Page 43 of Executive Privilege

"Good."

"Great."

We stand there for another moment, and I can see something like regret flicker across his expression before he controls it.

"I'll see you Monday morning," he says.

"Bright and early. Wouldn't want to compromise my professional obligations."

Nicholas flinches slightly at the sarcasm, but doesn't respond. He walks to his car without looking back, leaving me standing alone in the parking garage with the echo of everything unsaid.

I sit in my car for ten minutes after he drives away, trying to process what just happened.

The worst part is that I understand why. I saw the look on his face when he fell from that climbing wall—not fear of physical injury, but terror of being vulnerable.

Understanding doesn't make it hurt less.

My phone rings as I'm driving home. Emma's name appears on the dashboard.

"Please tell me you're calling with good news," she says instead of hello.

"Define good news."

"News that involves your mysterious boss realizing he's crazy about you and doing something romantic and dramatically inappropriate."

"Then no. Definitely not good news."

"Emergency sister dinner is officially activated. My place, seven o'clock. I'll order Thai food and provide wine."

"Emma, I don't really want to talk about—"

"Seven, Sadie. Don't make me come get you."

She hangs up before I can argue, which is probably for the best. The last thing I want to do tonight is sit alone in my apartment thinking about Nicholas Blackwood and his determination to push away anyone who might actually care about him.

***

Emma's apartment is exactly what you'd expect from someone who works in graphic design—colorful, slightly chaotic, and filled with art projects in various stages of completion. She takes one look at my face when I arrive and immediately hands me a glass of wine.

"That bad?" she asks.

"Worse."

"Okay, from the beginning. What happened in Dallas?"

So I tell her. Not everything—some details are definitely not appropriate for sister conversations—but enough to paint the picture. The retreat, the climbing wall, Nicholas's childhood story, the aftermath.

"Wait," Emma interrupts when I get to the airport conversation. "He actually said you were just an employee? After everything you described?"

"He said physical attraction doesn't change professional hierarchy."

"What an asshole."

"He's not an asshole. He's scared."

"Scared assholes are still assholes. Being damaged doesn't give you permission to hurt other people."

I take a large sip of wine and consider this. "He's not trying to hurt me. He's trying to protect himself."