Chapter 28
When she swipes her ID badge through the security turnstile, it's nine-oh-five in the morning.
She's late, just like she figured, but she brushes it off, because she's lost count of how many times she's walked in before her shift started and stayed well past the time she was supposed to leave.
She takes the elevator up, and in seconds she's stepping out onto the third floor of Whitestone.
The first person she runs into is Adam, who gives her a polite nod and keeps walking; since the day she shut him down with zero patience, the man has stuck to being professional and keeping conversation to an absolute minimum.
She hurries to her cubicle, wakes up her computer, and sits down, because even though she desperately needs another cup of coffee, it feels a little brazen to go help herself to one when she's already late.
First she'll check her schedule for the day, then her emails—which should be light, it being Monday—and then she can give herself a few minutes to fill a mug.
"What...?"
Cassidy leans closer to the screen to read an email that was sent late Friday afternoon from the corporate communications department, welcoming her and letting her know they'd be expecting her on the fourth floor for a first-day orientation.
She has to read it several times to confirm it's not a mistake, because her full name is right there at the top of the message.
She scrolls through her inbox, looking for anything from Clara Fitzgerald or another supervisor, and finds nothing. She stands up, uneasy.
Out of the corner of her eye she catches Tanya heading toward her desk, so she turns and makes her way down the hall toward her boss's office before her coworker can hold her up.
"Gianna, has Clara come in yet?"
The secretary, who always looks like she's terrified of something, startles and glances up at her.
"No, not yet," she says, quickly checking something on her computer. "She has a meeting with a client off-site."
Cassidy thanks her, and the girl gives her a shy smile in return. Since she stopped reporting directly to Diane, she does seem a little calmer, but that permanent look of cautious dread makes her seem like she works for some kind of human slaughterhouse.
She heads for the elevator with no other option but to go up to the fourth floor and at least get some kind of explanation.
"Hi, I'm Cassidy Collins," she says in a formal tone as soon as she reaches the department. "I was asked to come by this morning."
A blond guy she recognizes from the cafeteria stands up and nods.
"Welcome, Cassidy. I'm Michael." He touches his hand to his chest. "I'm Claire Donnelly's assistant—follow me."
She walks after him as he sways his hips like a seasoned professional. He says hello to everyone they pass until he stops in front of a door.
"Her office is right next to my desk, but she wanted to wait for you inside." Michael points at the door with his thumb, flashes a smile, and turns the knob. "Claire, here's Cassidy Collins, our new colleague."
Michael makes an odd little move—something between a bow and a small jump—after the introduction.
"Great, thank you." Claire rises from her chair, hand already extended. "We've been expecting you, Cassidy. Welcome aboard."
Claire smiles, showing her teeth, her eyes bright with satisfaction.
Cassidy suddenly feels exhausted—too many things happening that she hadn't prepared for, and a level of warmth that is definitely not the norm around here.
Still, she pulls herself together just as fast as the bad mood hit her that morning when she read the email.
"Great to meet you, Claire." She tilts her head with a touch of charm. "Though I have to say, all of this caught me completely off guard. I had no idea I'd be coming to your department."
Her new boss keeps her cheerful expression.
"Neither did I, but trust me, it was a relief when I found out.
" She waves Cassidy toward a chair, and they both sit down at the table.
Michael slips out quietly. "I had three unexpected absences that left me shorthanded right in the middle of the chaos.
I sent out an interdepartmental request to see if anyone could temporarily lend me someone with the right skill set, and marketing responded right away.
It'll only be a couple of months, but your experience will be a huge help.
Plus, you'll get to see how we do things over here. Everyone wins."
On that last line, Claire raises both fists like she's celebrating a major victory. Cassidy forces herself to stretch her lips into a smile.
Over the next hour, Whitestone's head of corporate communications walks her through what the department does, what she'll be expected to contribute, and how to handle any questions that come up.
Cassidy finds it genuinely interesting—a side of marketing she barely touches in her own department, and, as Claire mentioned, something new to learn—but she's so uncomfortable with the way it all went down that her mind is fixed on one thing only: the moment she gets a few free minutes to go talk to Clara.
"Any questions?" the woman asks.
Cassidy shakes her head.
"Not at the moment—everything's clear. The only thing I'd like to do is go down and talk to my supervisor." She stops, presses her teeth together, and forces a relaxed expression. "Well, the person who was my supervisor, to hand off the projects I was working on."
Claire stands, and Cassidy follows.
"Of course—I know all of this was very sudden and you'll have things to wrap up." She opens the door and lets Cassidy out first. "Use today for that, and tomorrow you start here full time."
Claire shows her where her workspace will be and introduces her to two coworkers so friendly that Cassidy suspects this is the happiest department in the entire firm.
Once her new boss is satisfied, Cassidy picks up her pace toward the stairwell. She's anxious, and she's not about to wait for the elevator, so she takes the stairs two at a time and pushes through the door that leads to the third-floor hallway.
