6. Nicholas
Chapter six
Nicholas
N ew York is beautiful. Especially at night. The lights scattered across the city, the skyscrapers towering over the streets below. But as I stand by the window, staring out at the skyline, Alexander’s voice echoes in my head, drowning out everything else.
He didn’t even give me a chance to avoid him today. The second he found out I’d met with the board to discuss expansion of the hotel, my phone lit up with his name, over and over again, until I gave in.
His words linger, sharp and unyielding, carving their way into my mind. The doubt, the jealousy, they stick, like a shadow I can’t shake, no matter how hard I try.
I’ve heard it all before, but for some reason, it hit differently this time. It’s because for the first time since stepping into this job, I’m starting to think he’s right… I’m questioning if I actually have what it takes.
If this deal goes south, it’s on me. My father’s empire—his legacy—is going down with it. I wanted to prove to myself I could do this. That I could fill my father’s shoes, but with every step I take, it feels like I’m digging myself deeper into a hole I can’t get out of.
I close my eyes, drag in a shaky breath, and try to let it out slowly.
The soft knock on my door pulls me from the downward spiral of my thoughts. The creak of the door follows, and I don’t need to turn to know who it is.
Amara steps inside, heels clicking against the polished wood floor, a stack of papers balanced in her hands. Her expression is calm, professional as always, but I notice the subtle tells. How her lips press together just a fraction too tightly, how she avoids looking at me. The hesitation in her steps tells me everything. She’s still thinking about earlier.
So am I.
“I’m just… leaving the papers you asked for, sir.” She places the papers on my desk with meticulous care, her gaze fixed on them, before she turns around and walks toward the exit.
Before she reaches the door, I say her name.
“Amara.”
She freezes mid-step, her shoulders stiff, and when she finally turns, her eyes flick downward, refusing to meet mine.
“We were interrupted before,” I say, gesturing to the chair in front of my desk.
She doesn’t move right away, her hesitation hanging in the air. I can practically see her weighing her options, deciding whether to stick around or make a run for it.
I lean forward slightly, resting my forearms on the desk. “We need to finish our conversation.”
She hesitates, her gaze flicking toward the chair, then back to the floor. She lowers herself onto the chair, slowly, but I catch the tension in her face. The way her brow furrows, the slight clench of her jaw… She’s nervous. And it unsettles me more than I care to admit.
I shouldn’t care. Her nerves shouldn’t bother me. But as I watch her sit, a strange tightness coils in my chest, impossible to ignore.
I move from behind my desk and settle on the edge of it, close enough to make my presence known but leaving her the space she clearly needs. She doesn’t look at me. Her eyes flick toward the stack of papers on my desk, then down to her lap, where her hands fidget restlessly.
I study her for a long moment, remembering our conversation earlier, the hesitation in her voice.
She thinks I’m not attracted to her.
I almost laugh at the absurdity of it.
Attraction? That’s the least of the issues here.
It’s a problem, just how much I’m attracted to her. A problem I’ve tried my best to avoid. The last thing I want to do is complicate things in the workspace. Dating an assistant is a cliché, one I’ve worked hard to avoid. And yet…
I shove the thought aside. Focus. There’s too much riding on this conversation to let myself get distracted.
Her fingers twist together in her lap, and she finally breaks the silence. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” she murmurs. She shakes her head, her shoulders tight. “What am I supposed to say here?”
She’s still avoiding my eyes, but I see the way her chest rises and falls with each shallow breath, like she’s struggling to find the right words.
“You can say anything you want,” I tell her, leaning in just a little, wanting her to know she has control. Her eyes flick to mine— finally —and the uncertainty swimming in them hits me square in the chest. “You won’t lose your job for speaking your mind, Amara,” I add, holding her gaze when she tries to look away. “Say yes, say no, tell me to go fuck myself if you don’t want to do this. Whatever it is, it’s your call.”
The words linger between us, and slowly, a faint smile tugs at the corner of her lips. It’s small, cautious, but it’s there. She’s listening. She’s thinking about it. But there’s still hesitation in her eyes. I can see it, feel it.
“But if your concerns are about what we discussed earlier…” I pause. Then, before I can stop myself, I lift a hand and gently cup her chin. Her skin is warm, soft, and the contact sends a shock through me I’m not prepared for. My thumb brushes over her cheek, slow and careful. She doesn’t pull away.
“My attraction to you isn’t an issue.”
Her eyes flicker to mine, searching, hesitant. I see every question she’s too afraid to ask reflected in the green of her gaze.
“No?” she murmurs, testing, her voice as soft as the touch of her breath.
I hold her gaze, unflinching. “No.”
She exhales slowly, struggling to wrap her head around everything, and the last thing I want to do is add to it.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” I lower my hand.
“No,” she whispers, shaking her head. “You didn’t.”
“I know this is a lot. Take your time. Think about it. There’s no rush,” I lie.
We’re absolutely in a rush. The board won’t wait forever, and eventually they’ll want some proof that we are truly engaged. But I won’t push her.
I straighten my tie, more for something to do with my hands than anything else, and take a step back, giving her room. “If it’s compensation you’re worried about, don’t be. That’s not a problem.”
Her head snaps up at that, her brows furrowing slightly. “You’d pay me?”
“Of course,” I reply, without hesitation. “It’s only fair. You’re doing me a favor.”
I pull open the drawer and reach for my checkbook, scribbling a number that’s more than generous. When I slide it across the desk to her, she doesn’t reach for it. Instead, she stares at it for a beat, then back at me.
“Amara,” I say quietly, leaning just slightly toward her. “This is your call. No pressure. No expectations. If you want to walk away, I won’t stop you.”
Her eyes dart between me and the check, her brows pulling together before she finally reaches for it, her fingers brushing the edge of the paper.
When she flips it over and sees the number I’ve written, her breath catches.
“Are you—this is insane, Nic—Mr. Blackwood.” Her voice cracks, and the way she almost says my name, soft and unguarded, stirs something inside me. She’s always been the epitome of composure. I’ve never heard her voice waver like that. Never seen her so thrown off balance.
She pushes the check back toward me. “I can’t accept this,” she whispers, shaking her head.
Before she can pull away completely, I reach out, covering her hand with mine. “Don’t do anything rash, Amara. Not yet. Take the time to think it through,” I continue. “You don’t have to decide right now. When you’ve made your choice, I’ll accept it. Whatever it is.”
I mean it. Every word. I need her to know that I’m not trying to back her into a corner, not trying to force her into something she doesn’t want.
But… God, I need her.
Her gaze lingers on where our hands still meet. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves, neither of us dares to speak.
Then, without a word, she pulls her hand away, her fingers slipping from beneath mine, the check clutched tightly in her hand. She clears her throat, a small, quiet sound, and nods. “I’ll think about it.”
I don’t breathe until the door clicks shut behind her and I’m finally alone.
No matter what happens next, I’ll respect her choice.
Even if it shatters everything I’ve built.