Chapter 17
Cassidy grips the steering wheel of her Corolla until her knuckles go white.
She looks around, sure some neighbor's going to call the cops if they spot her car parked in this neighborhood that smells like money and gleams off every surface.
She's been sitting inside for ten minutes while her ass freezes off, unable to make a decision: leave or get out.
Two hours ago it was different. Back then she had enough nerve to walk into Clara Fitzgerald's office and coax Diane's home address out of her—not easily—without coming across as a stalker or an employee too angry to be trusted with where her insufferable boss lives.
"You know that's confidential information, Cassidy," Clara had said, taking off her glasses and setting them on the desk. She gave her a skeptical look.
"I know, I know," Cassidy had raised both hands, as if to prove she wasn't hiding a knife in them, "but trust me, there's a good reason."
Clara narrowed her eyes and pressed her back against her chair. She didn't say a word—just waited for the girl to explain herself.
"Did she tell you what the board asked her to do about the Alltreck pitch?" Clara nodded. She'd been filled in the moment Diane walked out of the meeting with Samuel, and again when the email with the new assignment came through. "She's going to need help with this. You know that, Clara."
Cassidy had bitten her lip, unsure whether she was getting her point across.
"Samuel told me about it too, and even though we're close, he'd never said a word to me about board decisions before—not even anything close to it.
" She paused, pulling her hair back because it was bothering her.
"I think he told me because the situation's more complicated than it looks, and you've been working by her side for a long time.
You know she won't let anyone help her."
The marketing director laced her fingers together on top of the desk.
She did it in silence, watching the girl across from her, finishing her read of every gesture she'd made while talking.
For a while now there's been something buzzing in her ear—a fly, or more like a horsefly, because the noise keeps getting louder.
Especially because Diane, the woman who seems to have her face permanently frozen inside Whitestone, has made a subtle shift in the way she acts—but only with Cassidy.
She no longer cuts her off mid-sentence, doesn't interrupt her the way she does with other employees when she's not interested in what they're saying, and hasn't complained about her once in months.
Nobody would notice, because it's not like she has a warm relationship with the blonde to begin with—but Clara, who's known her for half a lifetime, can tell there's something there that can no longer be ignored.
Not after Cassidy has walked into her office with an anxious look on her face, trying to pry out information so she can help the Cobra.
Eighty percent of the firm's employees would sooner take a bullet to the foot.
She pulls a pad of sticky notes from her drawer, writes the address in small, neat handwriting, tears off the slip of paper, and stretches out her arm. When Cassidy reaches for it, Clara pulls it back.
"You're putting me in a very difficult position," she says, and her voice carries an edge that sounds a lot like Diane's own coldness. "Don't do anything that forces me to show you my worst side."
She holds the paper out again and Cassidy takes it. They hold each other's gaze for a moment. The girl doesn't feel even a flicker of fear at the words, because she knows Clara could never do anything to hurt Diane.
Cassidy lets out a breath that's just a little too loud, and it's enough to give her the nerve to open the door and step out of the car.
She crosses the street and stops in front of the gate, tilting her head back to look up at the top of the enormous house.
Of all the ones around it, this one seems the smallest and most understated—but to Cassidy, who's always lived in places that ranged from complete dumps to the tiny apartment she shares with her sister, it looks like an actual mansion.
All she can see from where she's standing is the gray slate roof and two large windows that seem to belong to the top floor.
She doesn't know if Diane's home, but she won't find out unless she rings the bell.
A sharp buzz comes from the small intercom when she presses the button, and a ring of light immediately flicks on beside the built-in camera pointed straight at her face.
The seconds drag by—an eternity—and she tries again.
Her palms are sweating from nerves, but she's alert enough to catch the brief metallic crackle from the speaker.
"Diane?" Cassidy asks, looking into the camera.
Time stretches on, and it seems like no one on the other side is going to speak—until a flat voice comes through, with just a hint of surprise underneath it.
"What are you doing here?" No hi, good to see you. "Who gave you my address?"
"I need to talk to you," Cassidy says, not answering the second question. "It's about the conversation you had with Samuel and the email you got from the board."
She's pretty sure she can hear the crack of Diane's jaw and the sound of her mind spinning at full speed. Her boss says nothing, but she doesn't send her away either. The gate begins to swing open, and Cassidy figures that's as close to an invitation as she's going to get.
The moment her feet hit the gravel path leading to the front door, Cassidy Collins's eyes and mouth fall open at the same time.
A gorgeous, well-tended garden spreads out on either side, forming a half-wooded corridor.
The walls of the house are clad in a pale stone Cassidy doesn't recognize, and there are wooden panels with abstract figures that somehow remind her of the woman who owns them: impossible to read.
The door opens, and Cassidy wonders why on earth anyone would build a door that size—she's pretty sure her car could fit through it with room to spare—but what knocks the breath out of her is seeing Diane dressed casually in a light cotton set, barefoot.
It's obvious she feels at home here, that this is the place she comes to when she's exhausted and can finally shed that flawless power-boss armor.
"What are you—"
The words cut out when Cassidy cups her face in both hands and kisses her hard.
Diane kisses her back—she always does—because even though she'd never admit it under any kind of pressure, it's been a long time since she's been capable of denying this green-eyed girl anything.
She slipped under her skin one day and has refused to leave ever since.
Cassidy pushes her inside, and the moment the door closes it's like being back in Diane's office.
She presses her against the nearest wall and slides a hand under her shirt.
She touches her stomach, and Cassidy feels her tremble as she drags her fingertips across the thin skin of her boss's belly.
The girl knows there must be a couch or a bed somewhere in this house, but whether it's habit or the desperation burning through her right now, all she does is turn Diane to face the wall and bite down at the base of her neck.
