CASSIDY #3
“Let me put your mind at ease, then—no, you haven’t done anything wrong,” he says firmly.
I peek up at him under my lashes. “Then, what could you need?”
“Have you ever considered that I just like spending time with you? We’re friends, Cassie. I like being around you. You make my day better.”
The admission catches me completely off guard. I knew we were friends, but I just… thought it was more of an obligation.
Something he was doing because of Evander, in a way.
I didn’t realise I was someone he chose.
Isaac shrugs. “So, how was your actual weekend? You seem much more refreshed today.”
I smile. “Restful.”
“What’s on your to-do list today?” he asks, and I launch into a summary of the campaign logistics for Aurelion.
Isaac takes another sip of coffee.
“So,” he says casually, “how are things looking for the rescheduled shoot this week?”
Every muscle in my body locks, my scent sharpening before I can stop it, and I lift my head to meet his eyes.
Where did he hear about that?
Shit. Harlan’s going to be furious.
“What?” I ask, stumbling over the word.
His brow lifts slightly. “The Aurelion shoot. The replacement shoot is going to be this week, right?”
I stare at him, wondering if he can hear my heart thudding against my chest, too.
Harlan’s going to be so angry. He’s going to think that I told Isaac. That…
“How do you know about that?” I demand, the words coming out far sharper than intended.
It’s only when Isaac blinks in surprise that I realise I’ve confirmed it.
Fuck. Shit.
Damn it.
I’m a fool.
“Well, I didn’t know about it for sure,” he says carefully.
My stomach drops.
Wonderful.
Excellent.
I’ve somehow managed to make myself guiltier in under three seconds.
My scent thickens in the room, sharp and panicked enough to choke me, never mind Isaac.
“You just said—” I start, clutching at straws as I try to fix this absolute disaster.
“I asked how it was looking,” he says slowly. His cutting me off was probably for the best. I had no idea where I was going with that.
“You said it was this week,” I whisper pathetically.
His expression shifts into something dangerously amused, though he doesn’t push closer.
“Cassie.”
Heat crawls up my neck.
No.
No, absolutely not.
“The shoot is confidential.”
“I know.”
“So, why would you—”
“Because half the creative department has been moving around like someone’s set fire to the building for four days.”
I open my mouth, close it, open it again, and still have no idea what to say.
“Plus, I saw three mood boards being carried into Harlan’s office this morning.”
I wince and shake my head.
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Why are you so worried that I know?” he asks.
My eyes close.
This is wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.
Isaac waits like a man watching me slowly dig my own grave.
“I haven’t told anyone anything,” I blurt. “And I don’t want to get into trouble for leaking something about this one when I already feel to blame for the last issue.”
His smile falls instantly, his posture softening with it. “Oh, shortcake.”
The endearment somehow makes it worse.
“I know.” I sniffle, wiping at my eyes before the tears can fall and make this worse. “I know.”
“Let’s go back to five minutes ago, yeah? I’ll ask about your weekend, and you can tell me about the food on Friday instead of… this.”
I groan and bury my face in my hands. “I’m a mess.”
He laughs. “No, you’re not. You’re protecting your job, and realistically, I am the enemy.”
“What? No, you’re not,” I protest quickly, immediately denying his claim.
When I finally peek through my fingers, Isaac is openly laughing now.
“You are extremely bad at lying, shortcake.”
“I wasn’t lying.”
My mortification deepens when he simply laughs again.
“I thought someone told you, and I’d get the blame,” I mutter.
“Nobody told me anything.” He reaches over and squeezes my wrist, accidentally brushing against my scent gland, his thumb stilling like he notices exactly where he touched me before easing away. “And even if you had confessed every detail of it to me, I’d never tell.”
Relief floods through me, softening my scent before I can hide it. “Thank you.”
“Although now I’m dying to know.”
I point at him.
“Don’t.”
“See?” he says, grinning. “You can keep the secrets without betraying the dark master.”
