Chapter 6
Isla
Iraced through the Plaza’s marble lobby, heels clicking as I checked my watch for the third time in five minutes.
Outside, late October rain streaked the windows, typical for this time of year.
The quarterly investors' gala started in less than an hour, and I was cutting it dangerously close.
As Cassian's executive assistant, I needed to arrive early to handle last-minute details and greet key investors.
I'd changed before leaving the office—the burgundy silk dress I wore felt elegant but exposed in a way that made me hyperaware of my body. Especially after Cassian's hands on my skin earlier, working that zipper free. The memory sent heat through me that had nothing to do with the crowded lobby.
Focus, Isla. This was work. Professional. I was here representing Barone Industries, nothing more.
I smoothed down the silk and headed toward the ballroom entrance, where hotel staff were making final preparations.
Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over white-clothed tables, each set with gleaming silver and fresh flowers.
It was elegant, expensive, and exactly the kind of event where one wrong move could cost me everything.
"Ms. Quinn?" A young woman with a clipboard approached. "I'm Sarah from events coordination. Mr. Barone's office said you'd be handling the early arrivals?"
"That's correct." I shifted into professional mode, grateful for the distraction from thoughts of Cassian. "Walk me through the seating arrangements."
Sarah led me through the ballroom, pointing out key tables. "The Calabrese party is seated here, front and center. Mr. Barone specifically requested that they have optimal visibility."
Of course he did. Everything Cassian did was calculated.
"And the Harriman table?" I asked, remembering the senator's name from files I'd reviewed.
"Here, adjacent to the main stage. His chief of staff confirmed attendance this morning." Sarah checked her clipboard. "We're expecting approximately two hundred guests. The silent auction items are displayed in the east gallery, and the live auction begins at nine."
I nodded, mentally cataloging details. "Has the AV team confirmed the presentation equipment?"
"All set. Mr. Barone's remarks are loaded and ready." She hesitated. "Will he be attending? We weren't sure, given the last-minute schedule change."
"Mr. Barone had a conflict but sends his regards," I said smoothly, the lie coming easily. "I'll be representing Barone Industries tonight."
Sarah's expression shifted—respect mixed with something like pity. Being the stand-in for a powerful man at his own company's event wasn't exactly glamorous. But it was my job.
"Understood. Well, you look lovely. That color suits you."
"Thank you." I glanced down at the burgundy silk, trying not to remember Cassian's fingers brushing my skin. "I should check in with catering. Is the kitchen accessible through—"
"Ms. Quinn?"
I turned at the familiar voice, my stomach sinking.
Vincent Calabrese stood a few feet away, his silver hair perfectly styled, his tuxedo immaculate. The same man who'd sat across from me in that conference room days ago, watching me analyze his operation's security weaknesses.
"Mr. Calabrese." I forced a professional smile. "I didn't expect guests to arrive quite this early."
"I like to survey the field before battle." His eyes traveled over me with an appreciation that made my skin crawl. "And I must say, the view has improved considerably since our last meeting."
I maintained my professional mask, though every instinct told me to step back. "Can I help you with something? If you're looking for the silent auction items, they're displayed in the east gallery."
"I'm exactly where I want to be." He moved closer, invading my personal space. "Tell me, Ms. Quinn—does Cassian know what an asset he has in you? Or is he too busy with his—other operations to notice?"
The emphasis on "other operations" wasn't subtle. He was fishing, trying to see what I knew about Cassian's business beyond the legitimate facade.
"Mr. Barone trusts me to represent the company professionally," I said carefully. "Which is what I'm here to do tonight."
"Of course." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Though I have to wonder—a woman with your analytical skills, your attention to detail. You could work anywhere. Why Barone Industries?"
It was a trap. Any answer would reveal too much.
"The opportunity was compelling," I said neutrally. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to coordinate with the catering staff—"
His hand caught my elbow as I tried to move past him. Not forceful, but deliberate. "Don't rush off. I was hoping we could discuss your analysis of my Miami terminal. You made some fascinating observations about security protocols."
My skin prickled where he touched me. "Those were preliminary findings for Mr. Barone's consideration. I'm not at liberty to discuss them."
