Chapter 4 NATHAN

The hum of the jet engines had barely faded when the stairs were lowered. I stepped out into the soft grey light of a Chicago morning, crisp and cool, with the faint bite of wind that said spring was still undecided about showing up.

Tony was already waiting, like clockwork. Sunglasses on, dressed in black, built like a tank, and about as cheerful as one too.

"Sir." He nodded once and opened the back door of the black SUV.

"Morning, Tony," I muttered, dragging my suitcase behind me. "You miss me?"

He blinked once. "Like a toothache."

"Aw. You're cute when you pretend not to care."

He said nothing, but I could've sworn I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Barely. Maybe.

I slid into the car and sank into the leather seat with a sigh, stretching my neck side to side. My back cracked like bubble wrap. One week, six meetings, two club deals, and one insufferably fake dinner party in Miami-and somehow, I was still alive.

Barely.

My phone buzzed as Tony pulled out onto the highway. I didn't need to check the screen. The ringtone said it all.

"Perfect timing," I muttered and answered the call. "You do realize I just landed, right?"

"Don't flatter yourself," came Aaron's voice, smooth and amused. "You're not that important."

I laughed under my breath and leaned my head back against the headrest. "Then why are you calling me first thing in the morning?"

"Because you told me to call as soon as the deal closed, which, by the way, it did. The seller agreed to your terms. Miami is officially ours."

"Our? You mean yours, Mr. Chain-of-Clubs."

"You funded half of it, Nathan. You don't get to act humble now."

"Fine," I smirked. "But if that bar ends up attracting drunk tourists in Hawaiian shirts, I'm setting it on fire myself."

"Only if I get to help burn the place down."

Typical Aaron.

We'd been friends since we were thirteen-met in detention, naturally. He'd punched someone for calling him a bastard. I'd been in for breaking a kid's nose. Instant bond.

Now? He ran a chain of elite nightclubs across the country and I... built cities. More or less. Our friendship was rooted in chaos, loyalty, and a shared distaste for people who took themselves too seriously.

"Anyway," Aaron went on, "I had the guys from Vegas fly in to start the renovation plans. You'll like what they've drafted. Classy but not boring."

"I don't do boring."

"I know. That's why you're still single."

I snorted. "Says the man who hasn't had a relationship last longer than a Netflix subscription."

"Touché," he laughed. "So? How was the rest of the trip?"

I stared out the window, watching the buildings blur past. "Long. Exhausting. But good. The property in Scottsdale is ready for permits. Miami's settled. That dickhead from Dallas finally stopped pretending he didn't know what zoning laws were."

"I'd say 'congrats,' but you sound like you need a drink and a chiropractor."

"Both," I muttered, rolling my shoulder. "But I'll settle for my office and ten minutes of silence."

Aaron made a mock-gasp. "You're going to the office today? I figured you'd spend the day being fed grapes by shirtless butlers."

"Tempting," I said dryly. "But no. I've been gone a week. Ana's probably already planning to stab me with a letter opener."

"She misses you."

"She misses control," I said. "If I don't show up, she might hijack the whole company."

"She should. We both know she runs your life better than you do."

"Accurate."

He chuckled. "Alright, I'll let you get to it. I've got a call with the New York team in ten. Just wanted to say congrats, and, you know... keep being rich and intimidating."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Love you too, sweetheart."

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone and sighed, rolling it between my fingers. Aaron was chaos, but reliable chaos. Always had been. And business with him always worked out in the end-sometimes after blood, sweat, and mild threats, but it worked.

I glanced out the window again. We were only a few minutes from the office now.

Home turf.

And despite the fatigue dragging behind my eyes, I couldn't help the faint, automatic smirk tugging at the edge of my mouth.

Time to get back to work.

Got it! Nathan isn't just some tyrant boss everyone tiptoes around-he's assertive, yes, but the kind of leader who commands respect, not fear. People know he's sharp, a little intense, and expects results, but they admire him for it. Let's revise the scene to reflect that. Here's the updated version of Nathan's entrance at the office and into the executive meeting-with more weight on respect than fear, while keeping his confidence and edge intact.

The moment I stepped into the lobby of Harts Construction & Real Estate, the hum of morning chatter softened.

People glanced up from their desks, nodding, smiling-those little acknowledgments that said he's back. I didn't need to say a word. One week away and my presence still rippled through the building like a current.

