Chapter 9
CASSANDRA
When the morning light pours into the suite, I lie there, logging in my new reality. I’m on a ridiculously large and comfortable bed, pleasantly sore in muscles I forgot I own, and there’s a red ribbon still tied around my wrist.
My brain starts checking off the rules without asking—privacy, precision, truth. I feel my pulse start to surge, and I force myself to breathe slower. Breakfast, then work.
Work. What am I going to do about work? There’s no way I can juggle the boutique and Damien at the same time. His rules won’t bend, and Thierry won’t either. Christmas is the busiest season of the year; asking for leave now would be the same as quitting.
Two lives pulling in opposite directions, with me stuck in the middle, trying not to tear. I decide to at least get ready and get some food in me before stressing myself to pieces.
I shower quickly, tame my hair, and follow the smell of coffee to the kitchen. A plate is already waiting. Scrambled eggs, toast, and a quartered grapefruit that looks like it fell right off the tree. Mrs. Koval pours coffee with her typical poised air.
“Good morning,” she says.
“Good morning. And thank you.”
“Breakfast is part of the schedule,” she replies curtly. “No need to thank me.”
I take my plate to the terrace for privacy. A small heater keeps it comfortable, even with the winter chill. The trees are pencil-thin against a pale sky. I dial the boutique and wait for Sylvie to pick up.
“Thierry.”
“Hey, it’s Cassandra. About yesterday, leaving early. I need to explain—”
“It’s handled,” she says, cutting me off but not unkindly. “Mr. Kozlov’s office called. Your availability is cleared for the month. We’ll hold your position; payroll will continue as scheduled. You’re expected back at the end of January. Focus on your internship.”
I go very still. The grapefruit bite turns to glass in my mouth. “My—”
“Internship,” she repeats. “We’re proud of you. What an opportunity. And tell Mr. K that Thierry appreciates his… well, appreciation.”
“Right,” I say, after a beat. “Thank you.”
We hang up, my head spinning.
I should feel nothing but relief. My job is safe. Relief eventually does come but then gets knocked sideways by anger. He cleaned up my mess without asking me first.
And the worst part is that, underneath it all, I feel aroused at being… claimed. I should resent it. He went behind my back and took care of things, and I like it.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Okay,” I tell the empty air, my hands shaking. “Just breathe.”
Movement flickers at the edge of the property as I get up and prepare to go back inside. A groundskeeper, perhaps. Or maybe just a shadow.
My phone buzzes with a text from Sylvie.
Just to be clear, you’re golden. Tell Mr. K thank you for me, and the rest of Thierry.
What the hell did he do? Buy the place out? I’ve never seen Sylvie this grateful.
A chime sounds from the phone. It’s a calendar invite from an unknown number blocking every Thierry shift through New Year’s as approved leave. The efficiency is surgical. I hate it. I also admire it.
I stand there, stunned, ribbon soft against my skin, wondering what surprises “Mr. K” will have for me next.