Cassidy #3
“You look like you’re about three seconds away from either crying or vomiting, little luxury,” he murmurs.
Little luxury?
Heat floods my face, and I take a hesitant step back. “I’m sorry. I, um, just—”
“Fucking hell,” he snaps, striding towards me.
I flinch, but my traitorous body freezes in place, refusing to move no matter how much I beg my legs to.
He stops barely an inch away, tall enough that I have to tip my chin back, then yanks his jacket off, wrapping it around my shoulders before I can blink.
The fabric settles around my shoulders, heavy and warm, and I can’t help rubbing my cheek against the soft material, breathing in warm brioche and honeyed citrus.
His scent has saturated it, and I know I can’t give this back.
I know I won’t.
It belongs in my nest, another layer of warmth and comfort.
“Arms,” he commands, and I look at him in confusion.
“Put your arms in the holes, Cassidy,” he says, and when I don’t immediately move, he starts doing it for me.
His hand closes around my wrist, so gently despite the harsh tone, and he carefully threads my arm through the sleeve.
As he takes my other hand, his thumb brushes against my scent gland, and I gasp.
To my surprise, Harlan doesn’t back away. He doesn’t look at me in horror.
He doesn’t do anything hurtful. He just gently places that arm in the jacket, too, and pulls it around me properly.
“Much better.”
I stare at him, completely thrown, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he takes my hands in his long fingers and practically drags me over to the sofa I infested last time.
“Harlan?” I whisper, my voice trembling more than my limbs are.
He doesn’t answer, instead grabbing a pile of fabric and tossing it across the room.
I gasp and try to pull my hand free, but he refuses to let go.
Instead, he gestures to the sofa. “Sit.”
“Harlan?” I stammer his name.
“Sit on the fucking sofa, Cassidy,” he practically snarls.
Only when I drop into the seat, sinking into the low cushions, does he let go of my hand.
I look at the fabrics littered on the floor and have to force myself to look away so I don’t let my anxiety show.
If he’d just let me quickly clean them up, then—
Harlan disappears behind his desk, past the chaotic stacks of campaign proofs, and returns with the grey blanket he keeps folded over the back of his chair.
Before I can protest, it’s draped over my lap, and I stare down as he literally tucks it around me.
Just like his jacket, this blanket is drenched in his scent. In any other situation, I might like it.
But this is weird, and I still have no real idea what’s going on.
I thought… I thought he was going to fire me.
Instead, he seems very concerned that I’m… cold.
“Right,” he says, pacing once across the office, shoes sharp against the floor. “Now tell me exactly what happened in that meeting.”
I blink at the rapid shift. I look at the fabrics on the floor, then down at the blanket on my lap.
“Harlan—” I start.
“No.” The word cracks through the room, and I immediately bite my lip, avoiding his gaze.
“Start from the beginning,” he commands. “I want to know exactly what those fuckers dared accuse you of.”
Accuse me of?
Does he… does he not believe I did it?
My throat tightens. “I just got asked some questions.”
His expression darkens. “About?”
“The campaign.”
“Obviously,” he drawls, and I jump slightly.
He immediately strides towards me and gently traces a finger down my cheek, warm against my skin. I lean into the touch despite myself.
“I’m sorry, little luxury,” he murmurs. “I did not mean to be so abrupt with you when you’re struggling.”
He tucks the blanket in again, and I’m not sure if it’s meant to keep me warm, soothe my scent, or keep me trapped at this point.
He grabs a bottle of water from his desk, the plastic crackling in his grip, and passes it to me. I just stare at it.
“Drink,” he demands.
I don’t even think about opening the bottle. My hands simply obey the calm in his voice.
This is so freaky. What is wrong with my brain? With my body?
With my traitorous instincts?
My hand shakes, and I drop a little of the water.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp.
“Don’t apologise,” he says, waving me off. “I am furious that they dared bring you in like some common criminal.”
“I don’t think—” I start.
“You did not leak that campaign,” he says firmly. “The fact that they decided otherwise is a punishable offence. You’re going to give me their names, and they’ll be leaving this company today, I promise you.”
I stare at him in shock.
He can’t actually mean that… right? He can’t actually fire these people for just doing their jobs?
I can’t be the reason people lose their career—lose their financial stability, lose their income.
I can’t let him do this.
I shake my head, but he doesn’t pause long enough for me to get a word in.
“You’re one of the most honest people I’ve ever met,” he says almost angrily. My pulse stumbles, and he immediately hands me a granola bar from his desk.
I don’t know what he wants me to do with it, so I place it on my lap.
