Chapter 4 - What Derek Refused to Lose
Nathaniel did not have a heart attack.
That was the first thing the doctors clarified.
Exhaustion.
Dehydration.
Severe stress.
His blood pressure had dropped suddenly during the board meeting, and he had fainted before anyone understood what was happening.
I rode to the hospital with Victoria Shaw.
Not because anyone asked me to.
Because when I saw Nathaniel on the conference room floor, pale and motionless, every sensible boundary I had been constructing for the previous eleven days disappeared.
At the emergency department, I stood outside the treatment room gripping my phone.
Victoria looked at me.
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.”
She gave me a look.
I almost laughed.
Apparently everyone in Nathaniel’s orbit had learned his method.
Stop lying when it is obvious.
“I’m worried,” I admitted.
“So am I.”
“Does he have family nearby?”
“Claire lands tomorrow.”
“Parents?”
“Dead.”
I looked through the narrow glass window.
Nathaniel was sitting up now.
Arguing with a nurse.
That was encouraging.
Victoria sighed.
“He does this.”
“Passes out?”
“Works himself into the ground.”
I frowned.
“I’ve never seen him like that.”
“Because he hides weakness with the same intensity most people hide money.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Twenty minutes later, Nathaniel was discharged with instructions to rest.
He emerged wearing his suit jacket over a hospital gown because his shirt had somehow been stained during treatment.
I stared.
He looked ridiculous.
“You’re smiling,” he said.
“You’re wearing a three-thousand-dollar jacket with a hospital gown.”
“Four.”
I laughed.
Victoria rolled her eyes.
Outside, Nathaniel insisted he could go home alone.
Victoria ignored him.
“So,” she said, looking at me. “You take him.”
“What?”
Nathaniel frowned.
“No.”
“You both like arguing,” Victoria said. “Do it in the car.”
Then she left.
I stared after her.
Nathaniel sighed.
“You’re not required to babysit me.”
“Good.”
He looked at me.
“Because I’m doing it voluntarily.”
His apartment surprised me.
I expected cold luxury.
Instead, it was quiet.
Minimal.
A grand piano he apparently played badly.
Shelves filled with architectural books.
Photographs of Claire.
A framed black-and-white picture of a younger Nathaniel standing beside an older man at a construction site.
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
He sat on the sofa.
I brought him water.
“Drink.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“The role reversal.”
“Don’t enjoy it.”
“I’m trying not to.”
I sat across from him.
For a few minutes, silence.
Then I asked:
“Why are you stressed?”
“Work.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s technically an answer.”
“Nathaniel.”
Something in his expression shifted.
He looked down at the glass.
“We’re acquiring a hotel group.”
“I know.”
“There are complications.”
“Also know.”
“That’s most of it.”
“Most?”
He looked at me.
Then away.
“Derek contacted me.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
I stood.
“What?”
“It was handled.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“There was no reason.”
“There was every reason.”
“He emailed my office.”
“What did he want?”
Nathaniel hesitated.
That made me angrier.
“What did he want?”
“Money.”
I stared.
“For what?”
“To stop talking about you.”
My stomach dropped.
“He was blackmailing you?”
“He was attempting to.”
“With what?”
“Nothing credible.”
“What did he say?”
Nathaniel’s jaw tightened.
“He claimed he would tell reporters I exploited an employee during a vulnerable period.”
My face went hot.
“Oh my God.”
“He had no evidence because it didn’t happen.”
“That doesn’t matter online.”
“I know.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t want him back in your life.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Because it sounds like you don’t.”
He was silent.
I paced toward the windows.
The anger surprised me.
Nathaniel had helped me more than anyone.
But that didn’t give him ownership over information involving me.
And suddenly I understood something important.
Good intentions could still cross boundaries.
Protection could still become control if no one asked what the protected person wanted.
Nathaniel seemed to understand at the same moment.
“I was wrong,” he said.
I turned.
No justification.
No argument.
Just that.
“I should have told you.”
My anger softened but did not disappear.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
I sat again.
“What happened?”
“My attorney responded. Derek stopped.”
“For now.”
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
“You’re stressed because of the acquisition.”
“Yes.”
“And Derek?”
“A little.”
“And?”
Nathaniel gave me a tired smile.
“You’re annoyingly persistent.”
“I learned from my boss.”
His smile disappeared.
Then he said quietly:
“And you.”
My heartbeat slowed.
“What about me?”
“I’ve been trying very hard not to make your recovery about my feelings.”
The room went still.
I stared at him.
He looked suddenly less like the unshakable CEO and more like a man who deeply regretted beginning a sentence.
