2. Nicholas
Chapter two
Nicholas
R ed eyes.
Red fucking eyes.
The door clicks closed behind Amara as she leaves, but the image of her face lingers.
I’m used to seeing Amara’s warm, green gaze, flecked with gold that catches the light. Used to looking away from those eyes before they make me think too much. But today, they’re dull, rimmed with red. Her lips look swollen, her whole expression shadowed by sadness.
She’s been crying.
I don’t make a habit of involving myself in my assistant’s life. Or anyone else’s here, for that matter. But the thought lingers, an unwelcome itch at the back of my mind. What happened to make her look like that?
My mind drifts to her boyfriend. Or maybe ex-boyfriend. The memory of him showing up at the office Christmas party two years ago comes into mind. He’d turned what should have been a good time into a public embarrassment for her. She’d been mortified, her face bright red as she apologized to everyone in sight, practically dragging him out of the building. I don’t even know if they’re still together.
A throat clears, and I’m startled to remember I’m not alone. Ethan’s still sprawled in the chair across from my desk, one leg crossed casually over the other, his smirk firmly in place.
“Forgot I was here, didn’t you?” he asks, the amusement in his voice grating.
“No,” I lie, dragging my gaze back to the papers on my desk.
“Sure you didn’t.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and grins. “What’s got you so distracted, Nicholas? Don’t tell me it’s work. You’re not that boring.”
“What do you want? I’m busy.”
“It shows,” he replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he leans back and laces his fingers behind his head. “I heard you got a date tonight?”
I finally glance up, pinning him with a look. “Apparently. I forgot about that.”
“Forgot?” He chuckles. “Who forgets about a date? She must be real special.”
“You’re one to talk,” I retort, raising my brow. “When’s the last time you went on an actual date?”
“Touché.” He chuckles. “So, you bringing her to the club?”
I shake my head, letting out a scoff. “Not going to happen.”
“Why not? You’ve been MIA lately. Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft.”
“None of your concern,” I reply dryly. “Just know I won’t be back.”
“Are you sure about that?” he asks, arching a brow. “There’s a new room and—”
“Not going to happen,” I interrupt. “Just drop it.”
He leans back again, crossing his arms this time, but the smirk doesn’t budge. “You’re really going to deprive me of the joy of seeing your broody face in my club? It’s tragic, honestly.”
“You’ll live,” I deadpan.
“ Fine ,” he sighs with exaggerated defeat, dragging the word out. “But when you’re bored out of your mind tonight, just remember my offer still stands. New room, Nicholas. You’ll love it.”
I give him a pointed look. “Don’t hold your breath.”
The intercom dings, and Amara’s name flashes on the screen. I press the button, clearing my throat. “Everything alright?”
Maybe she wants to leave early, though in the two years she’s been my assistant, she hasn’t taken a single unscheduled day off. It’s one of the things I respect about her. She’s dependable, punctual, and professional. I can’t stand tardiness or flakiness, and Amara has never once let me down.
“Mr. Blackwood, Alexander is on the phone. He wants to speak with you, sir.”
My jaw tightens at the mention of my brother’s name. Across from me, Ethan groans, tipping his head back dramatically.
“Put him through,” I reply.
“Seriously?” Ethan asks, his face twisting. “You’re actually answering his calls? If it were me, I’d tell your cute little assistant to block him.”
My pulse ticks at the cute assistant remark, but I push it down. “That’s different. You’re not his brother.”
“Thank fuck for that,” Ethan mutters with a low whistle.
A second later, my phone rings. I answer, barely opening my mouth before Alexander’s voice cuts through.
“Forwarding my calls to your assistant, Nicholas? Do you even realize how that looks? Delegating me to—”
“To my very competent assistant?” I cut him off, letting a trace of boredom seep into my tone. “If you’d prefer to wait on hold, or better yet, schedule an appointment, I’m sure Amara would be happy to add you to the list.”
