CASSIDY #2
Even more so, I hate when he puts his phone down and gives me an almost-smile because the butterflies that dance through my tummy are inappropriate for the workplace.
An HR violation indeed.
“This morning is already shaping up to be a complete shit show,” he says, running his hands through his dark blonde hair.
“What’s wrong?” I ask because it is safer to focus on the work drama than continue thinking about the fact I’m breathing him in like a girl with no survival instincts.
Harlan turns his monitor towards me, and even though I can’t see it properly from here, I can see red all over the document.
“The Aurelion launch deck has not been well received. They claim it’s wrong.”
My stomach sinks, and I wonder if this is something I’ve fucked up somehow.
“Wrong how?” I ask a little too quietly.
Harlan’s nostrils flare as though he’s caught a scent he doesn’t like. “The shoot we did contradicts the lookbook copy we presented them, and whilst we had a reason for it, they’re not impressed.”
I flinch, and he gestures for me to move closer. I grab my things and move to one of the chairs opposite his desk, perching on the edge of it.
“Which section?” I ask, and he immediately moves things forward so I can look at the right parts.
I set my laptop down beside his keyboard and open my own file to start comparing the two of them.
“There’s an approval here from Hudson for this,” I mention, pointing it out before looking up at Harlan.
“Yes.” Harlan sounds so dry, so annoyed, I immediately look back down at my laptop.
“We kept things quiet to avoid another leak, but we’re going to need to prepare for another shoot now,” he says bitterly. “We’ve had another issue with Visaro, too.”
“What?” I bite my inner cheek hard enough to draw blood, the coppery taste bitter and overwhelming.
“They’ve shared a trailer preview of one of their new collections, and the main feature is to amplify.”
I gasp and shake my head. “That can’t be a coincidence. Not after—”
“Trust me, Cassidy, I’m well fucking aware,” he hisses. “I have no idea who is sharing our shit like this, but it’s becoming problematic.”
“It’s not me,” I say quickly.
Harlan growls low and looks at me with such an intense gaze that I shiver in my spot. “It’s not you?”
I shake my head rapidly. “No. I know that I’m friends with Frankie, but—”
“Don’t mention that man to me,” he hisses, and I flinch again, my scent glands tightening painfully beneath the neutraliser. “I know you’re not to blame, Cassidy. Nobody has insinuated that you are.”
I nod, looking down at my hands. “Do we know who else it could be, then?”
His jaw tightens. That answers that.
No.
“I could… I could ask Frankie—”
“Do not,” he says sharply. “Now, I need you to get a copy of those printed off, then come back through so we can go through it with a fucking toothpick.”
A toothpick? I don’t understand the expression but don’t argue.
Instead, I connect my laptop to the office printer and send the files over to be printed.
I hurry to collect them, keeping my head down as more than one member of staff stares at me as I pass.
I don’t know why I’m gathering so many eyes right now, but it’s more than uncomfortable.
It’s awful.
Once I’m back, he gestures to a newly emptied table, and I put out copies of the lookbook we adjusted, in chronological order.
I grab my laptop and prepare to take notes, as we did last time.
“No, I want your eyes,” he demands, and a wave of dread washes over me.
He wants me to be there right next to him?
He trusts my eyes at a time like this? He trusts me?
I glance up at him and nod. I place my laptop back down and walk slowly to where he’s standing.
He’s already looking at me, and as I come to a stop next to him, tension settles over us.
For one strange second, neither of us says anything. We just stare.
I don’t understand why things are so uncomfortable, why he’s reacting this way.
I know why I am.
But am I affecting him the same way?
Don’t be stupid, Cassie.
You’re a child compared to him—there’s nothing you can offer a man like Harlan.
Harlan looks away first and gestures to the book in front of him. “We’ll start with the fabrics, then work our way through.”
The next twenty minutes vanish in a blink. This is the kind of thing I live for, the friendly debates, the exchanges of ideas, and the recognition that I know what I’m talking about.
I might not be a master like Harlan, but I’m good enough to have earned some respect from him.
Somehow, without either of us deciding it, the office shrinks as we work.
His arm brushes against mine more than once, and no matter how much I shift to give him room, it feels like there’s not enough. Not when my body is far too aware of how close he is.
“This image no longer works,” Harlan says, tapping one section with enough force I’m surprised it doesn’t go through the desk. “Doing things the way we did was a hack job we’re now paying for.”
I nod, knowing by now not to argue. He shoves it forward, knocking into me by mistake.
He doesn’t move.
