stay."

As I say it, I consider that there is no way that all of those things have anything to do with falling from a tree. There must be something else. But the words hit their target. I can see it in the way Nicholas's expression shifts, the way his hands clench at his sides.