Not fear. Respect.

I built this company from a two-man start up in a rented garage to one of Chicago's top real estate and construction firms. I didn't buy my way in-I earned every inch of it.

Tony stayed a few paces behind me as we walked toward the private elevator. The new receptionist-a girl with perfectly ironed curls and nervous hands-stood quickly.

"Good morning, Mr. Harts. Welcome back."

I gave her a polite nod. "Morning."

She smiled with relief, like I'd handed her a gold star. She'll learn.

The elevator opened onto the 21st floor-my floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows let the city in, bathing the space in natural light. The whole design was sharp, clean, professional. No clutter. No mess. Just the way I like it.

Ana was already there, of course, perched by her desk in a navy pencil skirt and a fitted blouse that somehow screamed both elegance and don't test me. She was reviewing something on her tablet, but the second she saw me, she stood straighter.

"You're late."

"I landed twenty minutes ago. You want a parade too?"

"Maybe just punctuality."

"Unlikely," I smirked, walking over to take the tablet from her hands. "What's the damage?"

"The usual. Development leads have updates on the new downtown high-rise, legal's going to talk your ear off about zoning revisions, and Jameson's still trying to convince everyone that we need a new software system."

I rolled my eyes. "Didn't we already tell him no?"

"You did. He thinks you'll change your mind today."

"He's an optimist," I said, scanning the screen. "Alright. Let's get this over with."

As we walked toward the boardroom, she kept pace beside me.

"By the way, you've got a new assistant downstairs."

I paused. "A what?"

"You approved it before you left-Alex needed an assistant. Fresh hire. HR said he's polite. Shy."

I exhaled. "Let me guess. Graduate intern with a shaky résumé and a coffee addiction?"

"Not exactly," she said, hiding a smile. "He's...different. You'll see."

I didn't have time to press further. The boardroom doors were already in view.

The conversation inside quieted slightly-not because they were afraid of me, but because they respected what walking into the room meant. Focus. Clarity. Results.

I stepped in with a calm nod. "Morning, everyone."

"Mr. Harts," came a few replies, almost in unison.

I took my seat at the head of the table, set the tablet down, and looked around.

"Let's get started. I trust we all came with solutions, not problems."

That earned a few chuckles-light ones. They knew I meant business, but they also knew I didn't waste time with drama. If you were in this room, it meant you had something worth listening to.

And I always listened.

That's why they followed.

Not because they were scared.

But because they knew I'd built something real-and I expected the same from them.

The air in the room shifted-not tense, just focused. That's how it should be.

Everyone seated at this table had earned their place here, and they knew I expected the same energy in return.

Jameson, my CFO, leaned forward first. "We've finalized projections for Q3. Chicago projects are outperforming the Midwest average by twelve percent, and Miami's pulling ahead faster than expected."

"Good," I said. "And the permit issue?"

"Cleared," Legal chimed in. "Thanks to the push from your contact in zoning."

I nodded once. "I want that in writing. Ana, flag that in the follow-up."

She didn't need to respond. Her fingers were already flying across the screen of her tablet.

I leaned back, one arm resting on the arm of the chair, scanning the room. "Let's talk about the Scottsdale development. Last I checked, we were over budget."

"We were," said Malik, Head of Development. "But we adjusted the schedule. Shifted subcontractors. We're bringing it back in line."

"And quality?"

"Uncompromised," he said quickly.

"Make sure it stays that way. I don't do cheap. I do done right."

A few heads nodded. Nobody dared disagree-not because I'd bite their head off, but because they knew I'd follow through on every number, every material choice, every damn tile if I had to.

This company had my name on it, and I didn't play games with that.

"Anything else I should know about?" I asked.

Jameson looked like he wanted to bring up the software again. I raised a brow, and he wisely decided against it.

"No, sir. That's it for now."

I tapped the table once with my knuckle and stood. "Then let's wrap. I've got two weeks of backlog to dig through, and I'd rather not spend my entire morning in this room."

A round of "thank you" and "welcome backs" followed me out the door. Ana joined me without missing a step, handing me a fresh printed report before I could ask.

"Remind me to take Jameson off software suggestions for a while."

"Already done," she said. "And the Dallas investors sent a gift basket to your office."

"Throw it out."

"Too late. I ate the dark chocolate."

I smirked. "I was wondering why you were in a good mood."

