Page 48 of Executive Privilege

"I know enough. I know someone hurt you badly enough that you think caring about someone is the same as giving them weapons to destroy you."

"Maybe because that's realistic."

"Or maybe because it's easier than doing the work to heal from whatever she did to you."

Nicholas flinches, barely.

"You need to leave," he says quietly.

"Nicholas—"

"You need to leave my office, and you need to stay away from anything related to the Hartwell investigation. I can't afford to have this complicated by personal feelings."

"So you're going to handle a major client crisis while sleep-deprived and emotionally compromised, and you're going todo it alone because you've convinced yourself that's safer than accepting help from someone who cares about you."

"Yes."

The simple admission breaks something in my chest. "That's the most self-destructive thing I've ever heard."

"It's the most practical thing. Personal feelings compromise professional judgment."

"Do they? Because my personal feelings are telling me to help you figure out who actually leaked Hartwell's information so you don't lose a major client due to paranoia and trust issues."

"And my personal feelings are telling me that the last time I trusted someone with confidential information, it almost cost me everything I'd built."

There it is. The truth underneath all his careful control and professional distance. Someone did betray him. Someone he trusted, someone he cared about, someone who used his feelings to almost destroy his business.

"I'm not going to betray you," I say quietly.

"You can't promise that."

"Yes, I can. Because I'm not her, Nicholas. I'm someone who genuinely cares about your success and your happiness and your ability to trust people again."

Nicholas stares at me for a long moment, and I can see the war playing out in his expression. Want versus fear. Trust versus self-protection. The possibility of letting someone in versus the certainty of staying safe behind walls.

Fear wins.

"I need you to leave," he says again. "Now."

"If I leave now, if you handle this crisis alone and refuse help from people who care about you, what happens to us?"

"There is no us. There never was."

I can see in his expression that he's made his choice. Whatever we had, whatever we could have had, he's willing to sacrifice it to maintain the illusion of safety.

"Fine," I say, standing up. "Handle the Hartwell crisis alone. Destroy your business rather than risk trusting someone. Live in your hotel suite and convince yourself that isolation is the same as strength."

"Sadie—"

"But when you figure out that I had nothing to do with this crisis, when you realize you've thrown away something real, don't expect me to be waiting."

I head toward the door, then pause with my hand on the handle.

"For what it's worth, I think you're worth fighting for. But I can't be the only one who thinks so. You have to want to fight for it too."

I leave his office without looking back, walking past Frankie's concerned expression and Angie's curious glances. In the elevator, my hands shake as I press the button for the parking garage.

That really didn't go as planned. Nicholas Blackwood just accused me of industrial espionage rather than face the possibility that he might actually care about someone enough to be vulnerable.