7. Cassie
CASSIE
MIXED SIGNALS
" H e's what ?" Olivia screeches, causing at least three patrons in the coffee shop to swivel their heads in our direction.
I slap my hand over her mouth, looking around frantically. "Could you possibly be louder? I don't think they heard you in China ."
After the text bombshell outside Elysian headquarters, I'd dragged Olivia to the farthest coffee shop I could find—one where no fashion industry people would ever set foot, judging by the mismatched furniture and chalkboard menu featuring drinks with punny names instead of proper Italian terminology.
"Sorry," Olivia whispers dramatically once I remove my hand. "But holy shit, Cassie. Roman Kade is your sexy mystery texter? The Roman Kade? Billionaire, fashion mogul, 'Sexiest CEO Alive' according to Business Insider ?"
"Apparently," I groan, dropping my head into my hands. "And now he's going to be my boss. If he even hires me, which he probably won't because who wants an employee who accidentally sexted them?"
"Umm, have you seen yourself?" Olivia gestures at me like I'm a prize on a game show.
"Plus, didn't you say the interview went well? Before the whole text revelation thing?"
I peek at her through my fingers. "I guess? I told him his brand had lost its way."
"You WHAT?" Olivia chokes on her latte.
"I was being honest! That's what Lumière needs—someone who'll fight for authentic vision instead of chasing trends!"
Olivia stares at me like I've sprouted a second head. "Who are you and what have you done with my best friend? The Cassie I know would never tell a billionaire CEO his business strategy sucks."
She's right.
Pre-Camden-breakup Cassie would have smiled and nodded and presented watered-down concepts that wouldn't rock any boats.
"I guess getting dumped at my anniversary dinner and then finding my ex cheating the next day really freed up some mental real estate," I mutter.
"Freedom looks good on you," Olivia says, clinking her mug against mine. "Even if it comes with accidental sexting complications."
My phone buzzes on the table between us. We both freeze, staring at it like it might explode.
"Is it him?" Olivia whispers.
I turn the phone over with the caution of someone defusing a bomb. "No, it's Mia. Asking how the interview went."
"What are you going to tell her?"
I consider this. "Absolutely nothing about the texting situation. Ever. Under any circumstances. Including torture."
"Probably wise," Olivia agrees. "So what now? Are you going to take the job if they offer it?"
"I don't know." I stare into my rapidly cooling coffee. "It would be the career opportunity of a lifetime. But also possibly the most awkward professional situation in human history."
"You could always pretend you have no idea what he's talking about," Olivia suggests. "Play dumb. 'Text? What text? I have no idea who Camden is. I've certainly never fantasized about being pinned against walls.'"
"He saw my face when I recognized his voice," I groan. "There's no way I can convince him I don't know."
"So own it," Olivia says with a shrug. "You accidentally texted him. So what? You weren't doing anything wrong. You were venting after a breakup. People do way more embarrassing things than that."
"I described in explicit detail what I wanted done to me against a wall!"
"And now he knows you're not boring in bed. Could be worse."
"How? How could this possibly be worse?" I demand.
Olivia considers this. "You could have included Camden's full name and he could have been Roman's golf buddy? You could have sent actual nudes? You could have?—"
"Okay, okay!" I cut her off. "Point taken."
My phone buzzes again. This time, it's a number I don't recognize—but different from Roman's. My heart does a weird little stutter step before I read the message.
Cassandra Monroe, this is Melissa Chen from Elysian HR. We'd like to offer you the Creative Director position at Lumière, effective immediately. Details to follow via email. Congratulations!
I stare at the screen in disbelief.
"What?" Olivia demands. "Is it him? What did he say?"
Wordlessly, I turn my phone so she can read the message.
Olivia's eyes widen.
"Holy shit! They're offering you the job! Like, right now!"
"This is insane," I whisper. "Why would he hire me after... you know?"
"Because you're qualified?" Olivia suggests. "Or because he wants to see you squirm? Or because he's into you? Or all of the above?"
I glare at her. "Not helping."
"Sorry. But seriously, Cassie, this is your dream job. Are you going to let one awkward text exchange stop you from taking it?"
When she puts it that way, it sounds ridiculous. But still.
"What if he expects something... inappropriate?" I ask, voicing my biggest fear.
