Strictly Business

11. Nicholas

Chapter eleven

Nicholas

I thought this would be easy.

It might have been a rash decision, in a moment of panic, but I’ve done nothing but think of what this arrangement would be like for us. I managed to convince myself that this would be like any other business deal.

But it turns out, I was wrong.

So fucking wrong.

Asking Amara to be my fiancée is a problem I didn’t see coming.

I steal a glance at her as she walks beside me, her long black silk dress catching the low light, the smooth fabric clinging to every inch of her body. My jaw tightens involuntarily.

Fuck, she looks beautiful tonight.

For two years, I’ve seen Amara in sweaters and skirts that hid her figure. And although I tried not to, I always thought she was beautiful, in a quiet, understated, girl-next-door kind of way.

But this?

I’ve never seen her like this.

She looks like she’s stepped straight out of one of my wet dreams, the silk of her dress catching every movement, her soft waves cascading over one shoulder, framing her face. And that dress… God, that dress . It’s enough to drive any man to distraction.

I force my gaze forward, clamping down on the unwelcome thoughts spiraling in my mind. I have work to do tonight, people I need to impress. I can’t afford to let her distract me.

Focus.

The clinking of glasses, the low hum of polished conversations, the faint notes of a string quartet playing in the corner are all familiar. Comfortable, even.

I’ve done this before. I’ve walked into rooms like this, with a date on my arm to maintain appearances. It’s never affected me. It’s always been a necessary part of the game.

So why the hell is having Amara’s soft hand in mine muddling my head?

When her hand tightens in mine, I glance down, catching the flicker of unease in her eyes as she scans the room.

“Are you okay?”

She nods, her throat moving with a gulp as she meets my gaze. “Just feeling a little… out of place,” she admits, her eyes darting around the room again.

I stop, gently cupping her face with my hand and lifting her chin to make sure she focuses on me. “Amara, we’re here to announce our engagement. People will be asking questions, talking about the wedding, taking pictures…”

Her eyes widen, the realization settling in, and I can’t help but stroke her cheek, her lashes fluttering at the touch.

“Are you sure you can handle it?”

She’s quiet for a few seconds, my breath hitching as I wonder if she wants to back out, but she nods. “I’m sure. I can handle it.”

I glance down at her, arching a brow. “I think now’s as good a time as any to announce our engagement.”

Her eyes widen, the tension returning immediately. “Wait. You want to do that now?”

I give her a reassuring look. “We can’t avoid it forever. The sooner we do it, the sooner it’s done.”

She takes a deep breath, the uncertainty still lingering in her eyes. I can’t blame her. It’s strange for both of us, but we’re in this together.

I scan the room briefly, catching the event coordinator’s attention with a quick nod. The music dips, and the room quiets, everyone’s attention shifting toward us.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I begin. “If I could have your attention for a moment.”

The room settles, conversations fading as eyes turn in our direction. Amara shifts beside me, her hand tightening around mine. I glance down at her, offering a reassuring smile. She gives me a small, nervous one in return, her eyes flicking around the room before focusing on me.

“I’d like to take this opportunity to share something important,” I continue. “I’m proud to announce that Amara and I are engaged.”

I can hear Amara’s breath catch beside me, so I squeeze her hand gently, trying to calm her.

“We’re excited to begin this next chapter,” I add, making sure my gaze stays on her, offering her the assurance she needs. “And we wanted to share the news with all of you.”

The room goes quiet for a moment, the silence almost heavy. I can feel people waiting for more, and a hint of doubt crosses my mind, wondering if people can see through us, and know this is nothing but a ruse.

Then someone calls out from the back. “Congratulations!”

A ripple of applause follows, and the room shifts again. People start chatting, drinks are raised, and the music returns softly to the background. The tension in the air—and my shoulders—begins to lift.

The room starts to pick up again, people talking and laughing, and I lean in closer to her. “You okay?”

She looks up at me, offering a small smile. “I think so,” she replies. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

I nod, relieved. “I guess it’s official now.”

“Yeah.” Her lips twitch into a slight smile. “I’m engaged.”

“Partly,” I add with a playful grin, reminding her—and myself—that it’s all just for show.

She lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Right.”

“Blackwood.”

I look up, spotting Robert Crestwell raising his hand in greeting. He finishes his conversation and makes his way toward us with his wife.

“Robert Crestwell is on the board,” I whisper, lowering my voice as I pull my hand from her face and place it lightly at the small of her back. “You might remember him. He’s the one with the incessant pen tapping.”

Amara lets out a soft chuckle, the tension leaving her shoulders as a small smile tugs at her lips. She looks up at me, her eyes softening. “Yeah. I remember.”