We moved through the hallway like a unit-efficient, silent, locked in. I could feel the city humming through the windows, my pulse syncing to it. This was my rhythm. My space. My work.

And it felt damn good to be back in it.

I walked back into my office after a quick run-through with the team. The hum of activity in the building felt like a distant echo as I stepped inside the quiet, familiar space. I hadn't been here in a week, and the desk was covered with a pile of documents, reports, and files that had stacked up in my absence. I needed to catch up, and fast.

I didn't waste time. The door clicked shut behind me as I set my briefcase on the table and dropped into the leather chair. The familiar weight of the work pressing down on me was almost comforting. I grabbed the first file off the pile and started going through it. The usual construction reports, project deadlines, and quarterly financials.

But then, near the bottom of the stack, something caught my eye.

A file labelled Charlie Moore – Assistant to Executive Secretary.

Ah, right. I hadn't signed off on this yet.

I flicked the file open. The neat handwriting on the cover sheet immediately stood out. The contract inside was unsigned, a formality that had slipped through the cracks while I was away.

My mind immediately wandered. Charlie Moore...

I remembered the call from Miss Victoria, a woman I owed more than a few favours to. She had asked me to help her nephew-Charlie. She had mentioned how he was looking for a fresh start, how he needed an opportunity in a reputable company. It wasn't something I typically did, but Miss Victoria was... persuasive. More so when it came to a favour. She'd helped me out more than once in the past, and when she made the request, I couldn't refuse.

But there was no real opening at the company. Not unless I wanted to create a new position for him. The timing wasn't great either, but Alex had been short-staffed, particularly in the executive department. So, I'd decided to let Charlie work directly under Alex. It was a practical solution-plus, Alex was more than capable of mentoring someone new. A position like this might give the kid the chance he needed to get his feet under him. And if he didn't work out, well... it wouldn't be the end of the world.

I rubbed my temple, remembering Miss Victoria's voice on the phone.

"Please, Nathan. I'm asking as a friend. He needs this. You know I'd do the same for you."

In the end, how could I say no? I didn't make a habit of granting everyone's requests, but with Miss Victoria, there was a certain... understanding. And with the company so busy, finding a spot for Charlie under Alex's supervision didn't seem like the worst idea.

As I stared down at the contract, my eyes were drawn to the picture of Charlie on the front page. He had messy red hair, and there was something about his slightly chubby cheeks that made him look... cute. He had these soft features that reminded me of someone who might've spent too much time in front of a computer screen, but there was something about the vulnerability in his expression that pulled at me. He looked like he didn't belong in a corporate setting-too innocent, too unsure-but that made me want to see more.

I studied the picture for a moment, noting how his glasses sat just a little too low on his nose. I imagined him adjusting them nervously, and a small smirk tugged at my lips.

He seems like the type who'd be easy to rile up, I thought. Could be interesting.

I set the file aside and leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. Charlie Moore. I still wasn't sure what to think about him. But I had a feeling that, somehow, he might be more than I'd bargained for.

The sharp growl from my stomach interrupted my thoughts. I grabbed my phone off the desk and quickly placed an order for lunch: sandwiches, nothing fancy, and a fresh orange juice to wash it down.

Once the order was placed, I leaned back again, folding my arms behind my head as I looked out over the city. The calm that followed the storm of last week's trip was almost too peaceful. I needed the distraction, the rhythm of the workday to ground me again.

The knock on my office door was soft-almost hesitant.

I glanced up from my desk just as it creaked open. Alex must've sent someone up with my lunch.

"Come in," I called, distracted, my eyes still scanning the email thread open on my screen.

I didn't look up again until I heard it-the sound of something hitting the floor. Hard.

Then came the splatter.

Juice. Sandwiches. A crushed paper bag.

And flat on the floor, limbs awkward and trembling, was a redhead.

Oh.

He just knelt there. Not moving. Frozen like a deer in headlights, head bowed, hands trembling slightly as they hovered near the spilled tray. A beat passed, then another-and still, he didn't get up.

I stood, slowly, curiosity replacing irritation.

"Are you injured?" I asked, walking toward him.

He didn't answer.

Just sat there, stiff, as if standing up might trigger some invisible bomb.

I reached the doorway and crouched down a little, my eyes scanning him-freckles, red hair mussed, skin pale with a furious blush blooming across his cheeks. And glasses-now lying a foot away from him on the floor.

