Cassidy #2
The office door slams behind him hard enough to make me flinch, and silence crashes into the room.
For a few long seconds, I just sit there on the sofa, breathing unevenly through the remnants of tears whilst my pulse pounds behind my eyes.
My entire body feels wrong. Too warm and too cold all at once. Heavy, but also as if I’m weightless.
There’s a strange, floaty disconnect between my thoughts and limbs, like I’m watching everything happen a few seconds too late.
I wipe furiously at my face with the sleeve of my blouse.
Get it together, Cassie.
The humiliation alone should be enough to get me moving again.
But it isn’t.
I’ve cried in front of Harlan Mercer. After fainting and embarrassing myself even more.
He’s angry enough to bark commands at me, even though he hates when I act like an omega.
I’ve pushed too far this time.
He’s finally had enough of me, and I don’t blame him. Not this time.
I’ve embarrassed myself, and when this gets back to my cousin, he’ll be mortified by my behaviour.
A horrible twisting sensation pulls through my stomach again. I need to fix this.
Slowly, carefully, I lower myself beside the sofa. I reach for the nearest stack of papers scattered across the carpet.
The command still lingers in my chest, making outright disobedience feel almost physically impossible, but technically…
Technically, he told me to wait here.
Not to sit still. So, I’m still listening.
Kind of.
My hands shake badly as I gather the folders back together, trying to smooth out bent pages before he comes back and gets angrier at me for snooping.
The movement sends dizziness pulsing through me again.
I pause, squeezing my eyes shut briefly until the room steadies.
Maybe I should’ve eaten breakfast. I’m probably just hungry.
It would explain why everything feels so strange.
My thoughts keep snagging on things that don’t matter.
Like the fact Harlan folded my blazer instead of throwing it somewhere.
Or the way the cushion beneath my head had been adjusted carefully enough to stop my neck hurting.
Or the fact that he’d knelt on the floor in front of me at all.
I reorganise another pile of papers carefully, though the words blur slightly every time I try to focus on them.
The office still smells faintly of scent neutraliser, but my own scent is starting to creep through, too anxious and sweet to hide properly.
All the crying and panic must have been too much for it.
My breathing catches unevenly. I can picture the look on his face when he gets back and smells me.
I swallow hard and force myself to keep tidying.
If I can just get everything back where it belongs before he returns, maybe this entire situation will feel less catastrophic.
Maybe he’ll calm down and let me apologise. Maybe he’ll send me back to my office so I can pull myself together.
Maybe, maybe, maybe…
My fingers fumble against one of the folders, sending several sheets slipping sideways onto the carpet again.
“Oh, my fucking—”
The frustrated whisper breaks apart halfway through as tears sting my eyes again.
I press the heels of my hands hard against them.
Not now.
Please, not now.
I’m so tired.
I lean back weakly against the sofa for a second, breathing shallowly whilst the office tilts subtly around me again.
Maybe Harlan was right. Not about me doing too much or about me being exploited.
But about how badly I’ve handled myself. Failed at taking care of my body. Failed at basic things.
The thought settles heavily in my chest, and I’m ashamed of myself.
How can he trust me to do my job when I can’t even sit upright and stay conscious at the same time?
The office door opens so abruptly that I jolt upright, tucking my hands beneath me quickly in case.
Harlan steps back inside first, broad shoulders tense beneath his dark shirt, frustration carved hard into every line of his body.
But he’s not alone. Isaac follows a step behind, concern etched into his face.
His hair is as neatly styled as always, but his shirt is wrinkled and his jacket undone, as if he threw it on in a hurry.
His caramel brown eyes meet mine, and even he looks tense.
My stomach drops instantly.
Oh, no.
Fresh panic crashes through me so violently I nearly drop the papers in my hands again.
Why is Isaac here? Did Harlan need someone as a witness to me being fired?
Has Evander decided to let me go as part of their efficiency checks and sent Isaac to do it instead?
Humiliation burns hot beneath my skin as I scramble to sit properly instead of half sprawled across the carpet surrounded by paperwork like a toddler.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, the words coming out too fast. “You don’t need to say anything. I’ll clear my things out and—”
“Cassidy,” Harlan snaps. “You need to stop jumping to conclusions. You’re not getting fired, for crying out loud.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Isaac says quietly. He strides towards me, dropping down in front of me.