I squeeze her waist lightly. “Good. He was a little skeptical when I announced the news, which means we need to convince him we’re in love and engaged. So, if he asks any questions, just let me handle it.”

She nods as we head toward him.

“Crestwell,” I greet, offering my hand. “Good to see you.”

He gives me a firm shake, his eyes drifting to Amara, and a smile spreads across his face. “I see you’ve finally brought out your fiancée tonight. Glad to see you finally announced the engagement.”

His wife, Eleanor, steps forward, her eyes flicking between us. “That was quite a show, Nicholas,” she adds, her smile widening when her eyes land on Amara. “And you, my dear, are quite a sight.”

Amara offers a polite smile and nods. “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

Robert laughs lightly. “It’s about time. Blackwood’s been keeping this one under wraps, hasn’t he?”

I lift my shoulder in a shrug. “Some things are better left private.”

Eleanor lets out a chuckle, her gaze sliding to Amara. “So, are the wedding plans already underway, or are you keeping those a secret too?”

Amara glances up at me, and I catch the flicker of panic in her eyes.

“We’re still enjoying the engagement period before we officially start wedding planning,” I reply, giving her a reassuring look, noticing her shoulders relaxing a little.

Eleanor hums thoughtfully, her gaze narrowing. “Well, don’t wait too long,” she tells us. “Venues book up quickly. You’ll want to get on that soon.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” I reply, giving her a smile.

Robert lets out a chuckle, tapping me on my back, leaning in slightly. “Between you and me… the board is fully prepared to offer you the deal.” My body relaxes at his words. “This is exactly the image we want to present to the world, Nicholas. It’s nice to see you so… in love.”

My spine tenses, my body freezing at his words as I pull back and offer him a smile, knowing this is all fake. Every bit of it. I force myself to swallow, nodding as he pats me on the back and heads toward the drink table.

This is what I wanted. The ruse is working, and the deal is as good as mine. I just need to keep this up.

Twisting my head, I turn, looking for Amara, finding her in the corner, talking to a group of women. Her smile is tense, and I reach up, tracing the amused smirk on my lips as I watch her.

How she can look like that tonight and still act like the shy girl who gets flustered talking to me, I’ll never know.

“Tell me this is a joke.” I turn around and see Ethan, nursing a glass of bourbon, his eyes wide. “ Engaged , Nicholas? What the fuck?”

Shit. I forgot about this loudmouth, curious bastard. I let out a sigh, feeling a headache already creeping in. “It’s… complicated.”

“It always is with you,” Ethan quips. “So why don’t you uncomplicate it for me? Because I’ve been standing here trying to figure out how Nicholas-fucking-Blackwood, a man who works 20-hour days, and has no interest in a relationship whatsoever, somehow managed to propose . To his assistant no less.”

Jesus, I’m never going to live this down. I let out a sigh, meeting his eyes.

“It’s fake,” I grit out.

He pauses, reeling back in shock. “What?” He shakes his head. “What do you mean it’s fake?”

“It’s not real,” I clarify, narrowing my eyes when he tilts his head, confused. “I needed her help convincing the board I was in a serious relationship. And she just so happened to walk in the door.”

His jaw drops. “You’re fucking with me. Tell me you’re fucking with me.”

I don’t reply immediately, my jaw tightening, and Ethan takes my silence as an opportunity to continue.

“Wait a second.” He pauses, leaning in. “Is this why you bailed on the club last week?

The question hits a nerve, and I stand straighter. I had every intention of attending his club, needing to relieve some stress, needing to let go of everything and just feel. But I couldn’t.

“She has nothing to do with it,” I tell him. “I just didn’t feel like going.”

He snorts. “Bullshit. You were more than willing to accept an invitation, so why didn’t you go? Couples are welcome at the club, you know. First session’s on me.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Why? Is she not into it or something?”

The image hits me before I can stop it. Amara in the club, her hand in mine, her cheeks flushed as I lead her inside. The thought sends a rush of heat through my body, and I have to clench my fists to steady myself. My assistant has no idea who I am and what I like to do when she packs her bag and leaves the office. Or liked to do, I should say.

“She doesn’t know about it,” I admit, wanting him to shut the fuck up already. Thinking about Amara that way is not fucking good. The world might think she’s my fiancée, but she’s still my assistant. My very off-limits assistant.

Ethan hums, a smirk curling on his lips. “Interesting. And what do you think she’d say if she did?”

