Chapter 14
Nolan
She opens the door wearing dark jeans and a cream sweater that slips off one shoulder, her hair is down in a way that tells me she took my instruction to dress casually seriously.
I’m dressed casually, too—dark jeans, white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, no tie, no jacket. Both of us look like people who don’t spend sixty hours a week in suits, which is exactly what tonight needs to be.
“You actually meant casual,” she says.
“I did.” I step back so she can lock her door. “You look beautiful.”
“It’s weird seeing you without a suit.” She pulls the door shut. “I was starting to think it was permanent.”
“It feels permanent sometimes.” I gesture toward the elevator. “But tonight isn’t about work.”
She follows me down, and when we step outside, my driver is already waiting with the door open.
The drive takes twenty minutes. We pull up to a building I own, which means I don’t need to explain to anyone why I want the rooftop cleared for a private dinner.
The elevator opens directly onto the terrace, and she stops when she sees what I’ve set up.
String lights are strung overhead, casting warm light across a single table set for two. Beyond that, the city spreads out in every direction, lights scattered across the skyline.
“Nolan.” She turns to me. “This is amazing.”
“And private.” I pull out her chair. “Just us.”
She sits, and I take the seat across from her rather than beside her.
Sitting too close would make this feel like an interrogation when what I want is a conversation without an agenda.
The server appears long enough to pour wine and set down our first course before disappearing back into the elevator.
“You did all this,” she says, looking around.
“I wanted somewhere we could actually talk.” I watch her fingers trace the rim of her wine glass. “No interruptions. No work. Just us getting to know each other.”
She takes a sip. “So what do you want to talk about?”
“You. How you ended up running a media company in your twenties.”
“You read my file.”
I raise a brow. “I want the parts that aren’t in the file.”
She smiles slightly. “That’s a short list.”
“Try me.”
She cuts into her appetizer. “What do you want to know?”
“Why journalism? You could’ve stayed at Apex. Made more money. Had an easier life.”
“Easier isn’t always better.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She sets down her fork. “I got tired of cleaning up other people’s messes. Tired of making bad people look good.” She pauses. “I wanted to do something that actually mattered.”
“And does it? Matter?”
“Sometimes.” She picks up her wine. “When it works.”
I lean back in my chair. “What’s your biggest win? Before Harrison.”
Her posture changes when she talks about work she’s proud of. “There was this company selling ‘educational software’ to school districts. Marketed as adaptive learning.”
“And it wasn’t?”
“It was data harvesting. Collecting behavioral data on kids as young as five and selling it to advertisers without parental consent.”
“How’d you find it?”
“A teacher reached out. Said something felt wrong about the way the software asked questions that had nothing to do with actual learning.” She takes a sip of wine.
“Took me four months to build the case, but when it was published, twenty-three school districts dropped their contracts within a week.”
“That must’ve felt good.”
“It felt necessary.” She corrects me. “Which is better than good.”
I watch her for a moment. “What else?”
“You want the whole highlight reel?”
“I want to understand what you’re actually proud of.”
She tells me about a few more—a corrupt city council member funneling public funds, a wellness company selling dangerous supplements, and a landlord exploiting tenants with code violations.
Each story comes with that same sharp edge in her voice—the one she gets when she talks about things that matter.
“You like making powerful people uncomfortable,” I say.
She shakes her head. “Not necessarily. I like making corrupt people accountable.”
“And then we bought Archer Media, and put you right back where you started.”
“Yeah.” She meets my gaze. “Proving my worth to powerful men again. At least this time I got the terms in writing.”
I set down my fork. “You’re not wrong. We did back you into a corner.”
“Finally. Honesty.” But there’s no real edge to it.
The server clears our plates, and when she leaves, Addison leans back in her chair.
“Okay, I’ve been talking for twenty minutes. Your turn.”
“What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know. Something real.” She tilts her head. “You’ve been asking me questions all night. What about you?”
The directness catches me off guard, which I suspect is exactly what she intended.
“Where do I start?”
“Wherever you want.”
I consider this. She gave me honesty. She deserves the same.
“My mother died giving birth to us,” I say.
“My father checked out emotionally after that. Liam handled the logistics—homework, schedules, and making sure we ate. But someone had to notice when Axel was angry about something he wouldn’t say, or when Liam was carrying too much and wouldn’t admit it. ”
“That was you.”
“Yeah. Even as a kid, I was managing everyone’s feelings. And somewhere in there, I decided my needs didn’t matter as much as keeping everyone else stable.”
“You were a child.” She sets down her wine. “That shouldn’t have been your job.”
“I was the one who could handle it.”
“Or the one who convinced himself he had to.” She pauses. “Do your brothers even know you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Put everyone else first. Always.”
I don’t answer right away. The truth is complicated, and I’m not entirely sure they do know.
“They know I keep the peace.”
“That’s not the same thing as knowing you sacrifice what you want to take care of them.” Her voice softens. “What do you actually want, Nolan? Not for Palmer Capital. Not for your brothers. Just you.”
The question sits between us, heavier than I expected.
“I want someone to choose me,” I say finally. “Not because I’m useful or responsible or the one who fixes things. Just because they want me there.”
Something shifts in her expression, and I see the recognition in her eyes.
