The ceo
877 Words
Nathaniel’s pov
The boardroom smelled faintly of polished wood and the leather of the chairs. It was clean, orderly, precise the kind of place I liked. I didn’t notice it much. My focus was always elsewhere. I slid into the chair at the head of the table without a glance at anyone. Fingers brushing the smooth wood, I let the room settle around me.
“Mr. Wells,” my assistant said softly, careful not to disturb the balance, “the investors are waiting.”
I lifted an eyebrow, leaning back, one hand casually draped on the armrest. “Two minutes.” Not a demand. Not even an invitation. Just a statement. They would wait. They always did.
The meeting began. Charts flickered across the screen, numbers and graphs in neat, intimidating order. Investors pitched, executives argued, voices rose, questions flew. I nodded when necessary, interjected once or twice, but mostly I watched. My eyes swept the room, catching details no one else noticed the slight tension in a man’s shoulder, the uncertainty in a woman’s voice, the way everyone subtly responded to me without being aware of it.
I drummed my fingers lightly on the table, lazily, and let the room work itself out. That was part of confidence: don’t force it. Just exist, and people follow.
And yet…my mind wasn’t entirely here.
Emily.
Five years. Five years since she left. The memory of her was sharp, impossible to ignore. I didn’t think about the pain of losing her I thought about her laugh, that little tilt of her head when she concentrated, how stubborn she could be about the smallest things. The way she looked at me when she trusted me completely.
I hadn’t fought hard enough. I hadn’t understood why she left, or maybe I had, but I hadn’t done anything to stop it. And it burned, quietly, in the spaces between deals, calls, and meetings. I hadn’t known what she’d become, where she had gone. I didn’t even know if she remembered me. But I would find her. I always did.
The investors continued, oblivious to the way my mind wandered. They wanted numbers, strategies, projections. I gave them what they needed, but not more. Nodded when necessary, asked the right questions, let my presence do most of the work. Confidence isn’t loud. It’s smooth. Nonchalant. Unshakable. The room bent around me, unnoticed, and that was enough.
I leaned back in my chair, one leg casually crossed over the other. My gaze drifted to the city through the glass wall. Cars moving, lights blinking, people rushing to unknown destinations. Life was in constant motion, predictable in its chaos. I liked that. It reminded me I wasn’t the only one who moved through the world at my own pace, careful and deliberate.
A soft knock pulled me back. My assistant’s voice floated in. “Sir , the northern district has a lead. Nothing confirmed, but they’ve found a contact who might ”
I raised a hand, cutting her off gently. “Set it up.” No panic, no overreaction. Just words. Calm, efficient, precise. Everything else would follow.
Minutes later, the meeting finally ended. Investors filed out, murmuring polite thanks, shaking hands, leaving behind the faint aroma of ambition and power. I remained seated a moment longer, letting the quiet stretch, letting the city’s pulse settle beneath me.
I poured a drink I didn’t need, swirled it in the glass, feeling the burn settle on my throat. Whiskey wasn’t necessary; I didn’t need the comfort. It was habit. Control. Elegance.
The empire was mine. Every contract, every acquisition, every tiny detail I oversaw it all. And yet, as I sat there, I realized even control had its limits. There were things I hadn’t accounted for. Things I had let slip.
Her.
Emily had walked away. I had let her go. I hadn’t known what I’d lost until she was gone. And the ache of it subtle, quiet, almost invisible remained, buried under layers of work, power, and the polished exterior I presented to the world. But it was there, inescapable, insistent, demanding attention.
I swirled the whiskey again. The city beyond the glass glowed faintly with the last light of the day. I imagined her somewhere out there, living her life, and for a split second, I allowed myself to hope that she still thought of me too. That she missed me, just a little.
I shook it off. Hope was dangerous. I had to be ready. Every move had to be calculated. Every step precise. When I found her again, nothing could go wrong. Not this time.
Emails, calls, decisions
I returned to them, fingers tapping lightly on the desk, mind never fully leaving her. Confidence wasn’t about showing it. It was about being it. Calm. Nonchalant. A little arrogant. Powerful. That was me. Always had been. Always would be.
But beneath it all, in the quietest corners of my mind, there was a softness reserved for her alone. A side of me that remembered, a side that waited, a side that refused to let go. And when the time came, I would claim it back. I would claim her back.
For now, though, I worked. And I waited.
And I would not fail.
- Writer