“What feelings?”
Nathaniel exhaled.
“Isla.”
“No. You brought it up.”
He looked at the floor.
“I care about you.”
“I know.”
“Not professionally.”
My heart began beating too fast.
“Nathaniel.”
“That’s why I’ve been keeping distance.”
“You haven’t been keeping distance.”
“By my standards, this is enormous distance.”
I laughed despite myself.
He looked at me.
“I am not asking you for anything.”
The laughter stopped.
“I wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re still rebuilding your life.”
I swallowed.
“And because I’m your employer.”
“Yes.”
“And because I don’t want you to ever wonder whether gratitude got confused with love.”
The word hung there.
Love.
Neither of us touched it.
Nathaniel leaned back.
“So we do nothing.”
I looked at him.
“Nothing?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
His eyebrows rose.
“That sounds dangerously like a question from someone disappointed by the answer.”
I looked away.
“I’m asking academically.”
“Of course.”
A smile threatened.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
My body froze.
Nathaniel saw.
“Don’t answer.”
I almost reminded him that decisions were mine.
Then I saw the preview.
ISLA, WE NEED TO TALK.
My stomach turned.
Derek.
I answered.
Nathaniel stood immediately.
“Isla?”
Derek’s voice was different.
Calmer.
“I know you’re with him.”
I stared at Nathaniel.
“How?”
“He’s predictable.”
“What do you want?”
“I want five minutes.”
“No.”
“You owe me that.”
“No.”
His breath changed.
“There she is.”
“What?”
“The new Isla.”
I said nothing.
“Boss man teach you that?”
I hung up.
The phone rang again.
I declined.
Again.
Declined.
Then a text came.
I found something of your mother’s.
My heart stopped.
A photograph followed.
My mother’s ceramic bowl.
The one I thought I had packed.
I had not.
I stared.
Nathaniel read my expression.
“What?”
“He has something that belonged to my mother.”
“Do not meet him.”
“I know.”
Another message.
Come alone and you can have it.
Nathaniel held out his hand.
I gave him the phone.
He read.
Then looked at me.
“We call Mara.”
I nodded.
This time, he did not decide for me.
We called together.
Police arranged a controlled property exchange through attorneys.
Derek was informed he was not to contact me directly.
The bowl was returned.
Cracked.
But intact enough to repair.
I cried when I held it.
Not because of the bowl.
Because Derek had tried to use my mother to pull me back into his orbit.
And he had failed.
A month passed.
Then two.
The criminal case moved slowly.
Derek accepted a plea agreement on several charges tied to harassment, threats, and violation of the protective order.
He avoided a long sentence but received probation, mandatory intervention programs, and strict no-contact conditions.
Part of me hated that consequences felt so small compared with three years of fear.
Mara helped me understand that legal closure and emotional closure were different things.
I could build one even if the system could not perfectly deliver the other.
Nathaniel returned to work.
He drank more water.
Victoria threatened him with public humiliation if he skipped lunch.
I stopped creating distance.
But neither of us crossed the line we had named.
Then, one evening in December, Nathaniel walked me to the elevator.
“I need to tell you something.”
I turned.
“That sounds ominous.”
“I’m changing your reporting structure.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“You’ll report to Victoria starting January first.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
“Because you’re being promoted.”
I stared.
“Senior Director of Project Operations.”
“Nathaniel—”
“You earned it.”
“Is this because of us?”
His expression sharpened.
“There is no ‘us.’”
That hurt more than it should have.
He saw it.
Then continued gently.
“And if there ever is, I won’t have authority over your career.”
I stared at him.
The elevator arrived.
Neither of us entered.
“You planned this?”
“For weeks.”
“Because you have feelings for me?”
“Because you deserve the promotion.”
A pause.
“And because I have feelings for you.”
My heart pounded.
Nathaniel stepped back.
“You don’t need to answer anything.”
The elevator doors began closing.
I reached between them.
They reopened.
He looked surprised.
I took one step closer.
“Dinner.”
“What?”
“January second.”
His eyes changed.
“Isla.”
“Not December.”
He almost smiled.
“Very specific.”
“I want the promotion to be official first.”
“Responsible.”
“And I want one dinner.”
“One.”
“To see if whatever this is exists outside emergencies, hospitals, office buildings, and psychopaths.”
His smile appeared slowly.
A real one.
“January second.”
The elevator doors closed between us.
I leaned against the wall.
For the first time in years, I was nervous about a man for a reason that did not frighten me.
But twelve days before our first date, Derek violated the protective order one final time.
And this time, he did not send a message.
May you like
He came to my apartment.
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