“Sorry,” I blurt out.
“I knocked into you,” Harlan says carefully. “Why are you apologising?”
“For being in the way.”
He grumbles under his breath, and I don’t move, despite the heat of his body still pressing into my own.
It’s smothering and should be intimidating. It’s not.
“Stop worrying about where you stand and move that one up.”
I blink, looking at the spread in front of us, and realise he means the accessories page.
“The accessories page?” I question.
“Yes.”
I hesitate, biting my lip as I look at the spread in front of us.
“Wouldn’t that break the flow?”
I immediately regret speaking, knowing that I am not worthy enough to question Harlan. I’m here to assist him. To be useful. Not to argue like I have any right.
Questioning him is a dangerous game, and I should know better than to play it.
His gaze flicks towards me, and I can’t read the expression on his face.
I wish I could.
“Why?”
The question catches me off guard. Not because he asked, but because he genuinely sounds interested in my answer.
Is this a teaching moment? Is he going to teach me the error of my ways?
I glance back down at the pages. “Because this section tells a story.”
His eyebrow lifts slightly, and he motions for me to keep going.
“The original launch focused on movement. Travelling. Freedom.” I tap one image before moving to another. “The reshoot is different.”
“It had to be.”
“I know.” I swallow. “But now it feels more intimate, and if we can keep the original flow, it goes through each stage properly.”
I risk looking up when the silence becomes too heavy to bear. Harlan is watching me with an edge of curiosity.
“The accessories work better after the evening wear,” I continue. “Not before.”
“Because?”
“Because they’re supporting pieces now.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Good.”
Something warm blooms in my chest, and some stupid part of me immediately wants to preen under the praise.
I don’t because I know that would ruin the ground I’ve just gained, but it takes a lot of restraint.
Good—not adequate, not acceptable, but good!
From Harlan, that’s everything.
He reaches forward and shifts the pages, keeping the accessories where I suggested, and I watch him, trying to make sense of it.
Once he’s done, I gasp at how much better the spread feels. We’ve cut a lot of it, but what we’re left with is a great base to build back upon.
It’s stronger now, more balanced, and still extremely different from Visaro’s copying.
I stare at it all in awe and wish things were different.
If this were a uni project, I’d have been able to squeal and be excited and share that with my partner. I’d probably crush them with my hug, but it would be genuine.
Authentic.
“Oh.”
His eyebrow rises, and there’s no smugness like I’d expect. Evander’s someone who breathes cockiness into the air around him. Harlan’s different.
More subdued. Like brilliance is simply what he expects.
“You see it now?” he asks.
“Yes.”
I hate how delighted I sound. I want him to see me as professional.
Harlan’s mouth does something strange. Not quite a smile, but his expression is enough to make my pulse stutter.
“Most people never learn this part,” he says.
“The storytelling?”
“The confidence.”
I frown, looking down at the board. “What confidence?”
“The confidence to trust your instincts.”
My throat suddenly feels dry, and I hear the insinuation in his words.
“I’m only a trainee,” I protest.
“You’re a designer.”
The correction is immediate, like he genuinely believes it.
Before I can think of a response, Harlan has already moved onto the next page.
“This image.”
I lean closer automatically.
“What about it?”
“What do you notice about the styling?”
I study it, searching for a hint. The model is beautiful, her dress is elegant, and the lighting is fantastic.
Nothing jumps out immediately, and it’s aggravating how patiently Harlan is waiting.
I should be able to spot something. This is a test, and I’m already failing.
“Breathe,” he commands. “And look at it properly. This isn’t a test, I’m just asking for your input.”
I nod, anxiety bubbling in my chest as I look at the whole piece. I know he claims it’s not a test, but the pressure is enough for it to seem that way.
“There’s too much structure,” I murmur. “The copy talks about comfort, and yet… this is so tense.”
“Good.”
That word again.
That awful, wonderful word.
I’m starting to suspect he knows exactly what it does to me and keeps offering it as a prize.
He grabs the paper and crumples it up, throwing it over his shoulder.
I gasp, but he doesn’t care.
He doesn’t notice.
“No wonder Silas keeps threatening to throw things at clients,” I mutter.
I don’t realise I said it out loud until Harlan snorts.
Actually snorts.
The sound is so unexpected that I immediately look up at him in shock. His expression freezes, and mine probably does, too.
For one ridiculous second, we just stare at each other, the air thick with that same tension I don’t understand.
Then, he clears his throat and looks back at the documents.
“Focus, Cassidy.”
Heat floods my cheeks.