My hand reached out, brushing under his chin. "Hey," I said quietly, tilting his face up to meet mine.

Then I saw him.

Big, warm brown eyes. Wet from unshed tears , wide, and full of panic. Lashes too long for someone that awkward. Pink lips parted slightly. His breath hitched when my fingers touched his jaw.

And just like that-I was hard.

Fuck.

He was cute in the most devastating way. Soft around the edges. All trembling innocence and flushed cheeks. I imagined those lips wrapped around my cock. Those eyes looking up at me while he choked on it. His wrists tied behind his back, knees digging into the floor as I gripped that thick red hair and-

Jesus. I had to blink the image away.

But it didn't leave.

Because now I was picturing him strapped to the St. Andrew's cross in my playroom . His wrists and ankles bound, that chubby little ass arched out perfectly, just waiting for my palm. I could already hear the gasp he'd make when I landed the first slap. Could already imagine him sobbing in pleasure, thanking me for turning his skin the prettiest fucking shade of pink I'd ever seen.

Goddamn.

I cleared my throat, forcing the images down. "You must be Charlie Moore."

He swallowed hard, cheeks burning. "Y-Yes s-sir... I– I–I brought y-y-your l-lu–lunch."

Cute. So fucking cute.

And that stutter? That shy, jittery tone?

I wanted to break it down slowly. I wanted to own that voice, wanted to hear it beg me for mercy, Fuck.

I handed him his glasses, letting my fingers brush his as he took them from me. He adjusted them quickly, avoiding my gaze like I'd burn him if he met it again.

"Stand up," I said, my voice dropping lower. "You're not going to stay on the floor all day, are you?"

He scrambled up fast, wiping his palms on his slacks. They didn't hide the trembling. If anything, they magnified it.

"I-I-I'm s-s-sorry, sir. I-I didn't mean to- I-"

I smirked.

"You always this jumpy, or is it just me?"

His eyes shot up, wide with horror, and then dropped again instantly. That blush deepened.

"I-I-I–n-no s-s-sir... I m-mean, y-yes-I–I mean I-I'm not-"

I could've listened to him stammer all day. His mouth opened and closed like he couldn't decide whether to apologize again or disappear into thin air. My cock twitched in my pants.

I stepped a little closer.

"You know, it's okay to breathe. I don't bite."

He choked on air.

I bit back a laugh.

"Well... not unless I'm asked nicely."

His entire body went stiff, and that pink in his cheeks spread all the way to the tips of his ears.

Perfect.

"You work under Alex, right?" I asked, still watching him squirm.

He nodded rapidly, not trusting himself to speak again.

Charlie Moore. Nephew of Miss Victoria, a walking bundle of nerves and the newest object of my completely inappropriate thoughts.

I hadn't even had my lunch yet and I already knew one thing:

I was hungry-but not for sandwiches.

I took a step back, just to give him space.

Not because I wanted to. No-what I wanted was to corner him against the wall and see what other shades of red he could turn. But if I scared him off now, I wouldn't get the chance to draw out that sweet, shy panic of his later.

Patience, Harts.

Charlie bent down and started gathering the mess on the floor, mumbling apologies as he picked up soggy sandwich wrappers and a juice-soaked napkin. His fingers fumbled the cup, and it slipped from his grip again with a dull thud.

"I-I'm s-so sorry. I c-can-I can g-go get a new-"

"It's fine," I said. "Leave it."

He froze, still crouched on the floor like he was expecting me to fire him on the spot.

I ran a hand through my hair and sighed.

"I said it's fine. Just stand up and breathe before you pass out, okay"?

He nodded again and stood, stiff and silent. His eyes darted everywhere but my face. One hand nervously adjusting his glasses again-the same damn move he did earlier.

So that's a habit, I thought. He pushes them up every time he blushes.

Which was...a lot.

"I'm not a monster, Moore," I said casually, moving back to my desk. "You didn't crash a plane. You dropped lunch. You'll survive."

He laughed nervously-more like an awkward hiccup than a real laugh. But it was adorable.

Still flustered, he stood in the center of my office like a schoolboy called into the principal's office. Hands clasped in front of him, eyes trained on some distant spot on the carpet. His tie was crooked. His shirt was wrinkled from the fall. There was even a faint pink stain of juice across his sleeve.

Yet somehow, the whole messy picture just made me want to unbutton him piece by piece.