Chapter 9
Cassian
Istared at the contract on my desk without seeing it. My mind kept drifting back to Isla—the way she'd felt beneath me. The sounds she'd made. The inexplicable familiarity that still taunted me.
Marco knocked, interrupting my thoughts.
"Background check on Quinn is complete." He placed a thin folder on my desk. "Nothing suspicious. Almost too clean."
I scanned the pages. Education records. Employment history. All thoroughly average.
"Dig deeper." I closed the folder. "Previous addresses, known associates, everything."
Marco nodded. "There's something else. Calabrese has been asking questions about her."
I felt a surge of possessiveness. "Make it clear she's off-limits."
"Already done." Marco hesitated. "There's also chatter about the Rossi territory. Might be trouble brewing."
"Handle it."
After he left, I checked the time. Almost nine. Isla would be arriving soon. I'd ordered her to be in early to prepare for the Tokyo investors' call.
A soft knock on my door.
"Come in."
Isla entered, impeccably dressed in a charcoal pencil skirt and cream blouse, hair pulled back in a tight bun. Professional. Controlled. No hint of the woman who'd come apart in my arms less than forty-eight hours ago.
"Good morning, Mr. Barone." Her voice was cool, distant.
"Cassian," I corrected. "I thought we'd moved past formalities."
"That was a mistake." She placed a small metallic key on my desk. "This is yours."
I stared at the key to my penthouse. She was returning it.
"Keep it."
"No."
"Then why are your hands shaking?" I pressed it back into her palm, closing her fingers around it. "Keep it. Because, despite what you're telling yourself, you will use it."
She rolled her eyes and placed a folder on my desk. "The Tokyo briefing. I've highlighted the key points."
"Sit." I gestured to the chair across from me.
She perched on the edge of the chair like she might bolt.
"You've been avoiding me."
"I've been doing my job."
I studied the shadows under her eyes."You didn't return my calls this weekend."
"It was my weekend off. Unless there was a work emergency, I'm not obligated to."
"There could have been an emergency."
"Was there?"
No. I called her because I couldn't stop thinking about her. Because I'd woken up Saturday morning to empty sheets and her absence had felt like a physical ache.
"No," I admitted. "But that's not the point."
"Then what is the point, Mr. Barone?"
"The point is you're running again. Just like Saturday morning. Just like you tried to return my key."
Her jaw tightened. "I'm not running. I'm being smart."
"Smart would be admitting what's between us."
"What's between us is a professional relationship. That's all it can be."
"Is that what this is about? Professional boundaries?" I leaned forward. "A bit late for that.”
"What happened between us was a mistake."
I studied her carefully. The power imbalance argument was valid—on the surface. But it didn't explain why she'd deliberately sought out this position. Why she'd researched me thoroughly enough to use a nickname only my inner circle knew.
Women usually threw themselves at me because of my position, not despite it.
And Isla had done exactly that.
So which was it? Genuine fear? Or a convenient excuse?
"You're right," I said slowly. "I could fire you. But I won't. And you know that."
"Do I?"
"Yes. Because if you truly feared that power imbalance, you wouldn't have applied for this job in the first place."
She stiffened. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"If that's your concern, I can transfer you to another department."
"No." Too quickly. Interesting.
"Then what do you want?"
"I want to do my job without complications."
"Too late." I circled the desk."We're already complicated."
Her tablet chimed."Tokyo is on the line. The investors' call."
"Let them wait."
"Cassian—"
"Tell me you don't feel this. Tell me Friday night meant nothing."
Her breath caught.
Her tablet chimed again—insistent.
She pulled back. "I need to take this call. It's what you're paying me for, remember?"
The professional mask slammed back into place. "Fine. Put them through."
The Tokyo call dragged on for three hours. When it ended, I grabbed my jacket and paused at Isla's desk. "I'll be back for the Harcourt meeting at two."
She nodded without looking up.
Something on her desk caught my eye. A small silver frame positioned so it faced her rather than visitors. It hadn't been there last week—her workspace had been conspicuously bare of personal items.
"New addition?" I nodded toward the frame.
Her hand shot out, almost knocking it over. "Just a personal photo."
The reaction triggered my suspicion. "Of?"
"Nothing important."
I reached past her and picked up the frame before she could stop me.
"Cassian, please—"
A little boy smiled back at me—dark curly hair, gap-toothed grin, tiny hands gripping playground swing chains.
