Page 4 of Executive Privilege

The data confirms everything I suspected about Morrison's brand positioning problems, but it also reveals a crucial insight: their customer retention rates are actually solid. It's new customer acquisition that's killing them.

Which means my rebrand strategy needs to focus less on keeping existing customers happy and more on making Morrison relevant to people who've never heard of them.

By 2 AM, I've strengthened my entire presentation around this insight.

Around 3 AM, I'm wondering whether Nicholas sent me this data because he wanted to see if I'd catch the customer acquisition angle, or if he's just naturally helpful.

The more pressing question: why was Nicholas Blackwood sending me work emails at midnight in the first place?

***

Four hours of sleep later, I arrive at Event Horizons with that brittle energy that comes from too much caffeine and too little rest. The Morrison presentation is this afternoon, and I still need to finalize my visual designs and practice my delivery.

"You look like death," Frankie observes cheerfully as I swipe my badge at the security desk.

"Thank you. That's exactly the professional image I was going for."

"Rough night?"

"I stayed up way too late working on the Morrison strategy."

Frankie winces. "I have under-eye patches at my desk, help yourself."

"Yeah, well, at least Nicholas sent me some additional data to work with." I pause, realizing how that sounds. "Is it normal for him to send work emails at midnight?"

Frankie's expression shifts, becomes more suspicious. "Not particularly, no. Nicholas is intense about work, but he's usually good about boundaries."

I try to sound casual, but the truth is I've been thinking about that midnight email all morning. There's something almost intimate about knowing that Nicholas was working late on the same project, wherever he calls home.

"Sadie?" Frankie's voice pulls me back to the conversation. "Be careful with the midnight email thing."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean Nicholas has a reputation for being professional to the point of coldness. If he's making exceptions to his usual patterns..." She shrugs. "Just be careful. The last thing you want is office gossip about the new girl getting special treatment from the boss."

Special treatment. Is that what the Morrison project is? No. Can't be that. I earned this.

I'm still thinking about it when I reach my desk and find a coffee cup waiting for me. Not the usual office kitchen coffee—this is from The Grind, the expensive café three blocks away.

There's a note attached: "Fuel for the final push. - NB"

I look across the office toward Nicholas's corner office. He's just stepping through his door. He's changed from yesterday's charcoal suit to navy today, but the effect is the same: authority and control wrapped in perfect tailoring.

As if he can feel me watching, Nicholas glances back. Our eyes meet across the office floor, and he gives me the slightest nod—acknowledgment of the coffee, maybe, or just professional courtesy.

But there's something in his look that's disarming.

I take a sip of the coffee. It's perfect—exactly how I like it, which doesn't mean he knows my coffee preference, it means his assistant, Jennifer, does.

I think about what Frankie said about special attention from the boss, and I decide he's just supporting me because if I pull this off, it means a lot more money coming into the agency. He's betting on me. That's what this is all about.

I have his attention in a professional way. He's backing me and I appreciate it. I'm definitely not thinking about all the professional ways I could thank him for the coffee.

***

Friday afternoon arrives faster than I'm ready for.

The Morrison presentation is loaded on my laptop, backed up on a flash drive, and uploaded to the office server. Overkill, maybe, but I'm not taking any chances. I've practiced my delivery six times, memorized every transition, and prepared for every possible question.