Epilogue
Diane bites down on her fist so hard she knows she'll have a solid bruise there later, but if she lets a single sound escape her throat, it'll be unstoppable — and they'll hear it in every office on the floor.
She turns her head, trying to focus on anything other than the sharp pleasure tearing through her.
Her eyes move over the office — the wide window at the far end, the tall, heavy bookshelf they'd installed not long ago, the pale green carpet under her feet.
She closes her eyes. Looking down was a mistake.
"You taste better today than you ever have," Cassidy murmurs, her mouth still pressed against Diane.
"God, baby," Diane manages, her hand sliding to the back of her girlfriend's head as she parts her legs a little wider. "I'm so close."
The words come out as a whimper — a pitiful, helpless sound from a woman pushing fifty, being taken apart on the expensive wooden desk of her brand-new office.
Cassidy slows the movement of her tongue, and when she hears Diane's sharp exhale of frustration, she pushes two fingers inside her — and just like that, Diane comes hard, collapsing against the desk like she's got nothing left.
"When you said you were close," Cassidy says, sitting up and wrapping her arms around Diane, "you meant very close."
She doesn't mind at all when Diane swats at her, because the orgasm has left her so boneless she can't put nearly enough force behind it to wipe the smirk off Cassidy's face.
"Now I understand why you insisted on coming with me this morning," Diane says, drawing in a slow breath.
"You needed to relax. You've been on the edge of a breakdown for weeks, and last night you were a complete wreck." Cassidy pushes the bangs back from Diane's forehead with a gentle hand. "Today's a big day. You need to be calm."
Diane narrows her eyes and her cool expression snaps back into place instantly. She raises one hand and holds it in the air. They both notice it's trembling.
"Let me just say that your plan has failed," she says, pressing her lips into a flat line. "I'm worse now."
Cassidy laughs — a real, full laugh — and Diane Carter feels her chest swell with it. Two years since they'd decided to be together, one of them spent living under the same roof, and Cassidy can still make her laugh. That alone tells her she's doing something right.
Cassidy kisses her softly, then bites her lower lip, smiles, and lets go.
"Pretty sure you can run the meeting now without feeling like you're suffocating." She steps back from Diane's body. "It's always worked. Don't pretend your favorite part of Whitestone wasn't when I walked into your office at seven in the morning."
A warmth moves through Diane's stomach at the memory — back when she was still too much of an idiot to see that Cassidy could never be just that: the woman she had secret, very satisfying encounters with, the one she thought she had completely under control, the one she believed she could end whenever she wanted.
Cassidy comes out of the bathroom and crosses toward her girlfriend, rubbing lotion into her hands.
"Do you need help with anything?" she asks. She still has enough time to stay a little longer and then head to the consultancy without being late.
Diane exhales, and though she's still unsettled, the raw, agonizing nerves she'd felt just hours ago are nowhere close to where they were.
"I think I've got it," she says, shifting her legs slightly and tilting her head.
"I left a pair on the shelf for you." Cassidy bites her lip to hold back a smile. Diane Carter still has the ability to make her lose her mind, and she struggles to keep it together most of the time.
"At this rate I'll need to buy underwear in bulk," Diane mutters, her tone flat, and disappears through the bathroom door.
Cassidy drops into the chair in front of the desk and smiles when she notices the folder on the table.
It has a round green logo and an elegant font that she helped choose herself.
It's the logo for Diane's firm — a small consultancy that came to life a year ago and surprised them both in the best possible way.
Diane had taken a full month off — days and nights both, much to her own misery, because by the second week she was snapping at the food delivery driver at home — to rest and figure out the best strategy for her next chapter.
She already had a handful of clients lined up, people she'd won over during her years at Whitestone who trusted her to advise them on their investments, mergers, and acquisitions.
She'd thought that was enough, that she could handle them without extra help, and she'd been completely wrong.
Her reputation preceded her. New firms came quickly.
She started bringing on staff, and before long she'd decided to create Carter Consulting — a boutique firm with a small office in a professional building in Manhattan, with five people on the team.
Today is one of the important days. Four weeks ago, Cassidy had talked her into attending a gala she'd had zero intention of going to — not under any circumstances — but apparently the threat of a month without sex had been enough of an incentive to squeeze into a black dress and show up on the arm of a terrifyingly beautiful blonde.
