Isaac #3
I want to kick myself. I shouldn’t have pushed so hard. Her shoulders curve inward as she retreats from me again, her scent withdrawing with her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, shaking her head. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean to insult him to you.”
“He’s my boss,” I offer, trying desperately to connect with her. “Trust me, you can’t say anything I’ve never said myself.”
She bites her lip, and even without hearing the words, I know she’s arguing with herself. Warring between a desire to be open and one to stop taking up space.
She doesn’t see herself as important enough to be able to complain.
“I just…” She shakes her head immediately after, like she regrets speaking at all. “Sorry. It doesn’t matter.”
“Everything you feel matters, Cassie.”
Her eyes flick towards me, startled by how immediate the response is.
Fuck.
Careful, Isaac.
I soften my expression before I scare her off completely.
“Cassie,” I say quietly, “you’re allowed to feel hurt by something even if the person hurting you had good intentions.”
Her lips part slightly, and I can see the words catching in her throat before she swallows them back down. The vulnerability in her expression makes something deep in my chest ache with helpless affection.
“He just made me feel…” She swallows hard. “Small.”
Something ugly twists low in my stomach.
Not anger at Evander exactly because I understand what he’d tried to do for her. But intent means fuck all when the impact still leaves an omega crying alone in her office nest.
“I’m sure he meant everything he said in a nice way, and I was extremely ungrateful,” Cassie says, and I can almost sense the mask sliding back into place. “I was sensitive because I already know how badly I’m messing things up here.”
“Messing up at work? Or with Evander?”
“At work,” she says, moving around to sit down in her desk chair. I move from the ground, taking the open chair opposite her desk. The flowers mostly shield her from me.
“Everyone can tell I’m failing,” she continues. “But it hurt coming from Evander. Not his fault, of course.”
“You’re not failing,” I argue.
Her laugh this time is watery and self-deprecating. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough to know you care too much to be failing.”
She shakes her head, and I know what she’s doing. I’ve done it myself.
She’s making herself smaller so she can retreat from this uncomfortable challenge to her beliefs.
To her fake beliefs.
I lean back slightly against the chair, forcing myself to stay relaxed and non-threatening despite every instinct currently clawing at my ribs.
“I know you stayed late on Friday,” I say.
“I know you got here before seven this morning. I know you’ve rewritten whatever’s on that laptop at least three times because you care about getting it right.
” My gaze flicks briefly towards the tissue box.
“And I know people who genuinely are failing usually aren’t crying because they care too much. ”
Cassie goes very still. The scent of her distress shifts again, softening into something warm and achingly vulnerable.
“I think everyone here made a mistake choosing me,” she whispers. “And every time I mess something up, it feels like they’re getting closer to realising it.”
“That’s not true. You were chosen because you were good at what you do.”
Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and I fight the almost overwhelming urge to reach across the desk and take her hand. The distance between us feels necessary in all the worst ways.
“I’m the only omega here, and clearly, it was for a reason.”
Wow. Okay.
“You may be the only omega in this department, Cassie, but take it from me, your designation isn’t the be-all and end-all. You’re not a token omega, and it’s not the reason you’re going to succeed here. You’ll succeed because of you.”
“You really sound like a beta,” she blurts before immediately looking horrified at herself. “Not in a bad way! Oh, my gosh, that sounded so rude and not—”
I bark out a laugh before she can spiral herself back into her nest.
“No, no, shortcake, I get what you mean. Betas are much more… unbothered by designations because we’re not as tightly bound to them.”
The second the nickname leaves my mouth, her scent blooms so sweetly around me that my entire body goes alert with it.
I’m overwhelmed with strawberry shortcake—something that has never been arousing until now.
Fuck.
I wonder if that’s how she tastes.
My chest tightens painfully. I can’t do this to her. Can’t acknowledge our bond—the claim I have on her soul—even if her body is recognising the signs.
I can’t betray Evander this way, and most importantly—I can’t add to her unease right now.
She’s got too much happening, too much pressure already weighing on her, to add another person into the mix.
I can wait. I can survive this pull if it means she never feels pressured by me. If she gets to do this on her terms.
Cassie freezes, too, her wide green eyes locking onto mine as the sweetness of her scent spikes sharply between us. I clear my throat carefully, trying to recover before I do something catastrophically stupid.
“So, what are you going to do with these?” I ask, gesturing to the flowers.
She sighs. “Unfortunately, nothing right now. I hope they’ll be okay until after work. I’ll have to go buy some vases and make sure I have the right food for the flowers, and—”
“Um, excuse my stupidity, but can’t you just… leave them as is?”
She gasps, and I regret opening my stupid mouth.
I’m a fool.
“No, of course not.” Cassie looks genuinely horrified by the suggestion. “They’ll die.”
I blink, genuinely surprised by the intensity of her reaction.
“I mean… eventually, yeah—”
“No, like soon.” She gestures helplessly towards the arrangement. “The stems need trimming, and the water temperature matters depending on the flower type, and eucalyptus affects some blooms, so I’ll need to separate them properly or they’ll wilt faster, and—”
She cuts herself off abruptly, like she’s aware she’s rambling about flowers of all things.
“I’m sorry,” she says automatically. “You have more important things to do than listen to my new to-do list to handle these.”
“You don’t need to be sorry.”
She grimaces. “Ignore me, genuinely. I’m just having to rearrange my schedule to now find the time to call into the florist for the right… equipment to handle all of these properly.”
“You know,” I say carefully, “most people would just think, wow, pretty flowers.”
Cassie’s expression twists into something guilty, her scent suffocating me now, as I fight the desire to help. No wonder Evander fucked up so badly—she’s such a contradiction without even intending to be.
Her scent begs for comfort, touch, reassurance, while her words try to take up less space. She’s determined to make herself smaller, easier, better.
But her scent shows how badly she wants to be soothed. How she needs someone to look after her. Someone to care about her first for once.
This is fucking killing me.
“I know. I’m being difficult.”
“No,” I say immediately, leaning forward slightly before I stop myself. “That’s not what I meant.”
But she’s already shaking her head.
“It’s fine. I’ll sort it out after work.
” Her eyes flick towards her laptop, exhaustion creeping back into her scent.
“I just need to finish these notes first, and meet with Director Mercer, and…” Her blush deepens.
“Can you tell Evander, um, thank you, but he doesn’t need to keep getting me flowers! ”
My heart aches for her so sharply it almost feels like guilt, even though none of this is mine to apologise for.
Where most see this as a nice, if elaborate, gift, to her, she’s now stuck spending her evening managing flowers she never asked for because she doesn’t know how not to turn everything into responsibility.
Their conversation makes much more sense now.
Evander met his mate, heard all these shitty things about her, and immediately went into protect mode.
But when she was confronted that way, all Cassie saw was that she needed to be better.
To be perfect so she can deserve being here.
Fucking hell.
And it’s suddenly painfully clear why Evander fell for her so fast.
Cassie Hargrove will carry every burden handed to her until she collapses beneath the weight of it—then apologise for bleeding on the floor.