“The dark master?” I bite my lip, trying not to giggle at his newest nickname for Harlan, but he laughs first.
I hate how much I enjoy making Isaac laugh. I hate even more that I want to hear it again.
Because it’s not something I should be allowed to enjoy.
Isaac is Evander’s best friend.
My friend.
And that is all.
Isaac checks the time, then winces. “Oh, shit.”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle, my scent souring with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“I had a meeting… ten minutes ago,” he admits.
I glance at the clock, surprised to realise that over forty minutes have passed since he first got here.
“Oops,” I murmur, blushing once more. “I’m so sorry for—”
“I swear, one day, I’m going to erase that word from your vocabulary. I chose to stay. It’s not on you to remind me about a meeting you didn’t even know about.”
I flinch, looking down at my hands, my scent pulling inward before I nod.
He stands, gathering his tablet and his empty coffee mug.
“I’ll let you get back to work, and I’ll see you later on, okay?”
I nod. “See you soon.”
The grin he flashes me is completely unrepentant, and then he’s gone, taking all that easy warmth with him.
With Isaac gone, I try very hard to settle back into a normal rhythm, as if my office hasn’t shifted slightly around the shape of him.
I drink my coffee, get through my task list, and realise that most of my tasks for the day are nearly finished by lunchtime.
The list that felt enormous when Harlan assigned it now sits neatly in my completed folder.
Everything finished, done, perfect.
I’m useful.
A few weeks ago, I felt like I was constantly trying to catch up, trying to prove I deserved to be here, and trying not to make mistakes.
Now? Well, I’m still trying not to disappoint anyone, but people are trusting me.
Even a little bit.
A notification flashes across my phone screen. I barely glance at it at first, assuming it’s a text from Frankie or one of my family members needing something I can’t give just now.
But then there’s another buzz, this one spelling out SOS in morse code—my Harlan alert.
My spine straightens automatically, and I grab my phone, seeing the first message on my home screen.
Harlan
Urgent. Reply ASAP.
For one horrifying second, I assume I’ve made a mistake. That he’s found an error in the document he’s currently presenting. That I’ve cocked up a deadline or ruined something extremely important.
My pulse kicks up as I open the chat properly.
Harlan
Cassie, the client has requested a few revisions to pages twelve and sixteen in the document.
Harlan
The notes should be in the email, and I need it done ASAP so I can get them to sign.
Harlan
Handle it.
Cassie
On it.
I quickly open the email on my computer, the words handle it ringing through my mind.
Warmth spreads through my chest, ridiculous and smug, my scent going pleased despite my best efforts. I’m acting pathetic.
Sure, he needs me, but it’s not for anything major, right?
Just a few little amendments, and he’ll review it once I’m done.
My fingers are already moving before I can overthink it. I open the attachment, check the notes, and sort it for him.
I send it back within fifteen minutes and wait anxiously for feedback.
By the time Harlan’s next text comes in, I’ve chewed my fingernails down to the stubs.
Harlan
Good copying and pasting.
Harlan
We landed their company.
Harlan
Email a copy of the signed document to the usual team, then print a copy and leave it on my desk.
It’s barely a compliment, but I grin at my screen anyway.
The rest of the afternoon passes in much the same way.
Questions and demands land in my inbox, not just from Harlan but from other people in the department, too.
As a trainee, I get a lot of the grunt work, but I love it. Love the feeling of being needed for something I actually enjoy—something I’m good at.
The blanket can wait.
The mystery can wait.
The increasingly confusing men in my life can wait, too.
People rely on me here. They come to me when they need help. They trust me with important things, and for once, that trust doesn’t feel like a trap.
Maybe that shouldn’t matter as much as it does. Maybe I shouldn’t feel this relieved every time I prove I’m useful.
But right now, sitting in my office with another large task list, I can’t bring myself to care.
Without being useful, without being needed, I don’t know what’s left of me.
Luckily, that isn’t something I need to worry about.
Not today.
Not ever.