I grind my teeth, attempting to force the image of her out of my mind. Amara isn’t the type of woman who belongs in a place like that. She’s… soft. Sweet. Innocent in a way that makes me feel like the biggest bastard on the planet for even thinking about her this way.

“Drop it, Ethan,” I warn him.

“Relax.” He nudges my shoulder. The bastard’s enjoying this way too much. “I’ve gotta admit though, it’s kind of fun seeing you like this. All wound up over a woman. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Were you not listening when I told you it’s not real?” I snap, my patience wearing thin. “Nothing’s going on between us.”

He chuckles, low and dark and fucking annoying. “So, you’re telling me you’re not interested?”

Christ, I feel a headache coming on. “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” I lie through my fucking teeth.

His eyes flick to Amara, and he whistles, a slow, cocky grin spreading across his face. “You’re out of your mind,” he mutters, eyes raking over her. “She’s cute as fuck in her usual black skirt, but tonight…” He groans, his voice deepening, making my blood boil.

“Ethan,” I warn.

“What?” His grin widens. “Nothing’s going on between you two, right?”

I don’t reply, and he takes that as a challenge.

Without missing a beat, he crosses the space toward her, and I watch, teeth clenched, as he speaks to her. She smiles up at him and he takes her hand in his, kissing her knuckles.

I clench my fists, my knuckles cracking, and my teeth grind together. Why the hell does the thought of him touching her—of him flirting with her—infuriate me so much?

He looks back at me, still grinning, and winks.

I lose it.

I storm across the room, my hand grabbing the front of his jacket and yank him away from her. Before he can even react, I land a punch right into his arm.

“What the hell man?”

“Stare at my fiancée like that again, and I’ll deck you. Friendship be damned.”

Ethan laughs, rubbing his arm. “I thought you said you weren’t interested?”

I grit my teeth, my patience snapping. “Shut the fuck up.”

Before I can stop myself, I cross the room, my gaze locked on her fiery orange hair, gleaming under the lights. My heart thuds in my chest when she turns around, her eyes meeting mine.

“Ladies,” I say, cutting through their conversation as I approach Amara and gently take her arm. “If you’ll excuse us.” I pull her away, the tension in her body easing as I lead her further from the group. “Fun conversations?” I ask with a smirk, raising an eyebrow.

She lets out a soft laugh, her shoulders relaxing. “They all had a million questions about the wedding, and I had no idea what to say,” she admits, shaking her head slightly. “Did you know flowers need to be booked twelve weeks before the wedding?” she asks, her voice incredulous. “That’s three months away.”

I chuckle, amused. “I didn’t know that, actually,” I reply. “Good thing we won’t be getting married.”

“Yeah,” she chuckles, letting out a relieved sigh. “I see why brides go crazy now. There’s so much planning.”

I don’t know squat about wedding planning. I’ve never been close to it and don’t plan on being any time soon—which is exactly why I needed her in the first place. But I nod, playing along, tugging her arm lightly to make her look up at me.

“If you want to leave, just let me know. We don’t have to stay here all night.”

She tenses, shaking her head quickly. “No, I’m fine. Besides, you need to impress the board.”

“Trust me,” I say, leaning a little closer, inhaling the warm vanilla scent that clings to her. “They’re impressed.”

Her green eyes meet mine, wide and uncertain. For a split second, I think she might say something more, but instead, her gaze flickers to my mouth. My throat tightens. Her plump pink lips part just enough to draw my attention, and in that moment, I forget how to breathe.

Christ . She looks beautiful.

The sharp clinking of champagne glasses breaks the moment, dragging my attention back to the crowd. I glance up and freeze. A group—hell, nearly everyone in the room—is staring at us, glasses raised, and grins plastered on their faces.

“To the happy couple!” Robert’s voice rings out, his glass lifted high. “C’mon, give us a kiss, Blackwood.”

The cheer rises around us, and my shoulders stiffen. I glance at Amara, who’s just as frozen as I am, the faintest crease forming between her brows.

“Kiss! Kiss!” someone calls out, and the room erupts, the chant spreading like wildfire.

I swallow a groan, jaw tightening as I look at Amara again. She glances up at me, her expression flickering with nerves, and I know there’s no way out of this.

I’ve had no issue kissing any of my previous dates in the past, and if I decline this kiss with her right now, it’ll look suspicious as hell, and every eye in here is on us.

I lean down, my hand sliding to her waist. “Relax,” I murmur against her ear, low enough that no one else can hear.

I lift her chin with my thumb and her breath hitches. Her eyes flutter as they meet mine before they close, and I take that as permission, erasing the distance between us to brush my lips against hers.