"Not even over a drink?" He gestured toward the bar being set up. "Surely one drink between colleagues isn't inappropriate."
"I appreciate the offer, but I'm working tonight." I gently but firmly extracted my arm from his grip. "And I really do need to check on the arrangements. Enjoy the evening, Mr. Calabrese."
I walked away before he could protest, my heart pounding. The way he'd looked at me—like I was something to acquire or exploit—made me feel exposed in a way that had nothing to do with my dress.
I needed air. Space. A moment to breathe without feeling like prey.
Slipping through a side door, I found myself in a quiet hallway lined with hotel meeting rooms. The muted sounds of the gala preparations faded behind me as the door closed.
I leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths. This was harder than I'd expected—representing Cassian's company, fielding questions I couldn't fully answer, dealing with men like Calabrese who saw me as either an opportunity or an obstacle.
"Running away from the party?"
I spun around, heart leaping into my throat.
Cassian stood at the end of the hallway, jacket unbuttoned, tie slightly loosened. He looked like he'd just arrived—or been avoiding the main event.
"I thought you weren't coming," I said, hating how breathless I sounded.
"Change of plans." He moved closer, his eyes traveling over me in the burgundy silk. "The situation I was handling—resolved itself. Thought I should make an appearance after all."
We stood alone in the hallway, the muted sounds of the gala a distant hum.
"How's it going in there?" he asked, nodding toward the ballroom.
"Fine. Good. Calabrese arrived early, the seating arrangements are—" I was babbling. "Everything's under control."
"Is it?" He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne. "Because you look like you're hiding."
"I'm not hiding. I just needed a moment."
"From Calabrese?" His jaw tightened. "Did he say something inappropriate?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle."
"That's not an answer, Isla."
The way he said my name—low, possessive—sent heat through me. This was dangerous. We were alone, and the memory of his hands on my skin earlier was still too fresh.
"You should go back inside," I said. "Mingle. Network. Isn't that why you came?"
"No." He moved even closer, backing me gently against the wall. Not threatening—but deliberate. "That's not why I came."
My pulse raced. "Cassian—"
"There was a time," he said quietly, his eyes searching mine, "when I would have done more than just help with a zipper."
My breath caught. He was referencing the office. Earlier today. His hands on my back.
"There was a time," he continued, voice dropping lower, "when I knew exactly how to make you tremble. When I knew every sound you made. Every place that made you gasp."
Oh God. He was talking about Miami. Testing me.
"I don't know what you mean," I whispered, but the lie was weak.
"Don't you?" His hand came up, fingers ghosting along my jaw. "I've been trying to place it since you walked into my office. The way you move. The way you smell. The way your breath catches—" His thumb brushed my lower lip. "—right here. When I touch you."
I should push him away. Should maintain the lie.
Instead, I stood frozen, my body betraying me with every rapid breath, every flutter of my pulse.
"Tell me I'm wrong," he challenged, his mouth so close to mine I could feel his breath. "Tell me we've never met before that interview."
The words wouldn't come. Couldn't come.
His lips brushed against my jaw, not quite a kiss—a question asked with his mouth against my skin.
"Cassian," I breathed, and it came out like a plea.
For what, I wasn't sure anymore.
He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with want and frustration. "This isn't over, Isla. Whatever game you're playing—whatever you're hiding—I will find out."
"I know," I whispered.
"And for what it's worth?" His hand dropped away, creating space between us. "I've already started looking. You might be surprised by what I've found."
Before I could respond, voices echoed from the main hallway. Other guests wandering toward the restrooms or coat check.
Cassian stepped back, smoothing his jacket, his expression shifting back to controlled neutrality. "We should return. Separately."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He paused before turning away. "That dress." His eyes traveled over me once more. "It suits you. But the woman wearing it? She's the real mystery."
Then he was gone, disappearing back toward the ballroom, leaving me trembling against the wall.
I gave myself thirty seconds to compose myself. Smoothed my dress, checked my reflection in a decorative mirror on the wall, forced my breathing to steady.
When I returned to the ballroom, the space had filled with guests. The low murmur of conversation mixed with soft classical music from the string quartet. Everything looked perfect, professional, exactly as it should.