Olivia rolls her eyes. "Then you sue him for a billion dollars and retire to a private island. But from what you've told me, he doesn't sound like that kind of guy. The texts were flirty but not predatory, right?"
She's right. Nothing in our exchange suggested he was a creep. In fact, he'd been surprisingly respectful, considering the content I'd sent him.
"I'm going to take it," I decide, the words sending equal parts terror and exhilaration through me. "I can handle this. I can be professional."
"That's my girl!" Olivia high-fives me across the table. "Besides, not every CEO looks like Roman Kade. Might as well enjoy the view while climbing the corporate ladder."
"Olivia!"
"What? I'm just saying, if I had to have an awkward workplace situation, I'd rather it be with the guy who's on the 'Hottest Bachelors' list than, like, Jenkins from Accounting."
I can't help but laugh, some of the tension finally breaking. "You're terrible."
"I'm supportive," she corrects me. "Now, what are you going to wear on your first day?"
One week later, I'm standing in front of the Elysian building at 7:45 AM, wearing my most confidence-boosting outfit—a perfectly tailored black dress with subtle design elements that say "I understand fashion" without screaming "I'm trying too hard."
I've spent the past seven days preparing for this moment. Reading everything I can find about Lumière's history and current product lines. Reviewing market analyses. Practicing my "I definitely didn't sext you" face in the mirror.
Roman Kade hasn't texted me again since that bombshell message outside the building. I'm not sure if that's a good sign or a bad one.
"Cassandra Monroe?" A perky assistant greets me in the lobby. "I'm Taylor. I'll be showing you to your new office and getting you set up today."
My new office. I have an office. With a door. And a window. This is really happening.
The elevator ride to the 36th floor feels simultaneously endless and too short. Taylor chatters about building access cards and cafeteria hours while I nod and pretend I'm not having an internal meltdown about potentially running into my new boss at any moment.
"Here we are!" Taylor announces, opening a frosted glass door with "Lumière" etched into it. "The creative team is eager to meet you. Mr. Kade mentioned you have an innovative vision for the brand."
The words "Mr. Kade mentioned" send my heart rate skyrocketing again, but I manage a professional smile as Taylor leads me through an open workspace filled with stylishly dressed designers who regard me with curious expressions.
"Your office is right through here," Taylor continues, opening another door to reveal a corner office with stunning views of the city and a sleek glass desk. "The team will gather in the conference room at 9:30 for introductions. Will you need anything before then?"
"No, thank you. This is perfect." My voice sounds remarkably steady for someone who's internally losing it.
As soon as Taylor leaves, I sink into the ergonomic chair behind my desk and take a deep breath. I can do this. I am a professional. I am qualified for this job. I will not think about Roman Kade and sex against the wall and?—
"Ms. Monroe. Settling in?"
The deep voice from the doorway sends a jolt of electricity up my spine. I spin my chair around so quickly I nearly fall out of it.
Roman Kade stands in my office doorway looking impossibly perfect in an undoubtedly expensive charcoal suit. His expression is completely neutral, as if he didn't send me that text, as if we don't have this strange, explosive secret between us.
"Mr. Kade." I rise from my chair, grateful that my legs feel steady. "Yes, thank you. The office is lovely."
"Good." He steps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click that somehow sounds deafening in the sudden silence. "We should establish some ground rules."
Here it comes. I brace myself for... what? Inappropriate suggestions? Blackmail? A pretense that nothing happened?
"Lumière is a priority for Elysian," he says, his tone purely professional. "The brand needs significant revitalization without alienating its core customer base. I expect weekly progress reports and direct communication about any obstacles you encounter."
I blink, thrown by the businesslike approach. "Of course. I've already started developing a transition plan for the first hundred days."
"Excellent." He nods approvingly. "The creative team is talented but lacks direction. They need strong leadership, which is why I selected you despite your... unorthodox interview approach."
Is he referring to me telling him his brand lost its way, or to me accidentally sexting him? The ambiguity is maddening.
"I appreciate the opportunity," I say carefully. "I won't let you down."
His lips quirk in what might be the ghost of a smile. "I'm counting on that, Ms. Monroe."
He turns to leave, then pauses with his hand on the doorknob. "One more thing."
My stomach flips nervously. "Yes?"
"The walls in your office seem particularly sturdy."
And with that, he's gone, leaving me standing there with my mouth hanging open and my face burning.
Did he just...? Was that...?