Just For Him

CHAPTER FOUR NATHAN

Nathan’s Pov

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.

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.