Chapter 16
"Keep your hands still," Cassidy says, shifting her torso slightly to pull away from Diane's touch. "I told you—you can't touch me today."
Watching Diane Carter beg with her eyes and her body is a sight no one has ever witnessed.
No one, except Cassidy Collins. They're in the office of the director of the business development department, right next to the window, where, just five minutes ago, Diane had been watching the wet street and the handful of pedestrians darting away from the rain that had arrived at the close of the second week of December.
Her eyes had been fixed on a couple—two women walking hand in hand, sheltered under an enormous umbrella—and when they reached the corner, they'd said goodbye with a quick kiss and a smile she'd been able to watch from where she stood.
She had started to feel invisible claws scratching at her chest when her office door swung open without warning.
The blonde had crossed the space between them like she owned everything in sight, and in one smooth motion she'd hooked her left arm around her boss's waist and stroked her cheek with her free hand.
"You have no idea how badly I've been wanting to be alone with you."
That was all it took, and Diane didn't have time to answer because Cassidy had licked her lips before kissing her with an intensity that set both women on fire.
Now Diane has her back pressed against the wall, her pants tangled around her ankles, and her restless hands at her sides, because today the blonde has decided to punish her.
"Frances keeps screwing with you," Cassidy says, starting a rhythm of deep, harder thrusts, "and you're not doing anything to stop it."
And there it is—the reason.
Diane fights to keep her eyes open and focused, but hearing this woman's anger while she fucks her like it might be the last time between them is something she can barely hold on to.
She doesn't want to think, doesn't want to analyze, because Cassidy has this power over what she feels, and if she lets herself go there, she's fairly sure she'll fall apart.
"Trust me," is the only thing she can say back, a pathetic murmur that barely makes it out of her throat.
Cassidy's eyes settle on her boss's while the rhythm of her fingers keeps the same steady pace. They hold each other's gaze for a moment—no words, but a silent confirmation that the younger woman does trust her.
Ten minutes later, Cassidy steps out of the private bathroom inside the office, hands clean, mind clear.
Her cheeks are flushed from the effort and from the heat cranked up too high, but what keeps her warm inside is the sight of Diane sitting in her chair with her eyes closed and her head resting back as she tries to catch her breath.
Cassidy moves close and runs her fingertips along the fine skin of her face, and when the blue of her eyes begins to brighten everything, Cassidy knows she's in heaven.
"You're beautiful," she says out loud, and she feels the slight jolt in Diane's body. "You okay?"
The Cobra gathers herself and lifts her chin as though she were in a boardroom fighting for her dignity.
"Yes—though I'll be better once that woman walks out of Whitestone for good."
Cassidy leans back against Diane's desk and crosses her arms, eyes sharp.
"What's going on with her?" she asks. "There's something in all of this I can't quite put together, because Frances seems to be looking for something in your department to make you look bad."
Diane tightens her jaw and unconsciously grazes the bracelet with two fingers.
Cassidy notices. She knows the question made her uncomfortable, and she's pretty sure it's because they've barely talked about anything beyond work.
That tells her Frances is personal—not just the outside consultant the executive team brought in for the expansion.
She's about to change the subject, because the last thing she's going to do is push Diane to talk about something she doesn't want to, but before she can, the other woman parts her lips.
"I met her at the first job I had when I moved to California.
I was young, no experience in the field, but I nailed the interview and they gave me a shot," she runs a hand through her hair and pushes back the strands falling in her face.
"Frances had been there a few years, but honestly she seemed more like a decorative piece than anything else.
She wandered the floor hallways with a vacant look on her face, not doing anything she was actually good at.
I found out her husband was leaving her, that she had nowhere to go, and her family had turned their backs on her because she'd given up everything for him first. I felt sorry for her. "
Cassidy raises an eyebrow without taking her eyes off Diane's. She can't picture this woman feeling sorry for Frances Hartwell.
"It was a different time," Diane says, waving a hand to dismiss her younger self's weaknesses.
