Harlan #2
I nod, unlocking my car. I move to the driver’s side, and Silas gets into the passenger seat.
My brother exhales sharply through his nose. “You’ve got some work to do here, Brother.”
“I know.”
The words come out rougher than intended.
Cassidy comes first.
Everything else can burn.
I rev the engine, the sound too loud in the quiet street, not caring how much it seems to disappoint Silas, and I pull out of my drive.
“Let’s go.”
Let’s fucking go.
Silas doesn’t say anything as I drive. That’s how I know he’s worried.
Usually, he has plenty to fucking say about my driving.
My speed. My braking. My apparent belief that indicators are optional suggestions made by cowards.
Today, nothing. He just sits there, one hand braced against the door, my stolen shoes planted hard against the footwell, jaw tight, gaze fixed on the road ahead.
“You okay?” I ask, turning right as some cunt blares his horn at me.
Absolute assholes out on the road today.
“She’ll think this confirms it,” he says eventually.
I don’t ask what he’s on about.
I already know.
“It doesn’t.”
“But to her, it does,” he snaps. “She’ll think she’s a problem, that she’s failed.”
“She could never fucking fail me,” I snap, my voice dropping low enough to make Silas look over.
The words come out too sharp. Silas glances at me, but I keep my eyes on the road.
I’m not giving him any more ammunition.
“She more than fucking belongs here, and she’s the last person I’d ever suspect of this,” I say.
“I know.”
“She could literally have an email chain to fucking Visaro, and I’d still trust she was being set up,” I continue.
“Harlan.”
“And HR will know this, too, by the time I’m fucking done with them.”
“Fucking hell, Harlan,” Silas says.
“What?”
Silas turns slightly in his seat. “Don’t go in there swinging your cock around like that’ll help her. It won’t.”
My hands tighten around the steering wheel.
“I would never—”
“Yes, you would.” His voice hardens. “You will be careful. If you storm into Opus frothing at the mouth about our girl being questioned, you’ll make her the centre of a bigger spectacle.”
My teeth grind together.
Because he’s right.
The cunt.
“She needs protecting,” I snarl.
“She doesn’t need a protection plan,” Silas says firmly. “She needs us to figure out a strategy.”
“I have plenty of strategy.”
Silas scoffs. “You’re nothing more than a toddler temper tantrum in a suit.”
I shoot him a dirty look. He doesn’t flinch.
Of course, he fucking doesn’t.
“She also needs us to bring her in on this. She deserves a choice,” Silas says, quieter now.
The word lands hard enough to bruise. Last night, he’d thrown enough of that truth at me to make my knuckles ache.
Cassidy doesn’t need another man deciding what she can handle.
Not even me.
Especially not me, when all I want to do is wrap the world in fucking bubble wrap before it reaches her.
Fuck.
I exhale through my nose and force my grip to loosen on the wheel.
“Fine,” I bite out. “We will keep her out of the firing line. We don’t make it worse.”
“Good.”
“But if someone is using her name to hide behind—”
“Then, we will find them.”
For the first time all morning, the fury in my chest settles into something I can actually use.
My phone buzzes in the cupholder. Silas picks it up before I can.
“Isaac has managed to book Room Seven,” he says. “Evander’s on his way there now.”
“Good.”
The office building comes into view, glass and steel catching the pale morning light, commuters streaming past the entrance like nothing inside it is currently being torn apart.
My jaw tightens because every part of me is already clawing towards her.
Cassidy has been bleeding out in the middle of all our fucking good intentions for long enough, and I’m done pretending my omega can’t feel absence like a bruise.
I pull into the basement, Silas reaching out his window to beep us in, and I pull through the bays to park in my spot.
If I nearly dinged some fucker’s car, it’s not my problem.
I kill the engine and take a deep breath that tastes like leather, petrol, and the ghost of my own neutraliser.
“Ready?” Silas asks.
No.
Not even close.
I open my door.
“Let’s go protect her career before we ruin the rest of her life,” I mutter, and he slaps my arm.
“That’s the spirit,” he mutters, shaking his head.
None of this is the fucking spirit.
She is the whole fucking point.
The lift ride up feels longer than usual, and Silas is pissing me off more than normal.
Probably because I’m trying not to think about Cassidy sitting in an HR office somewhere in this building.
More likely, it’s because every time I do think about it, I remember I’m not allowed to throw anyone out of a window.
Silas keeps pace beside me as we cross the lobby, both of us scrubbed clean by neutraliser and still somehow making people move out of the way. Neither of us speaks, and for once, we’re not approached.
Normally, I’m harassed from the moment I enter the building, with just a quick question that derails my morning by a good half an hour.
Today, nobody dares approach.