I think there’s applause and some cheering, but I couldn’t care less, because all I can focus on is the way she tastes. Sweet and warm, and faintly of champagne and despite my better judgement, I tip her head back, deepening the kiss.

She gasps into my mouth, her fingers clutching at my shirt like she’s holding on for dear life. And fuck , I don’t remember the last time a simple kiss felt like this. Like the ground beneath me was no longer solid, like the world had narrowed down to nothing but her.

My grip on her waist tightens instinctively, my fingers digging into the soft fabric of her dress. I don’t want to pull away. Hell, I don’t think I could even if I tried. All I want is to keep kissing her—forever, if she’d let me.

But just as quickly as it started, it’s over.

Amara pulls back abruptly, her chest rising and falling with a sharp inhale, her lips glistening and just slightly swollen. For a split second, her wide eyes meet mine, and something unspoken passes between us.

The cheering from the crowd finally registers in the background, loud and relentless, but she doesn’t look away. Neither do I.

I’ve kissed plenty of women before. It was always… fine. Routine. Practical. Forgettable. Clinical, even. But this? There was absolutely nothing clinical about what just happened.

My tongue darts out, grazing my lips as if to confirm it wasn’t a hallucination. Nope. Still there. They still taste like champagne and something entirely Amara. My skin burns, like her plump, swollen lips have imprinted themselves on me.

A slap on my shoulder jolts me out of my thoughts. I whip my head around to find Ethan grinning at me. “Hell of a kiss, Nic.”

I roll my eyes, shrugging him off. “Don’t you have better things to do?” I mutter.

He chuckles, and I barely register him moving away because I’m already looking back at Amara. She blinks up at me, her lips parted like she’s still catching her breath. For half a second, her walls are down, and I catch a glimpse of… something. Then she recovers, her signature professional smile snapping into place like armor.

“That was… a good call,” she says, letting out a light laugh that doesn’t quite match the way her fingers fidget at her sides. “I’m sure they bought it.”

A good call ?

They bought it ?

I force myself to nod, but my chest tightens as I watch her spin on her heel and head toward the drink table, a little too quickly, like she’s trying to outrun what just happened.

My eyes stay locked on her as she walks away, her hips swaying in a way I can’t help but notice. Her hair, loose and slightly mussed from my hand, bounces with every step. My fingers curl at my side, itching to reach for her again, even as my brain screams at me to get it under control.

She’s treating this like nothing more than business. A job. A role to play for the sake of the contract. And she’d be smart to keep it that way. We both would.

That’s what we agreed on.

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop replaying that kiss. The way she tasted. The soft gasp she let out. The way her lips molded to mine like she’d been made for this. For me.

The night isn’t over yet, but as I glance back at her, pretending to focus on the champagne flutes at the table, one thing is painfully clear.

This deal just got a whole lot messier.

The car ride back to Amara’s place is suffocatingly quiet. Amara stares out the window, her fingers fidgeting with her clutch. Since the kiss between us, she’s been trying her absolute hardest to keep her distance, mingling with the women at the gala instead of standing by my side.

Whereas I, like an idiot, spent the entire night trying—and failing—not to look at her.

I couldn’t tell you a single detail about the conversations I had tonight, but I could tell you exactly how many times her eyes found mine. Zero . I can count the times she laughed, the tilt of her head when she smiled, even the way her lips wrapped around the rim of her champagne flute. I memorized it all. God knows why.

I couldn’t keep my eyes off her, and yet, she’s doing everything possible not to glance my way.

Christ, this ride is taking forever.

I glance at my watch, each passing minute making the unease in my chest grow. My jaw tightens when I notice the streets outside the window, their dim lighting and cracked sidewalks unfamiliar and frankly, sketchy as hell.

When the car slows to a stop, Amara reaches for the door handle without a second thought.

“Amara,” I call out, halting her. I don’t know why I do. Maybe because I’m replaying that kiss in my mind, maybe because she still hasn’t looked at me, maybe because the idea of her getting out of this car in this neighborhood terrifies me… or maybe because… I just don’t want her to go yet.

She freezes, her hand hovering over the handle before she turns her head, her green eyes finally meeting mine.

“I’ll walk you up,” I offer, trying to convince myself this is purely a practical decision.

She blinks, clearly startled, before shaking her head. “That’s really not necessary. I’m fine.”

Fine .

Sure.

Except every bone in my body is screaming that she’s not. Not here, not in this neighborhood, and not after that kiss that we still need to talk about.

“That wasn’t a question.” I open my door, stepping out into the cool night air. By the time I round the car and open hers, she’s staring up at me like I’ve lost my damn mind.