That night she'd met Néstor Ochoa, a Mexican businessman she'd never heard of, who happened to have a very interesting portfolio.
They'd talked for an hour, and two days later Néstor was sitting in her office because he wanted to acquire a small hotel group and needed expert guidance.
There were many meetings after that, until finally it came time to sign the contract between them — Diane's first, with several million dollars on the line.
"Aren't you running late?" Diane asks, checking the time on her watch as she moves toward her desk.
"Is that your way of kicking me out?" Cassidy raises an eyebrow, and Diane's sharp look cuts right through her.
"No. I'm protecting myself from blame." Diane holds her gaze. "You'll say you were late because of me."
Diane isn't entirely wrong, but Cassidy knows that in most cases it's the perfect excuse — one Clara accepts with practiced resignation.
Especially in the early days, when Carter Consulting was still being built, Cassidy had thrown herself into helping her girlfriend and often couldn't help sleeping in and arriving a few minutes past her start time.
Clara would send her best friend passive-aggressive messages, and Diane would explode.
"After the signing you'll have mountains of work," Cassidy says, changing the subject and pressing her lips together. "We should go to the cabin this weekend and forget about everything for a while."
Diane rolls her eyes. Cassidy has become completely obsessed with Big Bear Lake and makes enough of a production about it to drive her crazy whenever more than two weeks go by without a visit.
"I'd have less to worry about if I had a marketing expert working with me."
Cassidy sidesteps the comment as best she can. They both know it's better for them to work separately, but her girlfriend sometimes can't help pointing out what she considers obvious.
"Either way, you know I don't work weekends — that's what I pay my staff more than they deserve for," she continues, ice in her voice. "And if I can't join you sometimes, you know you can always go with your siblings, especially before Payton has the baby."
Cassidy bites her lips. She hadn't been much of a baby person until her sister had announced a few months ago that she was pregnant.
There had been a small, quick wedding — Owen's family, Kenny, Zoe (a dentist he'd been seeing for a year after she came in to get all four tires changed, left him a five-dollar tip, and they'd gotten into a minor argument about it), Cassidy, and Diane, who for some reason had been so relaxed that day that Kenny spent most of it teasing her about it.
Those two got along wonderfully, even though Diane pretended otherwise and claimed the opposite.
"I'll think about it," she says, jumping to her feet. "I'm going to stop by that bakery Elizabeth loves and order the cinnamon cookies."
"There's still a week to go," Diane frowns. She's been so swamped lately that dates are all running together in her head.
"I know, but God forbid they run out when we go to pick them up — I'd rather order ahead and make sure we have them." She smiles, pleased with herself.
"How efficient," Diane says in that dry tone of hers that manages to sound more like an insult than a compliment.
Cassidy steps toward Diane, who has also stood up.
"Don't get used to it — I'm not your assistant," she says, even as she smiles when she feels Diane's strong arm pull her in close.
"Watch that mouth, Collins," Diane breathes against her lips.
"I love you," Cassidy answers, and Diane kisses her.
"I love you too."
Cassidy pulls away from her girlfriend, grabs her bag, and walks to the door. She turns back before leaving.
"Should we meet at Marlowe?"
Diane nods.
"Seven o'clock. Don't be late," she says, settling into her chair.
"Wasn't planning on it," Cassidy says with a wink.
Cassidy leaves, taking that energy with her — the energy Diane knows she needs to keep going.
Diane leans her head back against her chair and smiles when she realizes her hands are still trembling.
It's a big day. Of course it is. She's wanted her name to mean something for a long time — really mean something, not because she was working for someone else — and today a huge part of that dream is about to solidify.
But that's not the most important thing.
She opens the right drawer of her desk and closes her fingers around a small velvet box. She takes it out, opens it, and her lips tremble.
"You did it."
She says it quietly, but she says it to that girl — alone and terrified in the rain in Portland, running from parents who put money above their children's needs.
To the girl who was humiliated in New York, who fought her way through alcoholism, who found the strength to cut ties with a family that had never truly cared whether she lived or died.
She'd built everything she'd ever dreamed of, and now, pushing fifty, she understands it was never about status or money.
It was about being happy. She got the girl.
She found real love. And now all that's left is for Cassidy Collins to say yes.