The endearment nearly breaks me all over again. I look down immediately, gripping the folders tighter.
“I’m okay,” I say quickly, though the words come out embarrassingly hoarse. “I just felt a little dizzy earlier.”
Beside him, Harlan makes a sharp, disbelieving sound beneath his breath.
Isaac ignores him entirely, which only makes me more anxious. We’re in his office, after I’ve disrupted his day, and now he’s getting ignored.
“I see.” Isaac’s voice stays soft and steady in a way that makes my chest ache unexpectedly. “And is that why you’re kneeling on the floor trying to reorganise Harlan’s paperwork after fainting?”
Heat floods my face instantly, and I duck my head to try and hide it.
“I made a mess.”
“You collapsed,” Harlan corrects sharply. “I made the mess.”
The office falls quiet again. I risk a glance upwards.
Harlan’s standing near the desk now instead of beside me, like he’s deliberately keeping his distance. His arms are folded tightly across his chest, jaw rigid, hazel eyes fixed somewhere slightly above my head instead of directly on me.
Isaac notices my wary look, because, of course, he does, and his gaze briefly flicks towards Harlan before returning fully to me.
“Shortcake,” he says gently. “Can you tell me what you’ve eaten today? Or even what time you went to bed last night?”
The question catches me completely off guard. “What?”
“Food,” Isaac repeats patiently. “Today. What have you had?”
My mind blanks embarrassingly. I know I didn’t have breakfast, but I have no idea what time I went to bed.
I don’t even know when my last meal was.
Everything feels fuzzy and disconnected. I can’t get my thoughts to line up properly.
“I…” My voice falters. “I don’t know.”
That seems to make something tighten in Isaac’s expression.
Behind him, Harlan swears quietly. He’s angry at me again.
“I had some water this morning,” I add quickly, trying to fix the answer before they think I’m completely useless. “And I think maybe a cereal bar yesterday afternoon?”
The air thickens with tension, the temperature dropping to an uncomfortable coldness.
Isaac closes his eyes briefly like he’s physically pained by the answer.
“Oh, shortcake.”
My throat tightens painfully.
“I’ve just been busy,” I whisper.
“No,” Harlan says from across the office, the anger back in his voice instantly. “You’ve been neglecting yourself.”
I flinch hard enough that Isaac immediately looks back towards him.
“Harlan.”
There’s a warning in his name, and my heart races at the wave of panic.
But Isaac doesn’t care. Instead, he stares at Harlan, waiting for acknowledgement. He’s not challenging him—not that he could, when Harlan’s an alpha—but Harlan could see it that way.
Harlan exhales sharply through his nose and looks away. The tension in the office shifts strangely after that.
Isaac looks back towards me again, expression softening immediately.
“Okay,” he says calmly. “Here’s what’s going to happen now. You’re going to move to the sofa, and we’re going to get some water and actual food into you before you try doing anything else. All right?”
The words should probably comfort me. Instead, shame crawls up my throat so violently I almost feel sick again.
Because now Isaac knows, too.
Now both of them know I can’t even manage basic things like eating properly without becoming a problem.
“I can’t,” I say, shaking my head quickly. Harlan’s snarl causes me to blink back another wave of tears.
“Why not, shortcake? What’s stopping you?” Isaac’s tone is so gentle, so full of care, that it’s making me break faster than Harlan’s anger.
“I’ve already ruined so much of the day. I have work to do and—”
“You don’t,” Harlan snaps again, looking at me, annoyed. “Just fucking eat so I don’t need to worry you’re going to pass out again.”
Isaac raises his hand to Harlan and focuses on me once more.
I don’t know how he’s able to stand up to the alpha, how he’s not scared, even when we’re in Harlan’s office—his space.
But I am. I’m terrified, and I hate how weak I’m being. How pathetic I must look right now.
How useless.
“Is it staying in here that’s causing the anxiety?” Isaac asks, and I nod, dipping my head so I don’t need to see Harlan’s face.