"Your son?" The question came out harsher than I intended.
Her silence was confirmation.
I studied the photo more carefully. Isla's smile, her full lips. But his eyes…
My eyes. My jawline in miniature. The same dark hair I'd had as a child. Even the shape of his ears—a Barone trait.
My son.
Ice flooded my veins, followed by white-hot rage.
"How old is he?" My voice came out lethal, controlled.
"Cassian—"
"How. Old."
"Almost three." She whispered it like a confession. "He turns three in July."
July. Conceived—October, almost three years ago. Miami. The petroleum conference.
I'd known she was Celia since the elevator. I'd been investigating her, testing her, waiting to see her angle.
But this? A child?
This I hadn't seen coming.
"His name?" I managed to ask, my grip on the frame white-knuckled.
"Leo." Her voice trembled. "Leonardo Quinn."
I set the frame down carefully.
"When were you going to tell me?" I asked quietly, dangerously. "About my son."
"Cassian, I can explain—"
"Can you?” My laugh was bitter. "I've been waiting weeks for you to admit who you really are. Celia from Miami. The woman who deliberately sought out a job with me."
I picked up the photo again. "I was patient. Gathering evidence. Waiting for you to come clean."
I set it down hard enough that it rattled. "But this? A child? You weren't planning to tell me at all, were you?"
Confusion flickered across her face. "Weeks?" You've known for weeks?"
"I recognized you the first day. In the elevator. Your perfume. The scent I'd been trying to forget for three years."
All color drained from her face. "You—you knew? This whole time?"
"I had suspicions immediately. Had Marco confirm you were at The Palms Resort the same weekend I was." I moved closer. "I've been investigating you for weeks."
"And you said nothing?" Her voice rose, anger cutting through the fear. "You let me—you slept with me again, knowing—"
"Don't turn this around on me. I'm not the one who's been hiding a child."
"Because I didn't know who you were!" The words burst out of her.
"You knew my real name weeks ago. The moment you walked into that interview, you knew exactly who I was. You researched me. And you still said nothing."
"I—" She faltered.
"How long?" I demanded. "How long have you known I was Antonio?"
"Since—since I found out I was pregnant. It took months, but I finally tracked you down through the conference attendee lists."
"So for over two years, you've known I'm Leo's father. Two years, Isla."
Her silence was answer enough.
I picked up the photo of Leo again, memorizing every detail. "How much of this was real? Any of it?"
"Friday night was real. You know it was." Her voice broke.
"I don't know anything anymore." I set the photo down carefully. "Except that I have a son I've never met.”
I turned to face her fully, and she flinched at whatever she saw in my expression.
"We both made mistakes in Miami," I said quietly. "Fake names. No contact information. Fine. But you found me, Isla. You discovered who I was years ago, and you made a choice.”
"I was protecting him—"
"From his father?" The words tasted bitter. "Or to spy?"
"To understand what kind of man you were!" Her voice broke. "I spent months trying to decide what to do. Should I just show up at your office with a two-year-old and say 'surprise’? What if you rejected him?”
"So you applied for the job."
"I saw the opening. I knew it would put me close to you. Give me time to… to observe." Tears streamed down her face. "I needed to know who you really were before I risked everything."
"And what did you conclude?" My voice was ice. "After weeks of your little investigation?"
"That you're a good man," she whispered. "Demanding. Ruthless in business. But fair. Protective of the people who work for you. And that maybe you deserved to know."
"Maybe?" Sharp. "Maybe I deserved to know I have a son?"
"I was going to tell you. I just needed more time—"
I laughed bitterly. "You've had two and a half years, Isla. You clearly had enough time to research me to know to call me Cass when we fucked."
She went very still.
"You called me Cass yesterday," I said quietly.
"In the hallway, when you thought no one was listening.
My assistant doesn't call me that. My business associates don't call me that.
Only family and close friends use that name.
" I held her gaze. "So how did you know it?
Unless you'd been digging into my personal life long before you knocked on my office door. "
"I needed this job," she whispered. "The salary, the benefits. Leo has medical expenses—"
"My son has medical expenses I knew nothing about? What else haven't you told me? Is he sick?"
"No! He's fine now. He had some breathing issues but got a few treatments. "
"I want to see him."
Panic flooded her eyes. "Cassian, please—"
"I've missed every day of his life because of your lies. I'm not missing another day."
"You can't just barge into his world. He doesn't know you."