"The point is, one afternoon I asked if there was anything I could do to help, and she didn't ask for anything—we just talked.
As crazy as it sounds, we started meeting up some evenings for a beer, and since we didn't have much to share about our personal lives, we talked about work. "
"Did you end up sleeping with her?" Cassidy asks, eyes wide.
Diane clicks her tongue as if the question is anything but sensible.
"Don't be ridiculous," she says, shaking her head with a frown.
"There was nothing like that, at least not on my end—because Frances was only pretending to be my friend while she pumped me for details about how I'd landed a contract with the luxury car dealership or pulled information about the new proposals I wanted to bring to management. "
"Jesus," Cassidy murmurs. "And what was she getting out of it?"
"More like, what was she keeping," Diane replies, her shoulders tensing at the memory.
"She had nothing to fall back on, and if she lost that job, she'd have nothing at all.
She tried to steal key data from me, copied information it had taken me weeks to put together—but the stupidest thing she did was go around telling people I was trying to poach the company's clients.
" She lets out a short, dry laugh. "God, I was barely in my twenties and all I wanted was to learn the business.
I caught her, she was sloppy about it, and by the time she tried to take me down, I'd already beaten her to it. "
"I'm guessing she got fired."
Diane nods and runs her fingers over her bracelet again. That's all in the past. Now she's here, on her throne.
"She made a big dramatic exit, swearing revenge and god knows what else. I never heard from her again. I didn't go looking either. I wasn't interested."
"Until now," Cassidy says, making a small pout.
"I'm still not interested—but I promise you, I'm not going to let whatever she's plotting slide. Getting here," she gestures around the room with both hands, "cost me too much to let a woman who can't accept losing try to discredit me."
Cassidy stretches the corner of her mouth into a smile and drops a hand to Diane's thigh.
"I wouldn't expect anything less from you," she says, winking, then pushes herself up and steps away from the desk. "Thank you for telling me."
She would love to stay there with her a little longer.
It's not even eight in the morning and the hallways are empty.
She'd love to ask her to dinner tomorrow night—Friday—and maybe, for the first time, they could actually be completely undressed in a bed instead of standing up in an office.
She doesn't say any of it, because even though Diane's actions tell her it's what she wants, something deeper shouts that she won't. She settles for walking out and takes the opportunity to head down to the café for a decent drink.
● ● ●
At four thirty in the afternoon, Diane steps off the elevator on the sixth floor. Something is wrong, and the chill that runs through her is so unpleasant she'd like to go back to her office and not come out again until every last soul has left the building.
She received a call from Samuel Barnes on her personal number, and that has her thrown off.
She doesn't have any particular warmth for the partner, even though he once told her he trusted her—and then there's that close relationship he keeps with Cassidy, which she can't deny still stirs up a knot of jealousy she can't control and doesn't try to.
She wonders what he wants, because he didn't send an email, didn't go through Tatiana, and didn't leave a message with Gianna.
She's curious, but she'll have her answer in a matter of seconds.
"She's waiting for you," Samuel's assistant says, rising from her seat and walking ahead of her. She knocks a few times on his door and, when she hears the "come in," she steps aside to let Diane through.
Diane walks in at a measured pace, hands in her pants pockets, wearing the same unhurried expression she always does—as if the world were on fire and she couldn't care less.
"Samuel," she says quietly, and stays on her feet in front of his desk.
"Diane, please sit down," he says, gesturing toward the brown leather chair. "Can I get you a coffee?"
"I want to know why you called me," the words don't slip out—she releases them with force, because she didn't come here to chat with a friend. "You called my personal number, so I'm assuming it's important."
Samuel gives her the warm smile she can't stand, and immediately pulls out a stapled stack of papers.
"Direct as always," he says, setting the pages in front of her—but Diane keeps her eyes on him. "Frances Hartwell called a meeting, and we sat down with her this afternoon."
Diane feels the tension gather at the base of her skull while her left eye twitches so visibly that Samuel might think she's winking at him.