Chapter 24 Nick
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Nick
The second I step into the office, I know something’s wrong.
It’s in the air, heavy, charged with the tension right before a storm breaks. Conversations cut off too quickly when I walk into earshot. A junior associate I barely know won’t look me in the eye when we pass in the hall.
It’s not paranoia.
It’s instinct.
And right now, it’s loud.
I adjust the cuffs of my shirt and head for my office, jaw clenched, trying to shake it off. Maybe it’s just the lingering tension from yesterday. The look on Sara’s face when I walked out. The way her voice cracked when she whispered my name and I didn’t turn back.
But this? This is different.
This is work. And this is as bad as a fuse burning somewhere under the floorboards.
Emily’s sitting at her desk when I round the corner, poised, professional, as calm and composed as always. But even she won’t meet my eyes the way she usually does.
“Morning,” I say, stopping at her desk.
She looks up, offering a smile that’s just a little too tight. “Good morning, Mr. Ashford.”
“Everything all right?”
Her fingers twitch over the keyboard. “Yes, of course. Just a reminder, you’ve got a check-in with legal at nine-thirty.”
I narrow my eyes. “Anything else I should know?”
A beat. A slight hesitation, almost imperceptible. But it’s there.
“No, sir,” she says, too fast.
Bullshit.
My gut twists, a knot tightening in my stomach.
I glance at Sara’s desk. Empty.
Her screen is dark. Her coffee mug, the one with the “Let’s Circle Back Never” quote, hasn’t made its usual place on her desk.
I check the time.
It’s 8:04.
Sara’s never late.
I keep my tone casual. “Has Sara been in yet?”
Emily hesitates, the silence stretching between us.
“I’m not sure,” she answers, a little too deliberately. “She may be working remotely today.”
May be. No confirmation. No details.
Just more half-answers and an undertone I can’t ignore.
Something’s definitely off.
I take a final scan of the floor as I head to my office, and everything is different. The air’s thick, the weight of eyes on me. The buzz of whispers has a taste of smoke.
They’re talking about me.
I slam the door behind me harder than I mean to and drag a hand down my face. The pounding in my temples is brutal, and my thoughts are a jumbled mess.
The only thing louder than the blood rushing in my ears is the echo of Sara’s voice from yesterday.
“I thought if I told you, you’d run.”
I did run.
I left her there, wrapped in that blanket of heartbreak, and I didn’t look back.
Not because I don’t care.
Because I care too goddamn much, and I couldn’t breathe.
And now? Now she’s not here. The walls are closing in, the air thick with something I can’t name but I can definitely feel. It’s crawling under my skin, a quiet pressure building.
I’m halfway to sitting when…
“Shit!” I bark, whipping around.
Jonah’s standing in the doorway, his face unreadable. One hand holds a thick folder, the other gripping something that makes my blood freeze.
“Don’t you knock?” I snap, heart still pounding. “You scared the hell out of me.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just steps in, shuts the door behind him, and drops the folder on my desk with the kind of precision that tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You’re going to want to see this.”
I hesitate for a second before flipping it open.
And everything stops.
Screenshots. Full color. Blown up. From some glossy gossip site I’ve never even heard of but clearly has reach. The headline screams at me, the letters too bold for comfort:
BILLIONAIRE BAD BOY GETS HANDSY WITH HIS EMPLOYEE—GALA NIGHT LIAISON RAISES ETHICAL QUESTIONS
Underneath it? The photo.
The photo.
Sara. In the lobby. My hands on her waist. Her laughing, cheeks flushed. Me leaning in, lips just a breath away from hers. That stolen moment. The one I locked away in my desk. The one that should never have left the fucking drawer.
I bite back a curse as my eyes dart over the caption beneath.
Speculation. “Sources” claiming the woman works for my company. A statement that we were “spotted sneaking off together.” Then, a goddamn throwback to some shit I can’t escape:
This isn’t Nick Ashford’s first scandal. Fans will remember the infamous injury during his final season, when he hospitalized an opposing player with a hit many called “deliberate.”
My jaw tightens. My grip on the folder tightens. My knuckles go white.
It’s all here. Laid out as an exposé. Painting me as some reckless, power-hungry bastard who’s racking up PR disaster trophies.
I look up at Jonah.
He doesn’t even flinch. Just meets my gaze, grim as ever. “It hit the site this morning. It’s spreading fast.”
I stare at the photo again. My arm around her. The warmth of the moment twisted into something seedy. Corrupt.
“Where the hell did this come from?” I growl.
“I don’t know. But that photo?” Jonah taps the printout. “That’s the same one you told me was missing. Someone took it from your office. This isn’t a leak. This is a hit job.”
My fists clench, rage building under my ribs in a storm, ready to break. “Rebecca.”
Jonah shrugs. “Maybe. It smells like her. But she usually leaves fingerprints. This?” He gestures at the file. “This is clean. Professional. No names, no direct claims. Just enough to get people talking… and just enough to get you in serious shit if the board sees it first.”
“She already said she was behind the texted photo,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else. “Why stop there?”
“Because if this was her, she’s changed tactics. This is smarter. Colder. She wants blood.”
I lean back in my chair, the weight of it all crashing down in one brutal wave.
Sara.
The baby.
This goddamn mess unraveling in my office while I’m still picking glass out of my chest from yesterday.
“I need to talk to Sara.”
“Yeah,” Jonah says, quiet. “You do.”
I push back from my desk, the chair scraping across the floor, loud against the thick silence. I pull up my calendar, issuing orders before the thought even registers.
“Set up a meeting with legal and HR. Today. Before lunch.”
Jonah’s fingers are already moving across the keyboard. “Done. Want me in there with you?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “And get a hold of PR. I want eyes on any mention of this article, any keywords, hashtags… hell, set up a fucking Google Alert if you have to.”
He hesitates, then looks at me. “What about the board?”
The board.
The mention of them settles in my stomach.
They’ve tolerated me, let me work my way into a position of power because I’ve made this company sharper, leaner. Profitable. Untouchable. But this could break it all apart.
Sleeping with a subordinate. Rumors of favoritism. Scandal tied to my name… again.
This could crack the foundation if I don’t move fast enough.
“I’ll handle them,” I say, voice tight. “I’ll call a meeting. Today.”
Jonah raises an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t want to wait and see how loud this thing gets?”
I meet his gaze. “If I wait, they’ll think I’m hiding. Or worse, guilty. I need to control the narrative before they start spinning it without me.”
He nods, understanding. “Good. Because they’ll be looking for a scapegoat. And if it’s not you, it’s going to be—”
“Sara,” I finish for him, voice low, the anger crawling up my throat.
His silence speaks volumes.
They’ll go after her.
Even if none of this is true. Even if there’s no policy violation, no misuse of power. Even if what we had was real, mutual, honest. The board doesn’t care about any of that.
They care about perception. Leverage. And she’s the easiest target.
I slam the folder shut, force it into a drawer with a snap.
“If this is war, we’re not showing up with rubber bullets,” I growl. “Get me everything on that gossip site. IPs. Domains. Ad sponsors. I want names.”
Jonah smirks, grim. “Now you’re sounding like the guy who made that first billion.”
I don’t smile back.
Because this isn’t a game anymore.
This isn’t about shares, headlines, or legacy. This is about her.
And if anyone in this building, on that board, or behind that article thinks they can destroy Sara to get to me?
They’re about to learn exactly how dangerous I can be.