005

Cassandra’s POV

“Wait! Wait for me!” I screamed like a madwoman, my heels slapping the pavement as I chased after the bus. My lungs burned, my hair stuck to my face, and I almost collapsed with relief when the bus finally squealed to a stop. I pushed my way in with the rest of the crowd, panting like I’d just run a marathon.

Life doesn’t stop for heartbreak. You could be going through the worst pain in the world and still have to fight your way onto a crowded bus just to survive. My weekend had been hell. Every time I thought of Nichols’s betrayal, I cried myself to sleep. By Monday morning, I looked like trash. But who cared?

Work waited, and work didn’t care if my heart was in pieces.

I plastered makeup under my eyes to hide the bags, smudged on some lipstick, and dragged myself into the office. Mondays were chaos, everyone too busy to notice that I was walking around with a broken soul. Or so I thought.

Because the moment she arrived, the entire floor went silent.

“Applaud!” a sharp voice rang out, snapping me out of my daze. I shot up from my chair and clapped like a lunatic, only to freeze when I saw the looks on my coworkers’ faces. That wasn’t applause—it was a trap.

Claire’s trap.

“And look who we have here…” Miss Claire’s smile was all venom. “Our employee of the month, Ms. Cassandra!”

My stomach dropped. That crazy witch. Claire had been everyone’s nightmare since day one, and now she was laser-focused on me.

“What are you doing?” Bella hissed at me. “You were dozing off while the screaming witch was here? Are you insane?”

I barely had time to answer before Claire stalked closer, gum popping between her teeth. “If you don’t like working here anymore, have you considered quitting?”

My fists itched to smack the smirk off her face, but I forced a polite smile. “No, ma’am.”

She hummed, clearly satisfied, then walked out. I almost sagged in relief—only for her to storm back in with a wolfish grin.

“Everyone applaud again!” she announced. “Cassandra just landed us a meeting with DM Construction!”

The room erupted in claps. My confusion hit like a slap. I did what?

“And,” Claire added sweetly, “she’ll be going for a proposal meeting today.”

“What? Today? But I haven’t.."

“Don’t irritate me,” she cut me off. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” Her pat on my back felt more like a knife.

Then came the dagger: “If you can’t get him to sign a contract with us, don’t bother returning. I’ll have the cleaners drop your things at your house.”

My blood ran cold.

That job was my survival. My father depended on me too. There was no way I was going to let her take it away. I grabbed files, studied DM Construction like my life depended on it, and marched to that meeting.

DM was a new company, but already making waves. Everything about them screamed influence, power. By the time I reached their office, my nerves were shredded. The assistant told me to wait. And wait. And wait.

Finally, when he walked past, I snapped.

“Excuse me! I’ve been waiting for hours, can I please see him now?”

He gave me a bland smile. “You can go in.”

I stormed inside, ready to dazzle whoever this mysterious CEO was.

The office itself stopped me dead. Dark tones, heavy wood, rich leather—it didn’t just say money, it said royalty. I was so distracted I didn’t notice the figure lounging on the sofa.

“Looks like our meeting will be later,” a deep voice drawled.

I spun around. My apology died on my lips. My body locked up.

No. No. This couldn’t be happening.

There, sitting like sin personified, was him. The man from the hotel. The man I had almost surrendered to that drunken, reckless night. His brown suit was half unbuttoned, teasing a hard chest I remembered too well, and that damn smirk curved his lips.

Please tell me this is not Dante Blackwell, CEO of DM Construction.

“Are you—please, tell me this isn’t true,” I whispered, stumbling back a step.

The heavens were punishing me. Of all men in the world, it had to be him.

“Hello, Cassandra.” His voice was low, husky, sinful. “Looks like we meet again.”

My throat went dry. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to be professional, to forget that night, but my skin still burned where his hands had touched me.

“Good morning, Mr. Blackwell, my name is.."

“I don’t think we need introductions.” His gaze slid down my body, hot and deliberate. “We already know a lot about each other. I mean… a lot.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. He was shameless.

“I’m sorry about that night,” I muttered, gripping my skirt like a lifeline.

He pushed off the sofa and closed the distance between us. His scent—dark spice, smoke, and something raw—wrapped around me. I hiccuped at the sudden closeness.

“Can you please… sit somewhere else?”

“No.” His lips grazed my ear. “Didn’t you promise to make it up to me next time we met? Well, kitten… next time is now.”

My entire body went rigid, blood rushing south, traitorous.

“Mr. Blackwell, I don’t mix business with pleasure,” I said weakly, even as his hand slid over my thigh.

“Who said anything about mixing?” His voice was molten sin. “With me, business is pleasure. I call it… the business of pleasure. So, what do you think?”

He winked. My breath caught as his palm pressed higher, heat searing through fabric. Memories of that night flashed, his mouth stealing my sanity. I wanted to slap his hand away, but my body screamed to let him touch.

“What… what are you doing?” My voice was barely a whisper, shaky, betraying me.

“What I should’ve finished that night,” he said, slow and deliberate. Then, suddenly, he pulled back, leaving me trembling and empty.

“Now,” he said smoothly, as if nothing had happened. “Let’s talk business.”

My mouth dropped open. “What?”

He shrugged, eyes glittering with dark amusement.

But how could I talk business when my entire body was aching for him to touch me again?