Chapter Two
Nikolai
I stand at the window of my office, staring down at the sprawling city beneath me.
The view is familiar, the lights of Los Angeles flickering like stars from the skyscraper’s height.
The quiet hum of the building surrounds me, but my focus—calm, methodical, almost detached—is on the reflection of the city.
The phone on my desk beeps, breaking my concentration. Another call. Another client. The same conversation I’ve had a thousand times, but I don’t mind. There’s a calm in the routine. A way of keeping things in order.
I answer the call with a push of the speaker button, my voice steady and professional. “Nikolai Blackthorn speaking.”
“Mr. Blackthorn,” the voice on the other end greets me, smooth and businesslike. “Timothy Grant. I wanted to touch base on an upcoming meeting. The board wants a clearer picture of the company’s direction. We need to be certain we’re all on the same page.”
I nod, though he can’t see me. “Understood, Mr. Grant. I’ll have a detailed report sent to you by the end of the day. You’ll have everything you need for the next meeting.”
The call drags on longer than expected, covering financial reports, projections and new proposals. These calls are important—they are part of what keeps the company running smoothly, but they’re also reminders of the high level of expectation placed on me.
I finish the call, set the phone down, and let out a quiet breath, pinching the skin between my brows.
Before I can do anything else, the door to my office opens. I don’t have to look up to know it’s him.
My father. Byron Blackthorn.
He moves silently into the room, the coldness in his presence as palpable as ever. I raise an eyebrow at his unannounced visit. “Hello, father.”
“Nikolai.” He acknowledges.
“To what do I owe this unexpected meeting?”
“Here,” he says, his voice low and controlled as he slides a thin file onto my desk.
I glance down at it. Dawn Carter is printed neatly across the top, her name staring back at me. “What’s this?” I ask, flicking through the first few pages.
My father doesn’t respond immediately. He just stands there, silent as always, waiting for me to actually take a real look through it.
I do. Fully opening the file, I scan across her resume, sent in for an application for a low-level secretarial position on the third floor.
Her qualifications are basic. Nothing impressive sticks out.
Nothing suggests she belongs in a high enough position to even have me become aware of her existence.
I frown flipping through the pages again, expecting to find something I missed. There has to be a reason he gave me this. A secretarial position so low in the building. He shouldn’t even be bringing this to my radar.
I glance up at my father, who is watching me with the same inscrutable expression he always wears, like he’s already five steps ahead of me in a game I don’t know I’m playing.
“Is this a mistake? I shouldn’t have this file.
The management on the mid-levels are able to handle this application.
” I say, closing the file and sliding it back across my desk. “She doesn’t belong in this office.”
He doesn’t move. He just watches me for a beat too long before speaking. “She does now.”
I blink. “What?”
He folds his hands in front of him, his gaze sharp, asserting. “She’s going to be your new personal assistant.”
I scoff, shaking my head. “No, she’s not. She applied for a third-floor desk job. So why is she here?”
“Because I put her there.” His voice is even, but the weight of his words sinks in like stone. I know better than to question him outright, but this doesn’t make sense. Why her?
“She isn’t qualified,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. “She doesn’t have the experience or the background for this level of work.”
“She has exactly what’s needed,” my father counters smoothly. “And she’ll be handling your schedule, your communications, and everything down to your lunch plans. Everything required. She will be available to you at all times.”
I narrow my eyes. “So, 24/7?”
He inclines his head slightly. “Yes.”
I exhale, pushing the file back toward him. “I don’t need a full-time assistant, and certainly not someone who—"
“You do,” my father interrupts, his voice dropping slightly. “And you will. You will offer her the position tomorrow.”
The air shifts between us, an old and familiar tension rising. I could push back. I could refuse. But we both know that’s not how this works. My jaw tightens. “What aren’t you telling me?”
My father watches me for another beat, then exhales. “I don’t need to tell you anything else for now. You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”
He turns, heading through the door, leaving me staring at the file in front of me.
Dawn carter.
Nothing about her background explains why she’s here, why my father wants her under my command. But one thing is clear—this isn’t just a hiring decision.
This is something else. And I don’t like not knowing what.
. . .
I finish my last task for the day, closing out a report that should’ve been done hours ago. Normally, I’d be somewhere else by now—a penthouse, a private lounge, maybe a party filled with half-dressed women who only care about my last name.
Instead, I drive across the city, away from Blackthorn Inc., away from glass towers stacked with classified business documents, away from penthouse suites filled with champagne and pussy, to somewhere no one would ever find me.
Tonight, I want to disappear.
Roscoe’s is the kind of bar I’d never be caught dead in under normal circumstances. The floors are sticky, the whiskey burns in all the wrong ways, and the people here don’t know who I am by looking.
Which is exactly why I’m here.
I settle in at a table on the back patio, shrugging off my custom-tailored Tom Ford suit coat, draping it over the back of my chair. The fabric is worth more than people here would make in a month, but in this place, it’s just another jacket.
