12. Cassie #2
"To me? Yes. To others? Maybe not yet. But you light up like a Christmas tree every time you talk about him."
"Great," I mutter. "Maybe I should just wear a paper bag over my head at the office."
"Or we could come up with a system." Olivia's eyes gleam with the excitement of conspiracy. "Like, when you need to discuss him, we call him... The Eagle."
I almost spit out my drink. "The Eagle? What is this, a spy movie?"
"Fine, you pick the code name."
"We are not giving Roman a code name," I say firmly. "That's ridiculous."
"The Situation?"
"No."
"The Asset?"
"Stop."
"Ooh, I know—The Package!"
"I'm begging you," I groan. "Just use his actual name. It's not like it's unusual enough that people will know who we're talking about."
"Fine, be boring." She sighs dramatically. "But we do need some protocols. Like, what's your plan for office functions? Industry events? The next time you're both at the same meeting and you remember what his abs feel like?"
The vivid image makes me flush. "I'll be professional. I did manage to work with him before we slept together, you know."
"Yeah, but that was different. You were in the fantasizing stage. Now you've got actual memories to contend with." She taps her chin thoughtfully. "Maybe you need a physical cue to snap yourself out of it. Like pinching yourself when you start thinking about him naked."
"I'm not discussing this anymore," I decide, focusing intently on my food.
"And what about Mia?" Olivia asks, changing tactics. "Are you going to tell her?"
I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth. In the whirlwind of the past twenty-four hours, I'd almost forgotten about my sister. "God, no. Absolutely not."
"She's going to figure it out eventually," Olivia points out. "You two are practically psychically linked."
"She won't if I'm careful. And she can't know, Liv. She's applying for internships at Elysian. If anyone found out her sister was sleeping with the CEO..."
"It would look like nepotism," Olivia finishes for me, understanding dawning. "The sister angle complicates things."
"Exactly. That's why this has to stay completely secret. Not just for my career, but for Mia's too."
As if summoned by the mention of her name, my phone buzzes with a text from Mia:
Tuition payment still showing as pending? Everything ok with the transfer?
"Speak of the devil," I mutter, quickly typing back:
All good, just a processing delay. Should clear by Monday.
"Mia?" Olivia guesses.
"Tuition payment issue." I set my phone down, anxiety creeping back. "One more reason I can't mess up this job. She's counting on me."
Olivia reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. "Hey, I might tease, but I'm on your side. Whatever happens with Roman, we'll figure it out."
Her reassurance is interrupted by a familiar voice nearby. "Ms. Monroe? What a pleasant surprise."
I look up to find Zara, Roman's executive assistant, standing beside our table with a takeout bag in hand. My heart performs a gymnastics routine that would impress Olympic judges.
"Zara," I manage, my voice unnaturally high. "Picking up brunch?"
"Mr. Kade requested some items for a working lunch," she says, her gaze uncomfortably penetrating. "He's preparing for the board meeting tomorrow."
"Of course. Very efficient of you." I'm babbling now, painfully aware that I probably still smell like Roman's cologne.
"I'll let him know I ran into you," she says with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm sure he'll be pleased to hear you're enjoying your weekend."
Before I can respond, she's gliding away, leaving me with the distinct impression that she knows exactly where I spent last night.
"Well, that was terrifying," Olivia comments once Zara is safely out of earshot. "Does she always look at people like she's calculating the most efficient way to dispose of their bodies?"
"Pretty much." I drain my third mimosa in one gulp. "Do you think she knows?"
"Hard to say. She definitely suspects something." Olivia frowns thoughtfully. "Does Roman trust her?"
"I assume so. She's been his assistant for years."
"Then maybe she's used to his... arrangements."
The thought sends an unexpected pang through me. "I guess I hadn't considered that."
"Oh no, that face," Olivia says, pointing accusingly. "That's jealousy face. You're already getting attached."
"I am not jealous," I protest, even as my mind unhelpfully conjures images of other women in Roman's penthouse, wearing his shirt, eating his omelets. "I'm just... processing."
"Processing jealousy."
"It's not—we're not—" I struggle to articulate exactly what we are. "It's just sex."
Even as I say it, I know it's not true. The texts, the conversations, the surprising vulnerability I'd glimpsed in Roman's eyes this morning—it's already more than just physical.
"Listen," Olivia says, her voice gentler now. "I know you don't want to hear this, but be careful. Not just professionally, but emotionally. Men like Roman Kade are used to getting what they want on their terms."
"He's not like that," I say automatically, then catch myself. "At least, not with me."
"I hope you're right." She doesn't look convinced. "Just remember, if it all goes sideways, my couch is always available. As are my emergency ice cream reserves."
My phone buzzes again, and I know without looking that it's from Roman. Something in my expression must give me away because Olivia rolls her eyes.
"Go ahead, check it. Your face is doing that thing again."
I pick up my phone, trying (and failing) to suppress a smile as I read his message:
Zara mentioned running into you at brunch. Is she interrogating you about work on weekends now too?
"What does Lover Boy want?" Olivia asks, signaling for the check.
"He knows Zara saw me." I bite my lip, unsure how to respond.
"Tell him the truth—that you're being thoroughly debriefed about your night of passion."
"I am not saying that." I type a response, keeping it deliberately light:
No interrogation, just good timing. I'm being forced to consume mimosas while pretending I didn't just have the best night of my life.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself. Three dots appear immediately, then: Only the best? I must be losing my touch. Perhaps a refresher course is needed.
Heat rises to my face, which Olivia—naturally—notices.
"I know that look," she says, pointing an accusing finger at me. "You're sexting at brunch? While I'm sitting right here? I'm simultaneously appalled and impressed."
"I'm not sexting," I insist, though whatever I was about to type back definitely veered in that direction. "We're just... bantering."
"Mm-hmm. Horizontal bantering, I bet."
"I promise to keep all future bantering strictly vertical when you're present," I say solemnly.
"Don't make promises you can't keep." She stands, gathering her things. "Just promise me one thing—you'll be smart about this. And not just the obvious stuff like protection. I mean emotionally smart."
"I will," I say, touched by her concern beneath the teasing. "This is just a temporary... thing. A post-Camden palate cleanser. Nothing serious."
"If you say so." She doesn't look convinced. "Just remember, I reserve the right to say 'I told you so' when appropriate."
"Duly noted." I stand as well, grabbing my purse.
"Oh, and Cassie?" Olivia loops her arm through mine as we head for the door. "While I have serious concerns about the wisdom of your choices, I have to admit—you look happier than I've seen you in months. Maybe years."
"Do I?" I'm genuinely surprised.
"You're practically glowing. It's annoying, actually."
I laugh, bumping her shoulder with mine. "Thanks for not judging. Too much."
"What are friends for?" She grins. "Besides, if you're jumping into the fire, you might as well bring marshmallows to roast."
As we step outside, my phone buzzes again. I don't need to check it to know it's Roman, but I do anyway, my smile widening at his message:
Dinner at my place tonight? I promise to make it worth missing your Sunday night face mask ritual.
"Marshmallows indeed," I murmur to myself, already composing my reply.
I might be playing with fire, but right now, the flames feel an awful lot like flying.