Cassidy #2
Gemma’s laugh flickers through my memory.
Cassie’s so lucky Harlan likes keeping her close.
My stomach turns, and I don’t know whether I’m going to pass out or combust.
Either seems possible.
The silence stretches just long enough to become uncomfortable.
“Was there anyone in particular that stood out?” Carrie asks.
I open my mouth, but close it again.
No, of course not.
Nobody ever crossed a line or tried to interfere. There was never anything that raised any suspicions.
Gemma’s laugh rings through my mind once more.
I bite my inner cheek hard enough to draw blood but don’t speak up. What am I supposed to say?
That Gemma occasionally makes comments that leave me feeling vaguely awful, and I don’t understand why?
That she somehow always manages to say things that sound harmless enough that I feel ridiculous for being upset by them?
Those aren’t crimes.
That’s just me being sensitive. It has nothing to do with this situation.
“I’m not sure,” I admit quietly. “I don’t think so.”
Nobody looks annoyed. If anything, they seem unsurprised.
Jason types something else, and I look down at my hands.
“We understand,” Jen says. “Sometimes these things are difficult to interpret in the moment.”
I nod gratefully.
At least somebody seems to understand my brain has completely stopped working.
The questions keep coming for another twenty minutes, each one hitting harder as I do my best to answer them.
Access permissions.
Meeting attendance.
Shared folders.
Who sat where during campaign reviews.
Who had physical copies.
Who requested revisions.
Most of it feels painfully ordinary, and when I don’t know the answer or stumble, they don’t seem angry.
They just… move on.
I can’t tell if this is part of their plan to catch me out, or if… if they’re not actually accusing me of this.
Maybe I’ve manipulated the situation in my head like Isaac claims I do.
Eventually, Jason closes his laptop, and the sound echoes through the quiet office, making me jump.
Carrie offers me a small smile. “Thank you for your time today, Cassidy.”
I blink in surprise. That’s it?
“We appreciate your cooperation thus far.”
“Am I…” My voice catches. “Am I in trouble?”
“No,” she repeats. “You are not in any trouble right now.”
Something in my chest loosens, and I take a hesitant breath.
Right now.
Those two words refuse to leave me alone.
“We’re speaking to a number of employees,” Jen explains. “This is an active investigation. We need information, and we’re not rushing to blame anyone.”
Heat rushes into my face.
Jason folds his hands.
“We understand you may be reluctant to identify colleagues,” he says. “Particularly if you’re concerned about the consequences for them.”
My stomach sinks.
“However,” he continues, “if you remember anything else—anything at all—we’d encourage you to come forward.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
Carrie nods. “Good. It wouldn’t go well if we found people had been hiding crucial information from us,” she says.
I nod again and again.
Apparently, I’ve become one of those bobble heads whose head just bounces around whenever someone talks.
“Thank you for your help today, Cassidy,” Carrie says as she stands. “Let’s hope it’s enough to help us get to the bottom of this.”
The words hit harder than she intends, and I focus on the grain of the polished table.
Let’s hope it’s enough.
My brain immediately translates that into let’s hope you’ve finally been useful.
I hate myself for thinking it. I hate myself even more because I can’t stop.
The others begin gathering their things, chairs shifting softly around the polished table.
The meeting is clearly over, and I don’t know if I look relieved, confused, or just… something.
Are they going to judge me for leaving first? Do I wait to stand until they’ve all moved?
Do I burst into happy tears since they’ve not revoked my job just yet?
I stand carefully, my knees wobbling, but I hold my bag firm to my side.
“Take care of yourself,” Jen says gently.
I nod. “Thank you.”
Then I escape before anybody can say anything else, and before my stupid emotions catch up with me and make things look even worse.
The door clicks shut behind me, and I don’t think I breathe properly until I step out of the lift onto my floor.
I take three steps into the corridor, fluorescent light gleaming off the pale walls, and come to a stop when I realise I’m not alone.
One inhale.
Two.
And I gasp, staring at his tall, lean frame as his scent hits me, warm and impossible beneath the office air.
Warm brioche. Honeyed citrus.
Fuck.
“Cassidy, I’ve been waiting for you,” he says calmly.
“Harlan,” I whisper, my scent perfuming in response to his own.
I can’t stop it, no matter how much I wish I could. My scent glands are already too warm, too obvious.
Harlan’s my boss, my mentor, and the person who absolutely hates my scent.
And yet, the proof is here, and it’s undeniable.
He’s my scent match.
My alpha.
For one awful second, everything in me locks into place.
He’s my scent match.
How is this happening?
Again?