Room Seven sits at the far end of the corridor on the fashion floor, past glass-walled offices and abandoned coffee cups, and as we arrive, the door is already open.
Just like last time, Evander’s sitting at the head of the table, broad shoulders tense beneath his jacket, and dark chocolate-coffee scent already thick in the room, with Isaac right by his side, phone in hand.
This time, though, I don’t bother posturing. I move to the table, yank the seat next to Evander out hard enough that the legs scrape against the floor, and sit in it.
Silas closes the door, shutting out the muted noise of the department beyond the glass, and the tension in the room is so thick even the scent neutraliser can’t scrub it clean.
I wonder if we should’ve booked one of the non-glass walled meeting rooms.
Then, when somebody gets punched, nobody will question why.
“Did you two get in a brawl with some lower class prat?” Evander asks with a raised brow.
Isaac groans. “Ev, we’ve talked about this.”
“We fought with each other,” Silas says with a smirk. “Don’t worry, Ev, you’ll get your turn if you can’t keep that mouth shut.”
Evander grimaces. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Who has seen her today?” I demand, looking between the two men.
Evander shakes his head, but Isaac tenses.
“You have,” I say. “What happened?”
“We talked,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Annoyingly, the HR email came at a good time. She understands my position, and I understand hers.”
“Good,” Silas says firmly. “Before we dive into this shit—just know, the time for cowardice is done. I claimed her as mine last night—”
“You fucking marked her?” Evander demands, jumping up from the table so fast his chair rolls back into the glass wall.
His dark chocolate and coffee scent pulses with his anger.
I pull him down on the left side, Isaac tugging his right sleeve, before he turns this meeting into a fucking dominance display.
“No,” Silas says. “Not that it’s any of your business if I did. Cassie is just as much mine as she is yours. But she knows where I stand, mostly.”
“Mostly,” Isaac scoffs. “Trust me, you don’t want to keep that secret from her.”
Silas waves his hand dismissively, and I know without asking that my brother has already planned for that.
Asshole.
“Cassie still with HR?” I ask.
Isaac nods immediately. “Unfortunately. She only went up about ten minutes ago.”
My stomach twists.
“How was she?” Silas asks.
“She was trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t panicking,” he says.
Fucking hell.
Evander exhales through his nose. “How the fuck could they think Cass is the one to have leaked shit?”
I shake my head. “I have no idea. I’ll be looking into it, though, trust me.”
“She thinks she’s getting fired,” Isaac says flatly. “The email wasn’t great, I can’t lie. They all but accused her.”
The temperature in the room drops several degrees, Evander’s scent going bitter, and I don’t know which of us alphas is most pissed off.
Cassidy is sitting in some fucking office right now, terrified out of her mind, probably apologising for being easy to blame, and I’m not there to tell her to stop.
Fuck.
My jaw locks.
“Right, we need to make a plan,” I say, forcing the alpha bark out of my voice as I look at Silas. “You said it. We need a strategy.”
“Where do we even begin with this shit?” Evander asks. “This isn’t my role. I’m not some fucking sleuth.”
Isaac groans. “No, but you do know how to read people, and you’re great at finding the weak spots in teams and where cuts can be made. We’re already focusing on the fashion department—”
“Don’t fucking remind me,” I mutter, and Evander winks at me.
I wonder how many staff I’m losing with one fucking wink.
“So, there’s nothing to say we can’t conduct a little investigation of our own,” Isaac continues.
“I have a suspect,” Silas says gruffly.
I frown at my brother, who has not said anything to me about a suspect all morning.
Cunt.
“Gemma whatever her name is,” he says dismissively. “Beta, drenched in omega pheromones. Is a horrid bitch who thinks—”
“Gemma Powter,” Isaac cuts in. “Beta, first year trainee.”
“She’s the one who handed Cassidy all her work the other week,” I add, and they all nod. “Why her?”
“She was with Cassie last night, at some bar,” Silas says. “I got a vibe.”
“You… got a vibe,” I say slowly.
“I also got the same vibe,” Isaac agrees.
I look at Evander, and he scrunches his face up, causing me to snort.
Fucking hell.
“Right,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Gemma might be a suspect, or whatever, but let’s start with the obvious.”
The room quiets immediately.
“Cassidy did not leak that campaign.”
Nobody argues. Nobody even looks surprised.
Good.
Because if any of them had, I’d have thrown them through the fucking glass wall.
“She doesn’t have the personality for it,” Evander says.
Isaac groans. “When it comes to talking to our girl about this, maybe focus more on how you know she would never, rather than sounding detached and logical, yeah?”
Evander frowns but nods.
Silas snorts, and I point at him angrily.