CASSIDY #2
“Fine is such a mundane answer,” he says.
I narrow my eyes at the phone. “What does that mean?”
“It means you answered like someone who has rehearsed being fine in front of a mirror.”
I gasp in horror, my voice rising with the tell-tale signs of a lie. “I did not.”
“Did you close your eyes whilst saying it?”
He sounds far too amused right now. I click the top back onto my mug and flick the lights off as I leave the staff room.
“You can’t see me,” I protest weakly.
“I don’t need to. I know your tells.”
Something in my chest softens annoyingly. This man saw me at my most vulnerable and somehow never made me feel smaller for it.
I’d never been away from home before. Never expected to find friends, let alone survive being one of… thousands at university.
I was not prepared, not even a little bit, and if it weren’t for Frankie stepping in as my mentor, I have no idea where I’d be right now.
I groan. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No, I don’t,” I admit with a smile. “Even if you’re annoying.”
“Comes with the territory of being the one who is always right in our friendship,” he teases.
I roll my eyes and unlock my office door, having to balance the full mug this time with my phone.
“Exactly. Now, tell me what’s happening in the world of Cassie.”
“Nothing is happening.”
It’s not a lie either. Currently, everything is pretty perfect. There’s nothing to share.
“Cassidy.”
I close my eyes and use my door to hold myself up.
There is something unfair about people who know you well enough to turn your name into a lecture without saying anything else.
Damn it.
“I’m not upset,” I say carefully.
“I didn’t say you were.”
I sneer at the phone, but, of course, he can’t see me or my nastiness.
Guilt hits immediately. Hard. There was no need for me to be so rude.
“I’m not spiralling.”
“I didn’t say that either.”
“I’m just...”
I trail off because I don’t know how to answer.
Frankie’s voice softens. “Cass?”
I open my eyes and stare at the blanket on my desk, its scent already reaching for me before I sigh.
“Someone left me a gift, and I have no idea who.”
Frankie goes silent, then gasps so loudly I have to pull the phone away from my ear.
“Fucking hell, I wish I worked with you. What kind of gift?” he asks so loudly it practically breaks my eardrums.
“Please don’t do that.” I pop him on speaker, turning the volume down slightly, before placing the phone on my desk. I rearrange the blanket and get comfortable in my office chair again.
“How can you be so blasé about this?” he demands, delighted. “There are gifts? Who else is delivering you gifts?”
“There were always gifts,” I remind him.
He knows that Evander and I are… well, whatever we are, and is very intrigued by the idea.
“Well, yes, but this isn’t from him, is it? So, there are multiple gift senders now?”
“No. Well, technically, yes, but Evander wasn’t upset about it once he saw it.”
“Once he saw it?” Frankie’s glee is extremely obnoxious in the face of my panic. “So, he was originally angry?”
I nod, biting my lip. “Mhm.”
Silence. I check he hasn’t hung up, and he hasn’t.
Well, then.
“Frankie?”
“I’m processing.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“No, no. I’m updating my mental file on Men Being Weird About Cassidy.” He cackles, and I groan.
“That file shouldn’t exist.”
“It absolutely exists, and it has subcategories.”
“Delete it.”
“You can’t delete a mental file, baby girl. It’s exactly what these men are—mental.”
I stare at the ceiling, not sure if I’m begging for divine intervention or hiding from embarrassment. “Please stop.”
“What was the gift?” he asks.
My smile falters, and Frankie seems to realise I’m nervous, even through the phone.
“Cass?”
I describe the patchwork blanket I’m currently holding, and he gasps in all the right places.
“You’re telling me that you’ve received the most mysterious, romantic, possibly-criminal blanket?”
“It’s not criminal,” I protest, although I suppose if the fabrics were stolen, then maybe…
“That’s disappointing.”
“It’s stressful.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive,” he teases.
I huff out a laugh despite myself, but it doesn’t last.
“I still don’t know who sent it,” I say quietly. “I still don’t know why. And I can’t identify most of the scents.”
“Most?”
I hesitate, then sigh.
“One is Evander.”
Frankie makes another noise, but I have no idea what this one means.
“Of course, it is,” he says sarcastically.
“That’s not helpful.”
“I’m not trying to be helpful, yet. We don’t have enough information for that.”
“Oh, my days.” I look down at the blanket and pull it in closer, rubbing it against my cheek until the skin near my scent gland stops prickling.
“Cass, you’re living in a romance novel. You can’t be upset about this. It’s fabulous.”
“I’m living in a freaking HR violation,” I practically hiss the words down the line.
He laughs so hard I have to smile.
“To be fair,” Frankie says once he recovers, “both things can be true.”
