Chapter 18
Diane watches the figure hunched over the side table inside her home office, and no matter how hard she tries to analyze what she's feeling, she can't quite name it.
Cassidy arrived at her house almost four hours ago.
They talked through the proposal Diane is planning to present for Alltreck and broke down the points she thinks need strengthening because—based on her experience—she believes those will be the key to winning the account.
Cassidy listened to everything with a serious expression and the occasional small nod; when she spotted something that didn't add up, she said so in that same clear, steady voice she always uses with her.
Then they got to work without wasting time—Diane on the draft of everything she'd already organized in her head, and Cassidy on the marketing campaign that will accompany the plan.
They've been quiet for a while, though Cassidy makes soft little sounds every now and then, as if a really good idea just hit her and she's having a tiny private celebration.
Diane is absolutely certain she's going to lose her mind tonight.
"What?" Cassidy's question startles her, and she has to blink several times to refocus. "You've been staring at me."
Diane lifts her chin, because it's the only way to hide the embarrassment of being caught. She sets her pen down calmly on the dark wood to buy herself time and settles back into her chair.
"I wasn't staring at you—I was thinking." She knows it sounds completely ridiculous, but there are things she still can't bring herself to give an inch on.
Cassidy tilts her head and raises her left eyebrow.
"And what were you thinking about?" she asks, pressing her fingers to her forehead and closing her eyes for a moment.
That simple gesture sends a wave of heat up Diane's throat for reasons she can't entirely explain. She stands and forces herself not to make a big deal of it.
"You okay?" Diane takes a few steps toward her but keeps enough distance to keep lying to herself about how much control she has over the situation.
Cassidy scrunches her face and waves a hand to brush it off.
"My head hurts a little," she says, moving her fingers to her right temple this time. "I'll take some ibuprofen and it'll pass."
A strange warmth settles in Diane's chest, and within seconds she realizes what's happening: this moment feels so familiar and comforting that her mind rejects it on instinct.
She likes having Cassidy here. She likes that she showed up at her door, certain things would be harder without her help.
And she's worried a headache might hurt her the way you'd worry if there were a man at the door with a knife, not a minor ache.
She holds back the urge to call herself an idiot out loud.
"You haven't eaten," she says instead.
"Neither have you." Cassidy smiles and stands. "I think we've made a lot of progress. What if we call it a night and order something?"
The question comes with a brush of her hand and a ghost of a kiss that steals Diane's breath.
She wants to say no—even though deep down she's desperate to spend more time with her—because she's certain that letting herself get this close to Cassidy is a mistake.
Keeping things inside the four walls of her office is a risk she has under control.
That night in the car, which neither of them has brought up once, was an exception—or at least that's what she told herself to ease the anxiety that kept her tense all weekend.
Letting herself sit down to dinner in her own home, alone, with the woman who's been getting under her skin for months—that's the closest thing to playing Russian roulette, but Diane already has the gun in her hand and she's loading the bullet into the chamber.
"Sure," she answers, close enough to feel Cassidy's breath against her lips, feeling like a fraud inside her own certainty. "I'll get you a Tylenol."
"You in the mood for Japanese? I've had this terrible craving for days."
"Whatever you want." Diane's voice floats back from the hallway.
Cassidy bites her lip as she picks up her phone from the table where she'd been working and searches for an Asian restaurant nearby.
When she finds one, she places an order that's probably too much for the two of them, but she can't quite think straight right now.
She's processing the fact that she's at Diane's house, about to have dinner with her for the first time since whatever they have between them started—whatever it is that still doesn't have a name.
Cassidy wants to give it one. She wants to see Diane outside of Whitestone, go to the beach, take a weekend trip, try new food.
Do the things people do when they actually like each other, because quick sex at seven in the morning on top of a desk is fun until it isn't, and your body starts asking for more. And she wants so much more.
Half an hour later, Diane closes the door behind her with a bare foot and turns around, eyebrows raised to match the three bags she's holding. Cassidy lifts the corner of her mouth and shrugs, because yes, she ordered too much, but it's really not that big a deal.
