Cassidy
Idon’t even remember sitting down.
One minute, I’m standing in the corner of my office, the slam of the door echoing through my skull from where Van left, and the next I’m at my desk.
The screen is glowing, my hands moving, my mind silent, as I work through the demand list from Harlan.
It’s been over an hour now. I’ve not stopped working. Fixing.
Proving.
Evander has some notion that I can’t do this, that I don’t belong here. I’m no stranger to that, not in this building anyway. I’ll show him exactly how wrong he is.
I’ve been stuck in autopilot, going through each line item, my brain quieter than it’s ever been while I focus solely on the task at hand.
Reading over the current page, my hand drags absently at the neckline of my dress, brushing over the sensitive skin of my gland.
His scent is still there, clinging to me like a cloud I can’t escape. The dark chocolate and coffee scent is rich, bitter and steady, something that doesn’t need to be sweet to be irresistible. It wraps around me, clinging to my skin, thick in the air like it belongs.
It doesn’t.
My chest tightens, and with a sharp inhale, I push back from my desk and cross to the window, wrenching it open harder than necessary. Cold air rushes in, biting against my flushed skin, but it’s not enough. It doesn’t touch the scent already soaked into me or my surroundings.
To the taint he’s put on my nest.
My gaze flicks to it for half a second—soft fabrics that were carefully arranged, and safe.
But now… it’s contaminated.
Ruined.
I grab the nearest throw and shake it out harder than I need to, my heart racing like I can physically force him out of the space. It doesn’t work.
His scent lingers, burning my lungs with each breath, soaking into my things until the room smells more like him than me. He’s invading—taking over, destroying.
“Calm down, Cass,” I whisper, backing away from my nest. My breaths are heaving and unstable, so I try to calm myself by pressing my lips together as my throat tightens.
I wrench open the top drawer of my desk and grab the scent neutralising spray Harlan told me to buy. I never thought it would come in useful, but it has. I spray the nest, the fabrics, the room, the corners, under my desk—I leave nothing unsprayed.
The room smells awful. Sterile, empty, fake. Wrong in a way that leaves me restless beneath, but it’s better than smelling like him.
I force myself back to my desk, dragging the folder toward me with steady hands. Models. Fabrics. Campaign analysis. I work through it all methodically, faster than I should, cleaner than I feel.
If I keep moving, I won’t think.
If I don’t think, I won’t feel.
And if I don’t feel—I can survive this.
By the time I finally glance at the clock, the office is dim, the building quieter than I feel comfortable with. My list is complete. Every task crossed off. Every note immaculately written.
I gather everything carefully, stacking it neatly against my chest as I rise.
Harlan won’t expect this tonight, but hopefully once he’s finished his workload, he’ll be impressed to know I’m done.
Maybe this time, I’ll finally get it right.
The door to Harlan’s office is cracked open slightly, a thin bar of light cutting through the shadows of the hallway.
Oh no.
I pause, gathering myself, smoothing down my dress, and plastering what I hope passes for a professional expression on my face. I hope he can’t tell that I’ve been crying.
That’s the last thing I need.
I gently knock on the door.
“Come in,” he snaps. His voice explodes, and I jerk backward. The papers slip and I clutch them tighter to my chest, feeling the rapid flutter of my pulse against the edges.
I can see him standing next to the table along the side wall, hunched over, as he rearranges something on the mood board.
“Um, it’s just me,” I say, moving further into the room.
His head snaps up and his gaze locks with mine, widening slightly as he recognises it’s me. There’s an immediate shift in his demeanour, the tension easing from his shoulders the second he recognises me.
I smooth down the dress as his eyes rake over my figure, and I know he must be judging the fit of it on me. Considering he had to get it for me after my mistaken run-in with… coffee, I don’t blame this frustration.
“What are you doing here?” he demands, roughness edging his voice enough to make me shiver.
“I’m finished with all of the tasks you asked me to do, so I wanted to drop the files off before I left,” I say quietly. It doesn’t matter how soft my tone is, though, the office seems to absorb sound like a vacuum, making everything feel heightened and exposed.
Harlan stares at me for a long moment, his hazel eyes unreadable. I clutch the papers tighter to my chest like a shield.
“You finished everything?” His tone is sceptical, and he glances up at the clock before meeting my gaze again. “Show me.”
I move over to his desk, and lay the files out. He snatches them from me before stepping back again, like he’s deliberately keeping distance between us.
