41. Cassidy
CASSIDY
The moment the lift doors slide open, I know today is going to be complete chaos.
But in a good way. An exciting way. I’m actually eager to be part of this rather than dreading it.
People are everywhere. Someone brushes past me carrying three garment bags over one shoulder, muttering an apology without slowing down, while two members of the digital team are already arguing over engagement figures before they’ve even reached the coffee machine.
The energy is electric, the scents humming together with a frenzied joy I’ve not smelled before, excitement bleeding through every alpha, beta, and omega on the floor.
It’s thrilling.
My phone buzzes before I’ve taken three steps onto the floor, another notification lighting the screen from the launch channel, and somewhere across the bullpen, somebody cheers loudly enough that half the office looks up.
A grin pulls across my face before I can stop it.
Launch day is finally here.
Ever since Harlan had his breakthrough idea, we’ve spent the last two weeks doing major revisions, having energy meetings, rushing through our usual testing process to get things prepared.
We’ve done enough last-minute tweaks to make my brain want to shrivel up from overload some days, but somehow, we’ve actually made it.
I tighten my grip on my laptop bag and weave through the organised madness, exchanging quick smiles with people as I pass.
Everyone is in a good mood, and it’s infectious.
Someone gives me a thumbs up before disappearing into a meeting room, and I can’t help the little flutter of excitement blooming in my chest.
By the time I reach my temporary desk in the bullpen, Gemma is already there, two monitors glowing in front of her as she flicks between dashboards, one foot bouncing impatiently beneath the desk.
“Good morning,” I say brightly, placing a latte on her desk.
She glances over briefly, the artificial peach scent she wears catching as she leans my way. “You’re late.”
I blink, looking at the clock in the corner of my monitor.
Seven fifty-two.
“I’m eight minutes early,” I say softly.
I don’t want to argue. I wonder if she’s just worrying about the launch occurring today.
“Hm.”
That’s all she says before turning back to the analytics. She pulls her latte closer to her, not commenting on it.
Okay, then.
I decide not to let it bother me as I shrug my coat off, hanging it over the back of my chair before logging in.
The campaign dashboard loads almost immediately, and a warmth spreads through me as I see the branding.
Signature.
Even after seeing it hundreds of times over the last fortnight, something in my chest warms.
It’s beautiful. The minimalist gold detailing, the photography… the copy.
We’ve gone from Amplify, which was a solid campaign, to Signature, and the change is phenomenal.
Still the same core messaging. Just... better. More personal.
That you’re already you, so let’s find your perfect signature.
My phone buzzes and I look down to see an email come through.
From: Aurelion UK
Subject: London flagship ready
Another email, the subject line telling me everything I need to know.
From: Manchester, Aurelion
Subject: Displays live.
Then Paris, Berlin, and Amsterdam.
One after another, green ticks begin appearing across the dashboard as stores activate around the world, preparing for the launch with us.
A little laugh escapes me, and Gemma gives me a dirty look.
Oops.
“It’s actually happening,” I tell her, trying to explain my excitement.
“It’ll be interesting to see whether people are stupid enough to fall for it.”
Gemma hasn’t taken her eyes off the screen since I’ve got here, but she turns now, giving me a look I can’t decipher.
Her mouth twists into something that isn’t quite a smile, her scent souring even beneath the artificial omega one she likes.
“I suppose we’ll find out whether Mercer’s miracle campaign really was worth all the fuss,” she says, flicking her hair over her shoulders.
All the fuss?
Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but it irritates me how little respect she has for Harlan.
For my mate.
I’ve seen how hard he’s worked on this. How much of a toll it’s taken on him these past few weeks.
How every time something has gone wrong, he’s blamed himself and worked so hard to fix it.
For her to be so dismissive…
She’s probably just anxious. Everyone copes with pressure differently.
I turn my attention back to the dashboards, watching the steady stream of green ticks appearing beside each territory.
Ireland.
Belgium.
Denmark.
One after another, the campaign goes live exactly as planned.
We have no emergency calls. No frantic messages with last-minute disasters.
For the first time in this campaign, everything just works.
I can’t hold back my smile, and I don’t even try. This is amazing—Harlan is amazing.
A fortnight ago, none of this existed. Amplify had been everywhere.
We’d had to pull it all apart after Visaro somehow stole most of it, and then Harlan had his brainwave that basically meant we had to recreate the entire launch with two weeks to spare.