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “I know that feeling.”
The server brings dessert, and we eat in silence for a moment, both of us sitting with truths we don’t usually say out loud.
When we finish, I stand and offer her my hand. “Ready?”
“For what?”
“For me to take you home.”
Her eyebrow raises. “That’s it? Dinner and done?”
“Unless you want something else.”
And I really hope she wants something else.
She understands my underlying question, what I don’t say out loud. “I’ll let you know when we get to my apartment.”
The car pulls up to her building, and just as I am about to offer to walk her to the door, she says, “Come inside.”
“Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t sure,” she clarifies.
I follow her into an apartment that’s smaller than I expected. The space is warm and lived-in. Books stacked on shelves and tables, a soft blanket on the couch, and her laptop still open like she was working before she left. It feels like her.
“You said you wanted someone who chooses you.” She drops her bag and turns to face me. “This is me choosing you. Because right now, I want you.”
Straight to it, then.
I have no response, so I close the distance and cup her face in my hands before kissing her.
Her hands slide up my chest and push at my shirt until I pull it over my head and let it fall.
She tugs her sweater off, and there’s nothing underneath.
I take a moment to just look at her because she deserves to be seen instead of rushed past like she’s just another item on a checklist.
I walk her backward until her legs hit the couch, and she sits while I kneel between her thighs.
My hands find the button of her jeans, and she lifts her hips so I can pull them down along with her underwear.
“Nolan—”
“Let me take care of you,” I say before pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. “You’ve been taking care of everyone else for weeks. Let me return the favor.”
“No.”
The word stops me completely.
She sits up and reaches for my belt. “Your needs matter too.”
Her statement hits harder than it should. Because she’s right. I’ve spent my entire life making sure everyone else comes first.
“Addison, I want to make you feel good.”
“Your needs matter, Nolan.” Her hands work my belt open and get my pants undone with the same determination she applies to everything. “Let me show you that I actually see that.”
She pulls my cock free and wraps her hand around me.
The heat of her palm against my skin makes my breath catch, and I make a sound that lets her know I’m enjoying her attention.
She strokes once, then twice, learning the weight and feel of me in her hand. Her thumb brushes over the head, and my hips jerk forward involuntarily.
She smirks, seeing the effect she has on me. “Stand up.”
I do as she says. She remains sitting on the couch, while I stand in front of her.
The first touch of her tongue makes everything else disappear—the apartment, the conversation we just had, and every reason I should slow this down and think it through. There’s only the wet heat of her mouth and the deliberate way she works me.
She takes me deeper, and I watch her lips stretch around me. The visual alone nearly undoes me.
She works me slowly, and my grip tightens in her hair—not pushing her down, just holding on.
Her tongue traces the underside of my dick, and the sensation shoots straight up my spine.
“Fuck, Addison. You feel amazing.”
She hums around me, and the vibration makes my thighs tense.
I won’t last much longer like this.
“Stop.” The word comes out harsher than I intended. “I need to be inside you.”
She pulls back, and her lips are dark and swollen from what she’s been doing.
I pull her up and kiss her hard enough that she gasps, tasting myself on her tongue.
“Bedroom?”
She points down the short hallway.
I kick my pants all the way off, and I lift her up. She wraps her legs around me, so I can carry her to the bed.
“Are you on birth control?” I ask.
“Yes.”
When I settle between her thighs, she’s already wet and ready for me.
But I don’t push inside yet.
Instead, I grip myself and drag the head of my cock through her folds, coating myself in her wetness while the friction catches her clit.
She gasps, and her hips tilt up seeking more.
I do it again, slower this time, watching her face as I circle her clit with deliberate pressure before sliding back down through her heat.
“Nolan, fuck me.”
“I want you ready for me.” I repeat the motion, dragging myself through her wetness again and again until her breathing turns ragged and her fingers grip the sheets. “I want you so worked up that when I finally push inside, you feel every single inch.”
One more pass, and she’s practically shaking beneath me.
Only then do I line myself up and push inside slowly, giving her time to adjust because this isn’t about proving how fast or hard I can go; it’s about making sure she feels every moment, every sensation.
She gasps, and her fingers dig into my shoulders.
I move, each thrust is measured and deep. I watch her expression change when I adjust the angle of my hips, and the way her mouth opens when I go slow instead of rushing toward the finish.
She tightens around me, small pulses that tell me she’s close. Instead of thrusting, I grind against her, staying deep while my pelvis presses against her clit. The pressure makes her gasp, and her body shakes against my hips.
She comes undone with a whimper, her thighs shaking and her fingers clutching at my shoulders while she tightens around me.
That small, vulnerable sound pulls my orgasm from somewhere deep.
Pleasure rolls up my spine and breaks over me, and all I can do is thrust deeper, chasing every last second of it.
I collapse beside her because staying on top felt too heavy, and she’s already moving closer to fit herself against my side.
Her arm drapes across my chest, and a few minutes later, her breathing evens out as she falls asleep. I’m not going anywhere.
We lie there in the dark while her apartment settles into quiet, except for the distant sound of traffic filtering up from the street below.
I stay awake, thinking about the fact that I just crossed the same line my brothers already crossed, and none of us are backing away from this, even though we probably should because it’s only going to get more complicated from here.