"Pull your pants down," Cassidy tells her, doing the same with her own.
Diane's heart is hammering in her throat.
It started racing the second she saw the blonde through the doorbell camera, and she nearly had a heart attack watching her walk through the front door.
Feeling her tongue in her mouth makes her wish she had her phone nearby in case she needs to call for help.
"You smell like that citrus soap." Cassidy breathes her in like it's the best thing she's ever inhaled. "Spread your legs."
The moan starts low—all the blonde has done so far is press her bare sex against her boss's ass—but when she reaches her hand forward and her fingers part Diane's folds, the sounds climb.
Diane has had plenty of sex over the course of her life, and it would be absurd to claim she's never been this turned on, because she has—plenty of times.
The difference is that Cassidy manages to hold her at that edge for hours.
She knows the exact spot that drives her wild, and Diane has no idea how she does it, but she always finds something that gets her even hotter.
Exactly like now. Feeling this beautiful girl grind hard against her ass while working her at the same time is like living out one of those fantasies you never tell anyone about out of sheer embarrassment—the kind that, when you finally get to have them, you can barely last a couple of minutes.
"I love what you're doing to me," Cassidy moans when she hears her—Diane doesn't talk much during sex. "And I'm not going to last."
"Wait." Cassidy drags her soaked sex faster. "Fuck, just wait a little."
Diane bites her lip and even tries to think about something else, anything to distract herself.
It doesn't work, so all she can do is push Cassidy over the edge.
She puts both hands on the wall and arches back, moving in time with the blonde.
She rolls her hips in quick circles and pushes back to add pressure—and god, does it work, because a sharp cry lands in her ear and the one who'd asked her to wait starts coming in breathless whispers.
"Fuck..." Cassidy presses her forehead against Diane's shoulder. "I'm sorry... it's just... God."
She laughs like a kid who can't believe the present she just got, and something in Diane's chest shakes loose.
She turns to face her—does it without thinking, without analyzing for even a second that doing so pulls her closer to the edge she's been keeping away from ever since that hazel green caught her.
She doesn't care. For one moment, she does what she actually wants.
"Your eyes shine so bright when you come," she whispers, and presses her mouth to hers. Diane kisses her slowly, like she's in no rush to pull her pants back up because she's not in that damn office where there's never time for anything.
Cassidy exhales a smile against her lips and leans in closer.
"I wish I were as beautiful as you." She means it. Diane's features soften, and she looks stunning.
"It's a shame you can't see yourself in a mirror."
The blonde looks into her eyes and sees something she hasn't seen in any of their other times together.
A different kind of softness—tenderness?
She's not sure, but it reminds her of the look she used to notice in girls when she could tell they were starting to fall for someone.
She can't sit with that thought for long, because Diane leans down to straighten her pants and takes a step back.
"What are you doing here?" she asks for the third time, and now her voice is steady—the voice of Whitestone's head of business.
Cassidy sighs, finishes straightening her own clothes, and follows her boss into the living room. First she ducks into the bathroom Diane points her toward to wash her hands, and five minutes later she's sitting on the couch next to the brunette with a bottle of water in her hand.
"I know what the board asked of you." Cassidy raises her hand when Diane furrows her brow and opens her mouth. "Let me finish before you start snapping."
Diane lifts her chin, ready to strike—but it's only a rehearsed pose, because she stays quiet while the girl explains how Samuel Barnes called her into his office and told her about the report Frances had presented to the board.
"Samuel has always been discreet, and there's no reason he should've told me any of this," Cassidy says, taking a sip from her bottle. "Unless he knows something you don't and is trying to get it to you through me."
Diane clicks her tongue and twists her mouth.
"That's ridiculous. Samuel was direct with me, and I don't see any reason he'd use you as a messenger."
"Diane." Cassidy says her name plainly. "Samuel is a powerful partner at this firm—but at the end of the day, he's just one person. You talked to him before the meeting, and he talked to me after."
The older of the two tries to think, but there's so much crowding her head that she can't focus.
"My theory is that he took a risk to warn you about what was coming, and then walked into that meeting and found a situation he hadn't expected," Cassidy says, lifting a shoulder. "He's shown he's on your side—but he's not stupid enough to put his own job on the line."
Diane gets to her feet, because she's almost certain the damn Frances Hartwell somehow managed to sway the board, and some of those people have bet on her.
Samuel had assured her the firm stayed afloat largely on the strength of the contracts her work helped close every year, and that as long as she kept making them money, there'd be no problem—but maybe with the Delacroix Group merger, the money starts coming in from somewhere else, and her position stops mattering the way it does now.
She stands frozen in place, like the situation has locked her solid. Cassidy stays seated. What Diane needs is a moment—time to get her head in order.
The fourth repetition arrives.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to help you." Diane raises an eyebrow with that familiar arrogance.
The look doesn't slow Cassidy down. "I know you're perfectly capable of doing this alone, but it'll take longer—nights without sleep, because during the day you'll have everything else to deal with.
I'm free this weekend. We can start tonight.
Next week I'll come here after I'm done at Whitestone and we'll keep going until the proposal is ready. How much time do you have?"
"A week," she answers, looking out at the window that faces the side garden. "Twelve days until it goes in front of the client."
Silence settles between them, and it's not uncomfortable for either one—they're used to it.
They've worked long hours together and the dynamic is familiar.
Cassidy knows Diane has already made up her mind, but she needs something to push her to say out loud that she really does need help and that she accepts the offer.
She's not going to make her go through that.
"Where should we start?" Cassidy asks.
Diane hesitates for just a second, then pulls herself together.
"Follow me."