Page 7 of Executive Privilege

He sets the takeout bag on my desk. "Pad thai with chicken, medium spice. Jennifer told me it's your usual order."

I stare at the bag, then at Nicholas. "You brought me dinner."

"I bought us both dinner. I'm going to be here as long as you are, and I don't function well on an empty stomach. Did you eat already?"

"No. Nope. I went home, took a shower, stress ate a muffin, and headed back here. If I can't wind down and enjoy 90 Day Fiancé, I might as well be at work."

Nicholas just gives me a small smile. Not a smile, but his lip definitely twitched on the side. So I'll mark that down as a point for me.

There's a surreal quality to Nicholas Blackwood bringing me pad thai and offering to work late on my project. Three weeks ago, he was the intimidating CEO I glimpsed through glass meeting room walls. Now he's sitting at the desk next to mine, opening his laptop like this is completely normal.

He is too big for the basic office chairs out here, almost comically so. His knees are jutting up and knocking into the underside of the desk. Finally, he gets frustrated and turns sideways, facing me and placing his laptop on the corner of the desk, giving me a rueful smirk.

"Tall man problems," I say.

I open the takeout container, and the smell of basil and lime makes me realize I'm starving. "Thank you. But you don't need to stay. I can handle the vendor coordination."

"I'm sure you can. But Morrison's media budget is significant enough that it needs executive approval, and some of these vendors will need contract modifications that require C-level sign-off." He glances at me. "Unless you'd prefer to handle those conversations tomorrow morning - but since we're here, we can get ahead of schedule. We'll be at an advantage if anything comes up later this way."

Point taken. And it's a good one. Having Nicholas here will cut my timeline by hours, maybe days.

We work in surprisingly comfortable silence for the first hour. He handles vendor contracts while I focus on project scheduling and resource allocation. Occasionally, he'll ask me a question about timeline dependencies, or I'll need his approval for a budget item, but mostly we just... work.

It should be awkward. Nicholas Blackwood has a reputation for being intense and demanding, and I'm still new enough that I should probably be nervous about screwing up in front of him.

Instead, I find myself stealing glances at him while he reviews contracts. There's something appealing about watching him work—the way he focuses completely on whatever document is in front of him, the efficiency of his decision-making, the occasional furrow between his eyebrows when he encounters a detail that requires more consideration.

"Problem with the Phillips Media contract?" I ask when I notice he's been staring at the same page for several minutes.

"They're requesting a clause that gives them exclusive rights to Morrison's media strategy for eighteen months. That's... aggressive."

I lean over to look at his screen, which means I'm suddenly close enough to smell his cologne—expensive and subtle. It's fresh-smelling and reminds me of ...lemongrass. It's making me want to lean in even closer.

Focus, Sadie.

"Phillips always tries that clause. But look at section twelve. We added a standing performance benchmark requirement that basically voids the exclusivity if they don't meet specific metrics."

Nicholas reads through section twelve, then looks at me with what I'll label as impressed approval. "How did you know that?"

"I spent my first week here reviewing all our preferred vendors. Phillips has used this same contract template for years, and they've never once met the performance benchmarks required to enforce exclusivity."

"So it doesn't have teeth."

"Exactly. They get to look aggressive and protective of their client relationships, but in practice, the clause is meaningless."

Nicholas signs the contract with a decisive stroke. "Useful information to have."

"That's why you pay me the medium-sized bucks."

The corner of his mouth definitely quirked upward that time.

I'm sitting closer than necessary to review the contract; it's like he has a gravitational pull I'm caught in. I'm close enough that I can see the faint lines around his eyes. His hair is slightly mussed from running his hands through it. When he turns to look at me, something in his gaze makes my breath catch, and I wonder if I've overstepped his boundaries.

"You're very good at this."

"At what?"

"Seeing through the bullshit. Finding the real story in the details."