11. Nicholas
Nicholas
The door to his suite closed with a heavy click, and Nicholas stood in the silence it left behind.
He'd always liked silence. He even looked for it—the clean, simple quiet of a room that was his alone, with no obligations and nothing to prove. But tonight, the silence felt different. It felt like something was missing.
He could still smell her perfume.
He moved to the window and stood there for a moment, looking out at the city lights without really seeing them.
Something had shifted inside him tonight, quietly and without warning.
The unfamiliar feeling made him restless in a way he couldn't describe.
He paced, stopped, then paced again. The suite that had always felt like a sanctuary now felt, for the first time, simply empty.
He'd always controlled his desires. That had never been difficult. Desire was manageable, something you satisfied and then moved past without fuss. Women had come and gone in his life like the weather. Enjoyable. Temporary. Forgotten.
Olivia had slipped past every defense he had without appearing to try.
He couldn't sleep. He lay in the dark, turning over the specific texture of her laughter, the feel of her skin, the way she'd looked at him, surprised by her own wanting. When he finally drifted off, her face was the last thing he saw.
It didn't get better in the morning.
He went through his routine with mechanical efficiency: shower, coffee, the Maserati waiting out front with its low, familiar growl.
Usually, the engine's roar helped him feel in control again.
Today, though, the car felt confining, and the miles between Tampa and Miami seemed to close in on him rather than open up.
His phone buzzed constantly. Virginia. The marketing team.
Contractors. He handled each call cleanly and efficiently, his professional mask never slipping.
But in the gaps between calls, during the brief stretches of quiet as Alligator Alley's flat, swampy landscape passed by the windows, she was there.
Her smile. The way the evening had felt was different from any evening he could recently remember.
During the last stretch of the drive, as the highway gave way to city streets and the Miami skyline began assembling itself on the horizon, Nicholas ended the calls and let the music run.
He sat low in the seat, watching the road shimmer ahead, and asked himself the question he'd been circling since he'd watched her drive away.
What made her different?
He was a man who collected moments and didn't look back.
He'd forgotten women before breakfast. He knew exactly what he was—had never pretended otherwise, had never had reason to.
Just days before Tampa, there had been Valentina: married, stunning, exactly the kind of uncomplicated physical escape he preferred.
A single evening, mutually understood, cleanly concluded.
He hadn't thought about Valentina once since.
Olivia, on the other hand, he couldn't stop thinking about.
This didn't feel like a memory. It felt like an obsession.
He gripped the wheel as Miami rose around him and made himself a promise: focus on the work. Stratus Tampa was the priority. The project deserved his full attention, and he was going to give it.
He almost believed himself.
He threw himself into work with the kind of intensity he used when he needed to avoid thinking. He filled his days with back-to-back meetings, spreadsheets that needed real focus, and calls that lasted long enough to push out everything else. For days, it worked well enough on the surface.
Underneath, the ache of wanting her was a constant low frequency, barely contained, biding its time.
The only contact they'd had since that night was a single text the morning after.
He'd replayed the evening more times than he would admit to anyone, and every time the urge to reach out surfaced—just to hear from her, just to feel close to something he couldn't stop thinking about—the fact of her marriage twisted in his gut like a warning.
Trouble, he told himself.
The wanting didn't care.
He was deep in a spreadsheet when Michael walked in.
His uncle had a particular way of entering a room. He was unhurried and observant, always taking in the full picture before speaking. He leaned against the doorframe and looked around with the practiced ease of someone who had succeeded.
"How are things moving in Tampa?"
Nicholas looked up. "Progress is strong. The temporary office is fully operational, we're assembling the sales team, and we've already finalized several lease agreements. The financials are promising."
Michael stepped inside, studying him with that quiet precision Nicholas had spent years learning to read. "Then why do I see a frown under that professional smile?"
"What frown? I'm fine. Just busy."
Michael closed the door behind him. Not loudly. Just firmly, with the quiet click of someone signaling that the professional part of this visit was over.
Nicholas sighed. There was no point. Michael had known him longer than anyone and understood exactly how his mind worked, because it worked the same way his own once had.
"I know that look, Nicholas. Something's bothering you. Tell me."
Nicholas leaned back in his chair and took a slow breath. "I don't know how it happened. But I met someone in Tampa. Someone I shouldn't have been with—but I couldn't help myself."