Harlan’s usually composed hazel gaze is frantic as he sweeps over me, searching for something, his dark-blond hair slightly mussed like he’s been dragging a hand through it.
I don’t know what he’s looking for, but I’m terrified he’s going to be the one to fire me, no matter what HR thinks.
My chest tightens with panic, and the vanilla musk beneath my strawberry cream sours.
“Have they finished with you?” he asks, still calm despite the intense energy pouring off him in waves.
I want to shrink beneath him. Purr for him. Soothe the discomfort rolling off him.
Beg for forgiveness for a crime I didn’t commit.
I nod, blinking back a wave of tears. “I think so.”
Harlan’s jaw tightens slightly, sharpening the stern line of his mouth. “You think so?”
The corner of my mouth twitches despite myself. “I’m fairly sure they would’ve told me if there was a second interrogation scheduled.”
A flicker of amusement crosses his face, and he shakes his head.
“If I have my way, there won’t be another one,” he says darkly.
I flinch, ducking my head. His meaning is clear.
There won’t need to be another one because he’s decided I’m guilty.
Fuck.
My pulse stumbles, and my stomach churns.
“Are you all right?” he asks, and now I freeze in place.
Am I all right?
My throat closes, my scent glands tickling, and I shrug before nodding.
He doesn’t actually care.
He can’t.
So, I give the expected answer.
Something in Harlan’s expression softens, and his scent warms around me, brioche and honeyed citrus cutting through the sour edge of my panic.
It’s like a warm blanket, something comforting and safe even though I know it’s anything but.
“Come with me, Cassidy,” he says softly.
And for the first time ever, the words don’t feel like an order.
They feel like a plea.
I don’t know why I follow him. Well, that’s a lie.
I’d follow Harlan Mercer almost anywhere. I couldn’t deny him, even if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s my boss.
Something about him just pulls me in.
The only problem is that right now, I’m pretty sure he’s leading me to the firing block.
I’m going to lose everything I’ve worked towards, everything I’ve ever wanted.
I’ll have to explain my failure to my parents, and to my family, and oh, fuck—Sterling.
He’s going to be mortified.
And so angry.
Fuck.
Harlan falls into step beside me rather than leading the way, and his long strides force me to hurry slightly to keep up.
I keep getting wafts of his scent, and I can’t stop my greedy inhales, gulping it down.
I’ve got problems.
He’s better than me.
Older than me.
An alpha.
My alpha.
The thought nearly trips me, and I shake my head, arguing with myself.
Harlan might be my scent match, but there’s no way he could ever want me.
I can’t drag him down with me.
I recover before I can embarrass myself further.
The walk to his office is literally two minutes, and yet, it feels endless.
As we walk through the bullpen, every eye is on me, and I feel them with an intensity strong enough to burn.
Every step we take gives my brain another opportunity to invent a new disaster.
Maybe HR told him their suspicions.
Maybe they think I’ve lied to them.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
People move around us, blurring past desks and half-open meeting rooms. Phones ring. Conversations drift from open office doors.
Nobody stops Harlan, nobody even tries, and the closer we get to his office, the worse the knot in my stomach becomes.
By the time we reach his office, I’m practically vibrating with panic.
Harlan opens the door, standing aside just enough for me to pass, and I step inside automatically.
The familiar scent of leather, coffee, expensive cologne, and musty fabrics immediately wraps around me.
But now that I’ve scented him, his office will never be good enough anymore.
It lacks him. His essence. His safety.
His scent.
The door shuts behind us, the click echoing through the room with the kind of finality I’m coming to expect.
I brace myself for the shouting, for the lecture, for whatever comes next.
Instead, Harlan turns towards me so quickly I almost jump, the muted hazel of his eyes gone molten.
“What did those fucking idiots say to you?”
I blink in surprise. It takes me a second to realise he isn’t angry at me.
What did who say to me?
My brain completely stalls. “I’m sorry?”
His jaw clenches, his scent stronger now, harder to resist.
More intense.
“The HR meeting you just suffered through, Cassidy.” His voice is sharp, furious in a way I’ve never heard before. “What exactly did those cunts say to you?”
I gape at the unfamiliar man in front of me. Sure, he looks like Harlan. He even talks like him.
But this personality? This caring version of him? It’s not the Harlan I know at all.
“Harlan,” I whisper. “I don’t think you should say that about them.”
His stare is so flat that I immediately regret speaking.
I’m a fool.
“Cassidy.”
My shoulders hunch instinctively.
“What?” I squeak.
His hazel eyes narrow, his lips twitching with something I can’t name.