Ethan leans back in his chair with a smirk as I juggle Alexander’s rant on the phone. He crosses his arms, clearly enjoying the show. “This is better than Netflix,” he mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.
I ignore him, my focus on Alexander’s grating tone.
“Don’t play games with me, Nicholas,” Alexander snaps, his irritation crackling through the line. “We both know why I’m calling.”
Of course we do. This isn’t a brotherly check-in; this is about the CEO position. The position he’s been gunning for since our father passed. The position I now hold, much to his never-ending frustration.
“Dad wanted a leader to take over the company, not some… figurehead,” Alexander continues, his voice dripping with disdain. “He needs someone with experience. And I have that.”
“Experience throwing tantrums? Absolutely,” I reply, my tone as cold as the glass of scotch I’m already considering for later. My fingers tap against the desk, wanting this conversation to be over.
Alexander’s voice pitches higher, his frustration boiling over. “You’ve never even wanted this role. You know this was meant for me.”
“Yet, here I am,” I say, my voice clipped. “And here you are, calling to whine about it. If Dad thought it fit to put me in charge, perhaps it’s because he recognized something you still can’t grasp. Leadership isn’t about clocking hours or racking up years. It’s about vision, restraint, maturity—”
“Don’t lecture me,” Alexander snarls, cutting me off. “I’ve earned this.”
“Then act like it.” Silence stretches between us. “Do your job, Alexander, and leave me to do mine.”
I can almost hear him grinding his teeth through the phone. He hates being called out, hates it even more when he knows I’m right.
“Fine,” he bites out, his words like venom. “Enjoy your petty victory while it lasts.”
The line goes dead, and I set the phone down with more force than necessary, the sharp click echoing in the room, his words clinging to me.
You’ve never wanted this .
The irony is, I didn’t. Alexander was the one who obsessed over it since we were kids, groomed by my father to take over, which only made sense, seeing as he’s the oldest. But as the years went on, and Alexander became interested in… other endeavors, dad turned to me. Our father made his choice, and I’m determined to honor it, no matter how little support I get from Alexander.
“Wow,” Ethan scoffs from across the room, with a slow clap. “That was… heated. You two always this friendly, or is this a special occasion?”
I glare at him, but it only makes his grin widen. Ethan thrives on chaos, especially if he’s not the one in the middle of it.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I grit out, my focus locked on the screen in front of me. The endless to-do list stares back, a reminder that I don’t have time for Ethan’s nonsense today.
“Not really,” he replies, casually crossing his arms and sinking further into the chair. “But I’m happy to stick around for whatever you need. Moral support, commentary… think of it as a favor.”
“How generous of you,” I say dryly, swiveling my chair away from him toward the window and lift onto my feet.
“Kinda jealous of your office,” Ethan murmurs. “Ever have kinky sex in front of the windows?”
I glance at him over my shoulder, one brow arched. “Do you ever think of anything else?”
He shrugs, his lips quirking into a grin. “Not really. My mind’s a fun place.”
“I’ll bet,” I mutter, turning back to the view. The city stretches out before me, the Blackwood Hotel prominently visible in the skyline—a towering reminder of my father’s legacy. It’s my responsibility now, my name on the line. I should be focused on proving I deserve this.
But instead, my thoughts drift to her red-rimmed eyes.
Goddamnit . What the hell is wrong with me?
I run a hand through my hair, the tension knotting in my shoulders as I move to the bar. Grabbing a glass, I drop in two ice cubes and pour a finger of scotch.
“Jesus.” Ethan scoffs from behind me, his tone dripping with amusement. “Your brother must’ve really screwed you up if you’re day drinking.”
Brother . Right.
“You know what would help you blow off some steam?” he continues, his grin audible even before I turn around. I don’t need to hear the rest. I already know where this is going.
My jaw tightens as I face him. “Get me a fucking invite.”
Ethan’s grin spreads wider. He stands, pulling a keycard from his jacket pocket and holding it out to me. “Already got one right here.”