"Did you invite someone else to my house without telling me?" Diane sets the food down on the table she hasn't used in at least two years, because she either eats out or eats in the kitchen.
"I wasn't sure what you liked, so I ordered a little of everything. Well, the usual stuff you'd find at a place like this."
Diane doesn't answer. She starts pulling out the small cardboard cartons that smell incredible—two platters of sushi and a bottle of white wine.
Cassidy notices how she tightens her jaw, which seems odd, because even after hours of nonstop work Diane had seemed calm.
Relaxed, even. She doesn't dwell on it, because there's no time; Diane heads off to take the paper bags to the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of water.
"You don't want any wine?" Cassidy asks as she sits down. "This one's really good—goes great with fish."
Diane glances at the rolls and her mouth waters like she hasn't eaten in days. She picks two salmon, one tuna, and a nigiri of what looks like eel.
"I'm fine with water." She sits down, pulls her chair in slightly, and picks up the chopsticks.
Earlier, while they were waiting for the delivery, Cassidy had grabbed a glass from the kitchen; now she opens the wine and pours.
Before she even tries the food, she takes a long sip and closes her eyes, satisfied.
It was Payton who introduced her to this particular wine, and ever since, every time she orders Japanese, she picks up a bottle.
"I don't think that's great for a headache," Diane says, pointing at the glass with her chopsticks before using them to lift a roll to her lips.
Cassidy's response is to hold the glass out toward her. It's an innocent gesture, but she'd love for Diane to try it.
"You don't know what you're missing," she says simply, and takes another sip before setting the glass back down.
Diane stops chewing and fixes her blue eyes on Cassidy. Cassidy goes very still for a moment, not entirely sure what's happening, and suspects the Cobra's usual bad mood has resurfaced because she pushed too hard.
"It's not a big deal," she says, not meeting her gaze, already opening the box of chicken noodles.
What makes her look up is the sound of a chair scraping against the floor.
Diane is getting up, and the only thing Cassidy can read is the tension in her spine.
From where she's sitting, she can see Diane has stopped in front of one of the living room cabinets and is opening the glass door on the right.
She's looking for something, finds it, and comes back to the table with an unreadable expression.
Before she sits back down, she places a gold coin in front of Cassidy.
Cassidy doesn't touch it right away—her eyes have gone straight to Diane.
Diane sits back down and keeps eating as if nothing happened, and only then does Cassidy pick up the small round piece of metal.
At first glance she can't quite make sense of it: there's a triangle in the center, some text, and a number.
She frowns, and before her brain can connect the dots, Diane's voice reaches her.
"I've been sober for ten years." She raises her water bottle in a toast and takes a long drink. "I know exactly what that wine tastes like. I used to go through two of those bottles at dinner while I polished off six of these."
Cassidy looks at the dumplings Diane is pointing to, then back at the coin.
To thine own self be true, reads one of the phrases; the number ten sits in the middle of the triangle, and below it the word recovery.
Her throat goes rough, like sandpaper scraping her vocal cords, and an unsettled feeling creeps in that she doesn't know how to shake.
"I'm sorry," she says quietly, and slides the coin back across the polished wood to Diane. "Damn, ten years—two bottles? Not even in my prime."
Diane can't help it—her lips stretch into a smile that could easily turn into a laugh.
Cassidy has gone back to her noodles, helped herself to a generous portion, and is attacking them while giving a masterclass in chopstick technique.
Only Clara and the people at Alcoholics Anonymous had ever looked at her without pity, because a handful of people found out about her problem—one she'd managed to hide well for years—and when they looked her in the face, she felt naked, rejected, and hollow.
One more grain in the enormous pile of shit that made her build the wall she hasn't taken down in so long.
"Aren't you going to ask anything?" Diane says, opening another container. Chicken karaage—her favorite.
Cassidy finishes chewing and shrugs.
"Only whatever you want to tell me." She takes a sip of her wine, then thinks maybe she should put the bottle away.