Page 3 of Executive Privilege

Then he returns to his screen.

My laptop chimes with a new email. It’s from Nicholas.

“Morrison presentation has been moved to next Friday at 2 PM. Ms. Reynolds will be presenting a comprehensive rebranding strategy. All brand team members are expected to attend.”

I stare at it for a long moment. Not because I’m surprised—he told me exactly what to expect—but because seeing it in writing makes everything real.

This is happening. He’s backing me. Publicly.

And he’s going to be watching every second.

My phone buzzes.

Emma:How’s the new job going? Please tell me you haven’t already managed to piss off your boss.

I glance at Nicholas’s office again.

Me:Too late. But I think it might be working out for me.

Because despite the high stakes, the impossible timeline, and the fact that Nicholas Blackwood is the most complex, unreadable, maddeningly attractive man I’ve ever worked for… I’m not afraid of this.

I’m ready.

I open a new document and title it: “Morrison Industries Rebrand Strategy – Confidential.”

One week to prove I belong here.

One week to figure out why my boss’s approval makes my pulse race.

One week to make sure whatever the hell just happened in that conference room happens again.

Chapter 2: Worlds Apart

My apartment looks like a marketing strategy exploded.

I'm sitting cross-legged on my living room floor, surrounded by printouts and sticky notes. My laptop has about twenty Morrison Industries research documents open. My coffee table has disappeared under color-coded folders, and I haven't seen my couch cushions in two days.

"This is either dedication or insanity," I mutter, reaching for my fourth cup of coffee since dinner.

My phone buzzes with a text from Emma: "Still alive?"

I glance at the time. 11:47 PM. On a Tuesday. Yeah, this is probably insanity.

"Still alive. Currently living in a nest made of research. Send food."

"Or a life," she texts back immediately. "Remember those? Where people do things that aren't work?"

I look around my apartment—the same space that felt so perfectly organized and adult when I moved in three months ago. Now it looks like the world's most boring hurricane hit it. But I can see the Morrison rebrand taking shape, and it's good. Really good.

My laptop chimes with a new email, and I almost ignore it until I see the sender: [email protected].

"Ms. Reynolds - Attached are Morrison's internal performance metrics from Q3. Thought they might be useful for your competitive analysis. - NB"

I stare at the screen. Nicholas Blackwood just sent me confidential client data. At midnight. On a Tuesday.

Either he's setting me up for success, or he's testing whether I can handle sensitive information responsibly. With Nicholas, it could easily be both.

I download the files and open the first spreadsheet. Within minutes, I'm completely absorbed in Morrison's quarterly performance data, cross-referencing it with my competitive analysis and market research.