He flips through each page with quick, decisive movements, occasionally pausing to read something more carefully. I stand perfectly still, hands clasped behind my back, watching his face for any hint of approval.
Nothing. Oh no.
I haven’t done enough. It’s not good enough.
I’m not good enough.
My thoughts cycle around and around as the silence stretches between us. My heart is racing, a bead of sweat dripping down my forehead.
“These are...” Harlan finally says, his voice trailing off as he flips to another page.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I know I should have done more before—”
Harlan lets out a low, sharp growl, and I flinch back on instinct. His eyes narrow, irritation flashing across his features.
Like me, he’s drenched in scent neutraliser, flattening whatever his natural scent might have told me.
“Stop talking.”
The words snap through the room, and I nod quickly. My stomach is churning, and I hope I don’t throw up.
He flips another page, slower this time, his gaze scanning line by line. The tension stretches, thick and suffocating, until finally he exhales through his nose and drops the folder onto the desk.
“These are correct,” he says, and I blink in surprise. “This is exactly what I asked for.”
His gaze flicks up to mine, sharp and assessing.
This is where I should feel relief, and yet, it doesn’t come.
Instead, something in my chest twists tighter. Probably because of the sneer on his face.
“Thank you,” I say automatically.
His brows pull together slightly, something almost like suspicion creeping in.
“Congratulations,” he says flatly. “You’ve managed to do your job without needing constant supervision.”
It’s not praise, but I get the feeling it’s the best I’ll be getting.
A beat passes, and then another.
“You look like shit again,” he says as bluntly as ever.
I freeze, looking down at the dress, but I know he’s not referring to the clothes.
“I’m fine,” I lie, immediately. I straighten my shoulders, forcing them back into place like posture alone can hold me together. “Everything’s done. If there’s anything else you need—”
“Stop.”
The word is said evenly, with no bark or snap to it, and yet I freeze as if it did.
“Don’t ever lie to me, Cassie. I’ve warned you not to do that,” he says calmly. “You’ve been crying.”
My stomach clenches tightly. It’s not a question, and yet I race to answer it anyway.
“No I haven’t,” I say immediately, the lie smooth, automatic. “It’s just been a long day.”
I try to meet his eyes to prove I’m telling the truth.
I fail.
But I can’t tell him the truth, no matter how badly I wish I could. The urge to share something real, to admit that his scent won’t leave, that my nest no longer smells like mine, that everything inside me is too tight, too loud, too much…
I swallow it down, and plaster the same everything is fine expression on my face that’s been my natural cover since I was a child.
Nobody really cares about what’s wrong with you when they ask. They just expect the typical I’m fine.
Anything more than that means you’re causing problems.
“Not only are you awful at lying, you’re just as bad at listening to instructions. I’m not a fool, Cassidy, so don’t treat me like one,” he says firmly.
My jaw drops, and I blink rapidly, trying to figure out the best way to reply.
“Don’t tell me. I don’t care. Just stop embarrassing me by walking around with a beaten puppy expression,” he commands. “You’re my responsibility now, and everything you do reflects on me.”
My throat tightens, and I look at my feet as I try to compose myself. It feels like he’s being rude and mean, but really he’s just being professional.
It’s not his fault I’m an emotional wreck right now.
“I understand. I’m sorry, sir. I just had a difficult… interaction, but I’m fine now,” I admit.
“With who?”
I hesitate, unsure if I should tell Harlan about Van. Something tells me that would only make things worse for me.
“It doesn’t matter. It won’t happen again. I promise.”
Harlan’s expression hardens almost immediately. Shifting from irritation to something darker, more intense. His hazel eyes narrow, the corners crinkling slightly as his jaw tightens. A muscle in his cheek twitches as he clenches his teeth.
“Don’t go causing more issues for me to deal with,” he says.
“No, of course not,” I say quickly. “I’ve already handled it. I promise I won’t be a problem.”
“Plenty of promises, not enough follow through.”
I take a step back, ready to retreat, but Harlan closes some of the distance between us before I can fully register the movement.
“Cassidy.”
The way he says my name makes me pause.
“Yes?” I whisper the words.
“You’re dismissed for the night,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine. “Go home, and don’t be late on Monday.”
Oh. Disappointment settles heavy inside me, and I hate myself for it. Why am I expecting more, from a man who doesn’t owe it to me?
“Thank you. I won’t be,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.