“I hate that you’re enjoying this.”
“I’m enjoying parts of it. The mystery. The drama. The fact that multiple attractive men might be pining over you via blanket.”
“Frankie.” Where he uses my name as a full lecture, I can barely do more than whine it in an embarrassing tone.
It’s got none of the confidence he carries. I blame being an omega raised to overthink everything and him being an alpha who never had to.
It’s cheating, I think.
“What? I’m being supportive.”
“You’re being terrible,” I mutter with a shake of my head.
“I’m being both.”
The warmth in his voice makes my throat tighten. He’s a good friend, a really good friend.
“It’s just frustrating,” I admit. “I don’t like not knowing.”
“I know.”
“And every time I think about it, I get annoyed because there isn’t enough information. It doesn’t make sense. Gifts should make sense.” I pout at the phone, glad I’m alone so nobody can see me this pathetic.
“Should they?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds like a rule you made up,” he points out.
“It’s a good rule.”
“It’s a very Cassidy rule.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means you want everything clearly labelled so you can’t make a mistake,” he says gently. “But life doesn’t work like that. Feelings don’t.”
“Well, they should. Everything would be so much easier if people just said what they meant.”
“I know it would.” His voice softens again. “But maybe mistakes are part of life for a reason. If you’d been handed the uni rule book, we’d never even have met. You make the best decision you can with the information you’ve got. Sometimes it works out. Sometimes it doesn’t.”
“I don’t understand.” I huddle in on myself, tucking my chin away from the tender skin near my scent gland.
“Maybe you don’t have to solve this one immediately.”
I don’t know how to do that.
I don’t know how to set a problem down without worrying it will bite me in the ass the moment I do.
“I don’t like leaving things unresolved,” I say rather than trying to explain how much his idea gives me hives.
“I know.”
“What if I’m missing something?”
“Then you can notice it when you’re ready.”
“What if—”
“Cass.”
I stop, letting out another sigh. He’s not exasperated, unlike me, and that’s somehow worse than if he were.
“You don’t have to earn the right to breathe by solving everything around you.”
I swallow roughly, looking away from the phone in case he realises that I’m crying, even though part of me thinks he already knows.
People love me when I’m useful. At work, they value me when I’m competent.
“You’re very annoying,” I say eventually.
His voice brightens. “Yes, but I’m right, too.”
“Debatable.”
“Not in this case.”
“I’ll consider it,” I mutter, and he laughs. “Go back to your glacial sexy campaign.”
“Only if you promise to stop staring ominously at mysterious textiles.”
“I wasn’t staring ominously.”
“You absolutely were.”
“You can’t see me,” I argue.
“I know your tells.”
I shake my head, still smiling. “Goodbye, Frankie.”
“Goodbye, my little HR violation.”
“Hey, what happened to me being a romance heroine?” I ask.
“Same thing.”
I hang up to his laughter and can’t help my own. I don’t know how he knew I needed this, but I really did. Needed someone to see the mess and stay with it anyway.
I settle back into my chair and open the campaign document to start working on the clarification requests I’ve got.
Three whole minutes pass before someone knocks lightly on my open door.
I glance up hesitantly but immediately relax when I spot a familiar face, my scent easing before I can think better of it.
Isaac leans against the frame, coffee in one hand and a tablet tucked beneath the other arm.
His dark brown hair is neatly styled, as always, and he’s wearing navy suit trousers and an ivory shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
No suit jacket today, meaning I get to notice far too much about his arms and shoulders, and how unfairly natural he looks standing in my doorway.
Stop it, Cassie.
“Good morning,” I say hesitantly.
His smile appears instantly, warm and easy. “Good morning to you, too, shortcake.”
“Have you had a good weekend?” I ask.
“Nobody died,” he says teasingly. “And I’ve heard all about your Friday night dinner twice already.”
My cheeks heat up faster than he can close my office door, and I duck my head to try and hide it, as if my scent isn’t already betraying me.
“Don’t be so shy,” Isaac practically demands. He places his things on my desk and sits carefully on the office chair opposite me.
“Everything okay?” I ask, glancing at the clock. It’s a bit early in the day for an Isaac visit, not that I’m complaining.
“Yep.”
He takes a sip of coffee and looks around my office, saying nothing more.
I narrow my eyes, not sure why his cryptic behaviour has me on edge when it usually doesn’t.
But today, it feels like he’s here for a reason. One I don’t particularly love.
“You’re here for something,” I say carefully. “Have I done something wrong?”
“Do you really think you could do anything wrong in Evander’s eyes, shortcake?”
I look down at my keyboard. “Maybe not outside of work, but here? Absolutely.”