I roll my sleeves up to the elbows, exposing the lower part of the Blackthorn vines wrapping around my arm. A family tattoo. A mark of legacy, and of warning. The same ink my father bears, the same ink that branded me into this world long before I had a choice.
The waitress sets down my drink—whiskey, neat.
I nod in acknowledgement She lingers for a second longer than necessary, her eyes flickering over me, a flirtatious smile on her lips.
I smirk, flashing the same charismatic grin that’s gotten me exactly what I want and more countless times.
She bites her lip slightly as she turns, disappearing back inside.
I pick up my glass taking a slow sip, letting the burn settle.
Then I hear it.
Laughter—loud, drunken, uninhibited. Two women, voices rising above the hum of the bar, completely oblivious to the fact they’re drawing attention.
I glance over, catching them in my view. One blonde, one brunette. The brunette in a black dress shakes her head, her lips parting around a teasing smirk as she leans into the conversation, completely relaxed. My gaze drifts over her as I take them in, amused by the unfiltered energy.
Petite. Maybe 5’3, 5’6 in those boots of hers. I’m still a foot taller than her regardless.
Her fair skin glows against the dim lighting.
She tilts her head back, laughing at something her friend says, and my focus snags on the way her long brown hair cascades over her shoulders, catching the faint neon glow from inside the bar.
She smiles, flicking her hair back. Her lips catch my attention—full, pink, made to be bitten. That kind of mouth belongs in the dark, pressed against skin, and parted with a gasp.
I take another sip of whiskey, my pulse slowing, but I don’t look away.
She’s soft, all slender curves and careless smiles, but there’s something underneath it. Something I recognize.
She’s drinking to forget.
I see it in the way she leans just a little too hard against the railing, and in the way her friend’s hand wraps around her wrist like she’s steadying her.
Then, she shifts slightly. She pulls her hair in front of her, exposing a small tattoo on the back of her upper left shoulder. A rose. Simple, delicate. Something that doesn’t belong in a place like this.
It shouldn’t interest me. But it does.
I’m still watching them when her friend says something that makes her roll her eyes, shaking her head as she tips her drink to her lips. The gesture is careless and easy. There’s something magnetic in the way she moves.
And then-
“Dawn Carter.”
The name hits like a match striking too close to gasoline.
I force out a breath, setting my drink down with a controlled movement, but inside, something shifts.
Carter.
Carter.
It’s too familiar.
Then it clicks.
Luke Carter.
The governor’s race. The campaign that’s been making headlines, gaining traction in politics. Dawn carter isn’t just some random woman my father plucked from a pile of applications—she’s Luke Carter’s sister.
I inhale deeply, exhaling through my nose as the realization hits.
A governor has power, influence, the ability to push laws through or block them entirely. If Luke Carter wins, he’ll have control over state budgets, contracts, and regulations that could affect companies like Blackthorn.
I lean back into my seat, my gaze flicking to Dawn, still laughing, completely unaware of how important she just became to me.
Taking another sip of whiskey, my eyes drift back to the patio railing where Dawn Carter and her friend lean into their conversation, drinks in hand. I should leave it alone. I should finish my drink and walk away.
But I’m curious. So, instead, I signal the waitress for another.
She’s quick to bring it over, eager, but I barely acknowledge her as she sets it down. My focus stays on the two women, on Dawn’s easy smile, the way her fingers trace the rim of her glass, the way her long hair drapes over her shoulders.
Their voices are too low for me to catch everything. Pieces of laughter, half-formed words lost in the noise of the bar. I strain my hearing, catching something about a shitty ex, too much work, not enough fun.
Nothing useful.
I let out a slow breath, rolling my glass between my fingers.
So, my father wants me to hire Luke Carter’s sister. Fine. I still don’t know precisely why, but I will. If she was a plant, someone meant to spy on me, manipulate me, I’d know. She’s clueless. Completely fucking oblivious.
But that doesn’t mean that she won’t become useful.
I drain the rest of my drink just as the waitress reappears, stepping closer than necessary, her fingers toying with the hem of her skirt as she leans in.
“Another?” she purrs, tilting her head, her gaze sliding over me like she already knows the answer.
I smirk, resting my elbow on the table. She’s bold. Wants to play.
“Depends,” I murmur, flicking my gaze down the curve of her body before meeting her eyes again. “You coming with it?”
She giggles, brushing a manicured nail over the edge of my table. “I get off in an hour.”
I chuckle low, sliding a hundred-dollar bill onto the table, crisp and deliberate, before giving her ass a light smack.
“Thank you for the drinks,” I say, my voice low and even as I stand.
I lean in, my breath brushing her ear as I continue, “But sweetheart—if I wanted company tonight, you wouldn’t still be standing here. ”
Her breath catches, cheeks flushing, but she laughs, taking the bill anyway.
I grab my coat, letting my fingers slip under her chin for just a moment before I step past her.
“Maybe next time!” She coos, but I don’t look back as I walk through the bar and out into the night.
The air is cooler than before, the city still buzzing, but the feeling of uncertainty lingers within me.
Because tonight, everything’s changed.
And Dawn Carter doesn’t even know it yet.