Page 18 of Strictly Business

Me:

Exactly how long would this engagement last?

The dots appear again, his response almost immediate.

Nicholas:

Is that a yes?

My heart stutters. I set my phone down and close my eyes, his question pressing against my chest, suffocating me with a choice that could make or break my life.

Saying yes would change everything.

And I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

Chapter eight

Nicholas

Idon’t get distracted.

Ever.

Not once in my life have I let anything pull me off course. My entire world is built on control, on knowing every move before it’s made. And yet, here I am, with last night’s text playing on a loop in my mind, taunting me.

Was that her way of saying yes?

Everything I’ve worked for—the future I’ve spent years planning—is dangling from the hands of my assistant and I can’t do a single thing about it except wait.

Lifting my arm, I glance at my watch.Ten a.m.Usually, by now, my coffee is sitting on my desk, and she’s briefed me on my schedule for the day with her usual crisp efficiency. But not today. Today, there’s no coffee.

No update.

No Amara.

It’s not like her—at all.

My stomach twists uncomfortably, the thought creeping in that I may have pushed her too far. Did I overstep? Did my offer make her uncomfortable? My jaw tightens at the possibility of her leaving the company over this.

Losing her would be a disaster. Not just because of the deal on the line, but because replacing her would be a monumental pain in the ass. She’s a damn good assistant. Hell, she’s the best I’ve ever had.

And that’s the only reason—the only reason—why I press the intercom button and call her in.

“Amara, can I see you in my office, please?”

Releasing the button, I adjust my tie, leaning back in my chair as I wait. The silence stretches longer than usual. Then, finally, there’s a soft knock at the door.

“Come in.”

The door creaks open, and there she is, hovering in the doorway, looking hesitant. “You wanted to see me?”

Her voice is soft, and though she’s clearly trying to mask it, the pink tint on her skin betrays her nerves.

“You didn’t answer my text last night,” I tell her, ushering her to come inside.

She takes a tentative step, and closes the door behind her, standing a few feet away, twisting her fingers positioned in front of her stomach.

My lips twitch despite myself, and I lift my hand to rub my mouth, attempting to cover my amusement. Two years she’s worked for me. And yet after all this time, she still gets flustered around me as if it’s the first time we’ve met.

---