Page 8 of Executive Privilege

There's weight in his voice that suggests he's not just talking about vendor contracts, but I can't quite figure out what he means.

"It's just pattern recognition. Once you know what to look for, most business negotiations follow predictable scripts."

"And you've always been good at pattern recognition?"

"I've always been good at seeing when people aren't telling me the whole truth."

The words hang in the air between us, loaded with implications I didn't intend. Nicholas is looking at me with an expression I can't read—professional interest mixed with personal curiosity, maybe? Hopefully.

"Morrison Industries just became our largest account. If we can successfully manage this expanded scope, it positions Event Horizons as a full-service agency."

Nicholas studies my project schedule, scrolling through the various dependencies and deadlines. "What if we brought in additional resources?"

"You mean hire freelancers?"

"Yes, and reallocate internal resources. Pull people from other projects, restructure team assignments, treat Morrison like the priority account it's becoming."

I stare at him. "You'd do that? Reorganize other projects just to accommodate Morrison's timeline?"

"You've started something here. I'm going to help you finish it. You coming in here and pointing out our mistakes with the Morrison account is resulting in big things for my agency. I don't think you'll be making medium bucks for very long here, Sadie."

The compliment is enough to swell my ego into next week, but hearing him call me by my first name, the way he said it, more softly than everything else, that's what has my heart stuttering in my chest.

I have to look away to collect myself. "Okay." I pull up the resource allocation spreadsheet. "Let's get Marcus from creative to give us one of his best team members to join the project full-time, and Sangeeta from digital marketing to do the same, and we can get the interns focused on influencer outreach."

By midnight, we have an implementation plan that's bulletproof.

"This will work," I say, leaning back in my chair and stretching muscles that are stiff from hours of hunching over my laptop.

"This will work," Nicholas agrees. "The question is whether the timeline is realistic from a quality perspective."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we can handle this expansion, but taking on this much new work requires careful planning. And this rebrand is too important to Morrison's future to risk on an arbitrary deadline."

I look at the timeline we've just created—aggressive but achievable.

"So what's the approach?"

"I'm suggesting we present Morrison with a phased approach—prioritize the core rebrand elements first, then layer in the digital and social components."

It's a smart approach, and probably the right thing to do from a client service perspective. But there's something about the way Nicholas is handling this—the way he's protecting the integrity of the work while still trying to meet Morrison's needs—that makes me think his reputation for being coldly professional might not tell the whole story.

"That's good advice."

"It's also self-serving advice. Event Horizons' reputation depends on delivering excellent work, not just fast work."

"Right. Of course." I feel suddenly foolish for reading anything personal into his professional judgment.

But then Nicholas looks at me.

"Also," he says quietly, "I'd rather not see you burn out in your first few months because we took on too much too fast."

The comment is careful, professional, but there's an undertone that might be concern. Personal concern.

"I can handle the workload."

"I'm sure you can. That doesn't mean you should have to."