Michael's expression softened slightly. The sharpness in his eyes didn't. "And how is this any different from the dozens of others you've told me about over the years?"
Nicholas shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "That's the problem. I don't know why. I just can't stop thinking about her. Every time I try to focus, she's there."
Michael was quiet for a moment. Then a small, knowing smirk crossed his face. "Interesting. Maybe you won't be as stubborn as I was with Verónica."
Nicholas looked away, jaw tight. "It's not that simple." A beat. "She's married."
Michael's eyebrows rose. He let out a low whistle. "That definitely makes things more complicated. Does she have kids?"
“No. No kids. And from what she told me, the marriage has been over for a long time.”
His uncle was quiet for a moment, taking it in. Then he stood, crossed the room, and placed a steady hand on Nicholas's shoulder. It was the gesture of someone who had been in this exact place before and knew what it cost.
"Sounds like someone finally got to you," Michael said, his voice serious now, the smirk gone. "Hang in there, Nicholas. Don't just act on your feelings. Think it through—but whatever you do, don't run away from it. You know I'm always here if you need to talk."
Nicholas felt something rare move through him. Gratitude, unguarded and genuine, for this man who had paved the way before him and never made him feel foolish for needing guidance.
"Thanks, Uncle. I appreciate it."
Michael left. The door clicked shut.
The office felt quieter than it had before, and Nicholas sat with it, staring at the ceiling, turning the conversation over in his mind.
He thought about Michael and Verónica—how he'd watched his uncle resist it at first, genuinely convinced that love was a vulnerability he couldn't afford.
How wrong he'd been. How Verónica had not diminished Michael's strength but, quietly and undeniably, become the foundation of it.
Nicholas had watched it happen from the outside for years.
Verónica had become the gold standard in his mind, maybe without him even realizing it.
She had beauty, intelligence, and an effortless elegance that never needed to be announced.
She understood her own worth and carried it with quiet confidence.
He had measured other women against that standard, often without knowing it, and none had come close.
Until now.
The parallel hit him with the force of something he should have seen coming.
Olivia had the same qualities. The sharp mind. The natural elegance. She had a feminine presence that didn't need to be performed; it simply existed and drew you in, whether you meant to move or not. He hadn't just been attracted to her. He had recognized something.
Verónica had shown him what real love looked like from the outside.
Olivia was the first woman who made him wonder what it might feel like from the inside.
He sat with that for a long time.
The following week, he tried again with work. Longer hours. More spreadsheets. Meetings were stacked deliberately close together so there were no gaps for his mind to drift into.
It didn't work.
By Thursday, he was sitting at his desk, staring at a report he'd read three times without retaining a single number. He tossed his pen onto the desk, leaned back, and let out a long breath.
Who was he kidding?
The distance he'd tried to manufacture had done nothing except make the wanting sharper. He picked up his phone before he could construct another argument against it and typed:
Hey, I hope you are having a great week. I'll be in Tampa tomorrow. Any chance you are free for dinner?
He set the phone down.
It buzzed within minutes.
I would love to. What time and where?
Nicholas felt the smile move across his face slowly—the deep, unhurried kind that had nothing to do with a boardroom or a closing handshake. Something stirred in his chest, unfamiliar and warm and entirely outside his control.
He typed back immediately.
Same place, 6 p.m.
Her reply came fast.
Can't wait. See you tomorrow.
He set the phone down and sat back, and for the first time in weeks, the air in his office felt easy to breathe.
He hit speed dial. "Lilly, book me a suite at The Tampa Edition for tomorrow and Saturday. Early check-in—preferably by ten in the morning."
Then Virginia. "I'm coming up. I'll see you tomorrow for lunch—I want to go over a few things with you."
"Sounds great," Virginia said. "Is there anything in particular you want me to have ready?"
"No. Just a quick trip to touch base on a few items."
"What time should I expect you?"
"By eleven."
"Perfect. I'll see you then."
He hung up and felt the tension of the entire week finally start to leave his shoulders. The tightness had been there so long that he had stopped noticing it as tension and had started to accept it as normal.
The trip to Tampa was an excuse. A well-constructed one, but an excuse.
The real reason was the woman who had followed him across Alligator Alley and taken up residence in every quiet moment he'd had since.
He wasn't fighting it anymore.