She doesn't slow down when she passes Gianna's desk. She stops at the marketing director's door and knocks several times.
"Come in." Cassidy strides in, her posture combative. She halts a few feet from the short-haired woman and crosses her arms.
"Clara, why am I in communications now?" The question doesn't come out angry, but it's full of suspicion. "I found out this morning."
Clara's face twists into a grimace that looks almost physically painful. She takes off her glasses and folds her hands on the desk.
"I should say I'm sorry, because I am, but I had nothing to do with this, so..." She lifts both hands, then sets them back down in the same spot. "This was Diane. I didn't know any more than you did."
"What?" It's not exactly a question, because she understood what Clara said, but she's so thrown off that thinking straight is a struggle.
"I'm just as furious as you are, and I'm trying to figure out what to do.
" She runs her hands through her short hair, and now Cassidy can see the anger in her eyes.
"I don't know whether to file a complaint with management or just strangle her with my bare hands.
What she did..." She shakes her head. "Well. It's Diane. She always gets her way."
Cassidy's head is a tsunami of noise—screaming in every register. She doesn't understand any of it, just static and a rage that's doubling by the second. She doesn't respond. Her mouth refuses to open. What she does is turn around and walk out, her legs shaking with fury.
She can't see or hear anything around her as she goes. Eyes fixed ahead, she covers several feet, and when her gaze lands on the metal nameplate marking Diane Carter's door, she walks straight in without asking, the same way that woman walked into her life—started a fire and slipped out the back.
"Manners, Collins—it seems like—"
"Shut up," Cassidy hisses, and for a moment her voice is the exact same register as Diane's when she gives an order. "Why did you do it?"
The anxiety that has been eating at Diane for months arrives instantly.
Her stomach knots, her chest tightens, and her heart threatens to crack through her ribs.
She squeezes the pen in her left hand while her right curls into a fist in her lap.
She draws a breath and arranges the expression she's worn for more than half her life.
"You think I owe you an explanation?" She stands with a calm that would terrify anyone. Not Cassidy. "Get out of my office right now."
Cassidy, who hasn't looked away since she walked in, sees it clearly.
The twitch in her left eye, the vein at her throat, the faint tremor in her hands.
Anyone who didn't know Diane would say she was irritated, furious—but unfortunately, Cassidy became a pathetic kind of expert the first day she stumbled into those insufferable blue eyes.
She knows every gesture, every expression, every sound she makes, and while they say it's impossible to truly know another person, she's close enough to knowing exactly who Diane Carter is.
"You're a hypocrite and a coward." Cassidy takes several steps toward her, close enough to make out the three moles on her left cheek. "You're so afraid of letting me into your life that you'd rather lock the doors and ship me off somewhere you can't see me."
Diane stiffens immediately, and her eyes flick to the right for just a second before snapping back to the darkened green of the girl's gaze.
Cassidy reads the answer so clearly that she lets out a dry laugh and shakes her head.
"That's a low move I didn't even expect from someone like you," she hisses, her disappointment sharp.
"You know what? I don't understand you, and I honestly wish I did.
We started sleeping together and you seemed satisfied—no point in pretending otherwise.
Time went by and we started talking; little by little we started to look like two women who liked each other and were figuring things out.
Then I spent a weekend at your place, we both talked about our messed-up lives, and it felt like we fit.
So I asked myself: is this enough for me?
No. It wasn't. And I decided to tell you I wanted more. "
Diane's lips are pressed into a flat line, and her hand has dropped onto the desk in what looks like a casual gesture—except it only means she needs something to hold onto to keep from collapsing.
"You told me I was confused, and I swear to God I even questioned myself.
For weeks I thought you were right, Diane, but then there were your eyes—following me around the office, lingering on me too long in a meeting, long enough that I could feel it burning through my skin.
" Cassidy pushes a few strands of hair away from her face.
"And then that last night—God, you made love to me in your bed in a way that meant I didn't need you to say it out loud.
And all of that is what brings us here. So tell me: why did you do it?
I left you alone, exactly the way you wanted.
Months have gone by and I haven't come looking for you once. Or is that exactly the problem?"
Diane's heart pounds wildly in her throat. The world is spinning too fast, and the ache running through her whole body is killing her. She wants her to stop. She needs to stop hearing every one of those words—each one a blade going in.
"Get. Out. Of my office," she forces out, low and steady, her eyes clouding over. "Get out of here."
Cassidy smiles the way someone does when they're bleeding out and making their peace with it.
"I'll do exactly that. You won't have anything to worry about." She takes a slow breath. "I'm leaving Whitestone, because now I'm the one who can't stand to look at you."
Cassidy Collins doesn't give her even a parting glance. She turns her back and walks out in silence, and Diane presses her hand to her chest, folds forward, and with her free fist smothers a cry that tears all the way up her throat.