“Nicholas—”

“I’m walking you up,” I interrupt, extending a hand to her.

Her lips press into a thin line, but she takes it anyway, her soft palm fitting into mine as she steps onto the sidewalk.

The walk to the building is quiet, the only sounds coming from the clinking of her keys and the occasional hum of a passing car. When we reach the cracked blue door, she pulls it open with a creak that echoes down the dimly lit hallway.

“This is where you live?” The words slip out before I can stop them, my eyes scanning the peeling paint, the flickering overhead light, and the unmistakable smell of damp.

Her shoulders straighten as she presses the elevator button. “It’s a little old, but it’s fine,” she mutters.

Fine . There’s that word again.

The elevator arrives with a groan, the doors jerking open. Inside, it’s as dingy as the rest of the building, but Amara steps in without hesitation. I follow, the doors closing us into a silence so thick and heavy, it’s unbearable.

“We can talk about it,” I say, cutting through the silence. “About what happened back at the gala.”

I understand why she’d be so worked up about it. She’s my assistant. A great one. A professional one who never once stepped out of line. And yet—

“That wasn’t in the contract,” she says suddenly, making me glance down at her.

“No, it wasn’t,” I admit, rubbing my chin, the short hairs rubbing against my fingers. “But you’re supposed to be my fiancée, Amara. There’s no world where I wouldn’t kiss you looking like that ,” I tell her, my eyes scanning her from head to toe, drinking her in, memorizing her before she steps foot in her apartment, and I have to close my eyes to picture her again.

Her eyes snap to mine, wide and unblinking, her chest rising and falling with each heavy breath she takes.

“It would’ve been suspicious not to,” I add.

“Suspicious,” she echoes, her brows knitting together.

I nod. “Of course. I’ve kissed plenty of dates before. This is just another part of the act.”

A muscle in my jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think I’ve pushed too far. “Do you… want to amend the contract?” I ask her, my mind and body and every other part of me rebels at the idea of never being able to kiss her. But the last thing I want to do is make her uncomfortable in any kind of way. “To add a no-kissing rule?”

Amara stares at me, her lips parting slightly as if she’s about to say something, but then she stops, pressing them into a thin line.

The elevator hums quietly around us as the dull light glows over her. Her cheeks are still flushed from earlier—whether from the gala or the kiss, I don’t know—but it’s a sight I can’t seem to look away from.

Finally, she exhales and shakes her head. “No.”

Her answer sends a jolt of relief racing through me. My lips twitch into a small, involuntary smile, but I quickly disguise it by rubbing a hand over my mouth.

Get it together, Nicholas .

But all I can think about right now is when the next time I’ll be able to kiss her will be.

The elevator dings, its doors sliding open to reveal another dimly lit hallway. I follow her as she walks to her door, her keys jingling as she unlocks it and nudges it open with her hip.

Her fingers clutch her purse, her knuckles whitening as she avoids my gaze. “I made it home safe. Thank you for walking me up, but you can go now.”

My eyes narrow, my gaze flickering to the peeling paint on the hallway walls, the flickering light overhead, the faint sound of someone shouting in the distance.

“Mind if I come in?”

She stiffens, her gaze darting behind her to the door. “Um… my space is pretty small, so…”

I shrug. “I don’t mind.”

Her lips part like she’s about to protest, but instead, she lets out a soft sigh, turning to push open the door, stepping inside, and I follow, my stomach tightening the moment I see where she’s been coming home to at night.

My jaw clenches as my gaze sweeps over the space. The walls are a dingy off-white, the wallpaper peeling in more places than not. The furniture is mismatched and worn, looking as if she found it in the trash.

Amara drops her purse onto the arm of a sagging couch, moving toward a kitchenette that’s nothing more than a counter and a mini fridge. She keeps her back to me, her shoulders stiff.

“Do you want anything to drink?” she asks, her voice clipped, as though she’s trying to rush me out.

I don’t answer. My eyes are still taking in the space, the cracked tiles in the kitchen, the water stain on the ceiling, the faint sound of someone’s television bleeding through the walls.

How the hell can one of my employees—my assistant, whom I pay a pretty healthy wage to—live somewhere like this?

The fridge door squeaks as she opens it, and the sound yanks me out of my thoughts. “Nicholas?” She glances over her shoulder, her voice cutting through my thoughts.

The thought of her coming home to this every night makes something twist in my gut. Because this isn’t just small—it’s suffocating. Because she deserves better.

I should say none of that. I should walk out, get in the car, and let her go. But I can’t.

Before I can stop myself, the words tumble out of my mouth. “Move in with me.”