17. Cassie #3
"I know," I say, though part of me still wonders if the board will see it that way. If they'll view me as the Creative Director who slept her way into a major opportunity. "I just want to be sure I've thought of everything. The material sourcing, the production timeline, the marketing strategy?—"
"Stop," Roman interrupts gently. "You're overthinking again."
"That's rich coming from you," I counter. "Mr. I-review-every-document-three-times."
"That's different. That's thoroughness."
"And what am I doing?"
"Spiraling," he says, coming around the counter to stand before me. "There's a difference between careful preparation and second-guessing yourself into paralysis."
"This from the man who sent back the Lumière presentation draft four times for revisions," I remind him, though I lean into his touch as he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.
"That was before I knew how brilliant you are when you trust your instincts," he admits. "I've learned a few things since then."
"Such as?"
"Such as sometimes perfectionism is just fear in disguise." His fingers trace the line of my jaw. "And sometimes the most exceptional results come from letting go of control."
"Now you sound like my sister," I say with a small laugh. "Mia's always telling me to 'trust the creative process' instead of overthinking every design choice."
"Smart woman, your sister." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "You should listen to her."
"I'll remember that next time you criticize one of my presentation slides."
"That's different," he insists, his hands settling on my waist. "That's constructive feedback."
"Mmm-hmm." I loop my arms around his neck, enjoying the solid warmth of him. "And this right here is constructive distraction."
"Is it working?" His mouth hovers just above mine, his breath warm against my lips.
"Ask me again in an hour," I murmur, closing the distance between us.
We never do make it back to discussing my presentation. Instead, we spend the morning in a pleasant haze of physical connection and lazy conversation, the kind of Sunday indulgence neither of us would have allowed ourselves a few months ago.
It's only when my phone buzzes insistently from the bedroom that real life intrudes on our private bubble. I reluctantly disentangle myself from Roman's embrace on the couch where we've been watching an art documentary he swears will inspire my brand aesthetic.
"It's probably Mia," I say, padding toward the bedroom. "She's been texting about her internship interview I told her she should hear something from the program coordinator soon.”
But the name on my screen isn't my sister's. It's Olivia, and the message makes my blood run cold.
SOS. Camden just cornered me at Bloom. Asking about you. Says he's going to be at Elysian tomorrow to "make things right." Whatever that means. Call me.
I stare at the text, a mixture of anger and anxiety churning in my stomach.
Camden. The man who broke my heart at our anniversary dinner, then slept with someone else in our bed the very next day.
The catalyst for the accidental text that changed everything.
The last person I want to see at a professional event where I need to be at my sharpest.
"Everything okay?" Roman asks from the doorway, his relaxed expression shifting to concern as he reads my face.
"It's fine," I say automatically, then catch myself. Honesty, I remind myself.
"Actually, no. It's Camden."
Roman stiffens visibly, his posture transforming from relaxed boyfriend to alert CEO in an instant. "What about him?"
"Apparently he's planning to come to Elysian tomorrow. To 'make things right,' whatever that means." I set my phone down carefully, like it might explode.
"Olivia ran into him at Bloom."
“He plans to come to the office tomorrow after your presentation?" Roman's voice is carefully neutral, but I can see the tension in his jaw. "That seems... calculated."
"Or coincidental," I offer, though I don't quite believe it myself. "He works for Sullivan & Marsh. They're sometimes connected to Elysian projects."
"It's not coincidental." Roman's certainty leaves no room for argument. "Not after all this time."
"It doesn't matter," I say, trying to convince myself as much as him. "Whatever he wants, I'm not interested."
"Of course not," Roman agrees too quickly, his expression still tight. "But it's an unnecessary distraction on an important day."
"I can handle Camden," I assure him, though the thought of facing my ex makes my stomach twist uncomfortably. "He's just... a footnote now."
"A footnote who once occupied a significant chapter," Roman says, his gaze assessing. "It's natural to feel unsettled."
"I'm not unsettled," I insist, even as I recognize the defensiveness in my tone. "I just don't want him intruding on my professional moments."
Roman studies me for a long moment, something vulnerable flickering across his face before he masters it. "Would it help if I ensured he wasn't able to enter the building?"
The offer is tempting—the easy solution of simply removing the problem. But it also feels like exactly the kind of manipulation I've been trying to avoid.
"No," I say firmly. "I appreciate the thought, but no. That would be an abuse of your position, and you know it."
A hint of a smile touches his lips. "I thought you might say that."
"Then why offer?"
"Because I wanted to help," he admits. "And because part of me is..." He hesitates, something almost sheepish crossing his expression. "Jealous. Which is irrational and beneath me, but there it is."
The admission catches me off guard—Roman Kade, admitting to something as human and messy as jealousy. It's so unexpected that I laugh before I can stop myself.
"You're jealous of Camden?" I ask, incredulous. "The man who treated me like an accessory and cheated on me?"
"I said it was irrational," Roman reminds me, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "But he had years with you. He knew you before Elysian, before me. There's a history there I can't erase, regardless of how it ended."
The vulnerability in his admission makes my heart twist. I cross the room to him, placing my hands on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm.
"History isn't the same as attachment," I say softly. "Camden may have had years, but they were years of me diminishing myself to fit his expectations. You've had months of me becoming more authentically myself. There's no comparison."
Roman's hands come up to cover mine, his expression softening. "When you put it that way."
"Besides," I continue, "you have nothing to be jealous of. Camden is truly my past. Whatever he wants tomorrow, it doesn't change anything between us."
"I know." He pulls me closer, his forehead resting against mine. "I said it was irrational."
"It's also kind of endearing," I admit, rising on tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. "The great Roman Kade, jealous of my cheating ex."
"Don't get used to it," he warns, though his eyes have lost their earlier tension. "I have a reputation for ruthless rationality to maintain."
"Your secret emotional depths are safe with me," I promise, wrapping my arms around his waist. "Just like your cooking skills and your drooling habit."
"I do not drool," he insists, but he's smiling now, the moment of vulnerability passing into something lighter. "That's still slander."
"Prove it," I challenge, feeling a familiar heat build between us as his hands slide to my hips.
"With pleasure," he murmurs against my mouth, backing me slowly toward the bed. "But this investigation could take all afternoon."
"I've got nowhere else to be," I assure him, pulling him down with me onto the mattress.
As his weight settles over me, as his mouth finds that sensitive spot below my ear that makes me gasp, I push thoughts of Camden and tomorrow's presentation and all the complications of our relationship to the back of my mind.
Right now, there's only this—Roman's hands mapping my body like territory he'll never tire of exploring, my own desire rising to meet his with equal fervor.
Tomorrow will bring its own challenges. For now, I lose myself in the sensation of walls coming down, of barriers crumbling between us with each shared breath, each unguarded moment.
For now, that's enough.
Or at least, that's what I tell myself as Roman's mouth traces fire down my body, temporarily burning away the nagging certainty that Camden's appearance tomorrow is anything but coincidental—and that whatever he wants, it won't be as simple as "making things right."
Some walls, once broken, can never be rebuilt. And some, I fear, are about to be tested in ways neither Roman nor I are fully prepared for.