It should’ve been impossible. Instead, it’s absolutely beautiful.
Everyone in the department helped out in some way. Overtime was off the charts, other departments have pitched in where they can, and everyone came together for this.
Harlan had seen something the rest of us hadn’t.
Not becoming someone more. Becoming more yourself.
It’s such a simple difference, but somehow it changes everything.
A flicker of movement catches my eye. Harlan strides across the far side of the bullpen, shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, Hallie matching his pace with a tablet tucked against her chest, dark hair pulled back into a practical ponytail.
They’re deep in conversation, both of them focused entirely on whatever she’s showing him.
He looks so determined today. Serious, focused, but also I can feel how light his energy is as it thrums through our bond, his scent carrying none of the tension that’s clung to him for weeks.
The permanent tension that’s lived between his shoulders for weeks is gone.
“I don’t know why everyone’s acting like he’s some sort of genius.” Gemma’s voice cuts cleanly through my thoughts.
I glance sideways, the flicker of irritation growing now. She hasn’t looked away from her screen, not even giving me the respect of her full attention as she insults my mate.
Again.
“I mean,” she continues, clicking through another dashboard, “it’s hardly revolutionary, is it? They changed a slogan, and everyone suddenly thinks he’s reinvented marketing.”
I look back at my own monitor. I don’t answer.
There’s no point.
“I suppose that’s what happens when you’re senior enough,” she says with a quiet laugh. “People tell you every idea’s brilliant even if it’s plagiarising yourself.”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
Don’t do it, Cassidy. Don’t cause a problem.
Around us, phones ring almost constantly. Someone from retail lets out another cheer.
A bottle of champagne appears in reception, making somebody wolf whistle loud enough that a ripple of laughter spreads across the floor.
The atmosphere is so light, so happy. I’m not ruining it by arguing with Gemma.
She sighs dramatically, clicking louder on her mouse, perfectly manicured nails tapping impatiently against the desk between each report. “I just think it’s funny.”
I keep reading through the latest engagement report, not wanting to give her the attention, but also unable to be rude.
“Hm?”
“Everyone’s suddenly pretending this campaign was always the answer.”
Something inside me gives the tiniest tug. I save the report before finally looking across at her.
“I don’t think anyone’s pretending.”
She raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “No?”
“No.” I smile politely. “I think people are excited because everyone worked really hard to make it happen.”
Her expression hardens almost imperceptibly, and now, she gives me a dismissive look. “Some people worked harder than others.”
I hold her gaze for a second before looking back at my screen.
“I’m pretty sure everyone here gave everything they had,” I tell her calmly.
“It’s a shame, though, isn’t it, that some people’s everything is not good enough,” she murmurs, turning back to her own screen.
Nausea churns in my gut, but I don’t respond. I can’t.
The morning disappears faster than I expect.
One minute, I’m checking retailer dashboards and making notes for Hallie, and the next, somebody announces that every flagship store has reported in without a single critical issue.
The familiar cheer ripples through the floor that happens every time something good is reported.
“I can’t believe that’s actually gone this smoothly,” I admit.
“I was convinced something would explode.” Gemma’s sneer is still in place, her reply full of snark.
I laugh quietly to myself, grateful that didn’t happen, as I send another confirmation through to one of the regional teams.
My inbox pings again and again.
Questions.
Congratulations.
Minor requests.
The sort of busy I’d dreamed about when I first started here. The sort where people come to me because they trust I’ll know the answer.
“Cass?” I glance up to find Jessie smiling down at me, a tablet tucked beneath one arm. She's one of those people who carries sunshine around with her, her bright smile and expressive dark eyes making even launch-day chaos feel manageable. “That accessibility document you put together last week?”
My stomach immediately sinks.
Oh, no.
Did I miss something? Have I made a big mistake?
“I’ve started using it as a template with the social team, and it’s doing brilliant,” she says, patting my shoulder. “Well done, girl.”
She beams at me, and I gasp.
“Really?”
She nods. “Really. You’ve saved us hours.”
Warmth rushes into my cheeks. “I—” The words stick somewhere in my throat.
“I only made notes,” I tell her.
“And they were amazing notes.” Jessie shrugs as though it’s obvious. “Credit where it’s due. Don’t downplay what you’ve contributed.”
Before I can think of a response, she’s already being called away by someone from creative. I watch her disappear into the crowd.