“You’d feel guilty stealing somebody else’s pen, for crying out loud,” he continues. “How the fuck do they think you’d be comfortable stealing a company’s fucking work?”
He snarls, and his scent is practically smothering me now. The soft, lazy one from his blanket, and the agitated stronger one on his jacket.
But the pure, intense, real version drifting from his glands is the one I like best.
“I didn’t mean to take that pen,” I murmur.
“You work longer hours than anyone in this fucking place,” he hisses, kicking a scrap of paper on the floor. It bounces off the cabinet, and I duck my head as it hurls my way.
And yet, he grabs it mid-air before it can hit me.
It’s a bit of paper, Cassie. Grow the fuck up.
“I am furious on your behalf. They’re lucky I had Silas this morning, or I would genuinely have stormed into your fucking meeting and torn them alive where they stood.”
His eyes narrow as he turns to me. “Next time, you refuse to go anywhere with them without clearing it with me. Understood?”
I frown and shake my head, but he takes it as my agreement.
“Good girl. You’re such a perfect girl,” he says almost proudly.
“You really believe that I didn’t do this?” I ask.
The words come out smaller than I intended.
Almost childlike.
For a second, Harlan simply stares at me before laughing so heartily that I’m shocked.
I don’t think I have ever heard him this unrestrained before.
“Believe you?” he scoffs. “Cassidy, if I thought you leaked that campaign, you wouldn’t have been called into HR.”
I blink.
“What?”
His jaw tightens, a smirk appearing on his face that I wish I could read. “You’d have been called into my office for me to deal with.”
“What?” I repeat, my jaw slack, my eyes wide.
He winks. “And trust me, my lovely little luxury, you’d enjoy it.”
Enjoy it? Enjoy what?
“Enjoy what?” I ask.
Harlan groans. His scent deepens, the sound echoing with his frustration.
He drags a hand down his face before fixing me with a look that makes my pulse stumble.
“Fucking hell, Cassidy.”
“What?”
“You genuinely have no idea, do you?” he murmurs, his voice husky and tingly.
My stomach flips, and I shake my head. “No idea about what?”
He stares at me before laughing loudly. I don’t even know what’s funny.
“We’ve got so much to learn about each other,” he says, and my neck flushes. “You think I dislike you.”
It isn’t a question, but the truth of it makes me feel uncomfortable.
I immediately look away.
“Well…” I trail off and shrug. “You don’t need to like me to be a good teacher.”
“Cassidy.”
I avoid his gaze, but I can still feel his eyes on me. I wish I could disappear beneath his things, soaking up his scents, avoiding the pressure.
Hell, I wish I could take them back to my nest with me.
“Do you remember your interview?” Harlan asks.
I blink in surprise. “What?”
“Your interview for the trainee programme,” he says. “Do you remember it?”
I nod slowly, looking at him in confusion. “Of course.”
It had been one of the most important days of my life, and I was terrified I was going to fail.
“You brought a physical portfolio with you,” he says, and I grin.
Now, it’s amusing. At the time, it was another level of proof that I wasn’t going to get the job.
“Yes. We were meant to upload things into the folder, but we were only allowed to include one file,” I say with a hesitant shrug. “I wasn’t willing to risk being rejected because of it.”
He smiles. “You had to leave your portfolio behind, right?”
I nod, confused as to why we’re discussing this rather than… well, anything else.
“Silas saw it and knew I would want to see it,” Harlan says, and my jaw drops. “And he was right. Out of all the portfolios, yours was the only one I cared for this year.”
My cheeks are flushed, my scent saturated, and my glands tingling.
He chose me.
Silas said this… and I never believed it. Not really, not when I saw how much he disliked me.
“Someone with your passion would never risk losing this job,” he says. “Someone with your integrity would never stoop so low. Someone like you, little luxury…”
He shakes his head, striding towards me. I lean back into the chair, but he just kneels in front of me, broad shoulders level with my knees, not touching, but there.
“I don’t need you to convince me you didn’t do this, Cassidy, because I know you would rather cut off your hand than leak everyone’s work,” he murmurs.
My breath catches. “Harlan—”
“No.”
I close my mouth and wait.
“I’m talking now,” he says, and I nod. Rather than being happy, though, his eyes narrow. “See? That’s another thing.”
“What?” I whisper.
“You listen to me. Every time. Even when I’m being a cunt.” His jaw tightens. “Every instruction. Every suggestion. Every stupid thing I ask. You do it without complaint.”
I stare at him blankly, no idea what his point is now. I don’t think I’d understand this conversation even if he explained it ten more times.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know.” He laughs bitterly. “That’s been the fucking problem.”