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Before I can respond—before I can examine too closely what she means—my phone buzzes with Henri's text announcing his arrival.
"Saved by the bell," I murmur, releasing her. "We'll continue this conversation later."
She nods, though something in her expression suggests she doesn't entirely believe me. "Tonight. My place this time."
"It's a date." The word slips out before I can stop it, hanging awkwardly between us. We don't have dates. We have an arrangement.
"Is it?" She picks up her portfolio, her expression unreadable. "I'll see you at the office, Mr. Kade."
And just like that, Cassie is gone and Ms. Monroe has taken her place—professional, composed, and distinctly off-limits during business hours.
I watch her leave with the unsettling feeling that the lines we've so carefully drawn are blurring in ways neither of us anticipated.
Board meeting daysat Elysian follow a precise choreography. I arrive first, well before anyone else, to review materials and ensure the boardroom is prepared to my exacting standards. Zara follows thirty minutes later with a final agenda and any last-minute updates. Board members begin filtering in around eight, with the meeting starting precisely at eight thirty.
Today that choreography is disrupted by Maxwell Grant's early arrival.
"Roman." He extends his hand, smile as artificial as everything else about him. "It's been too long."
I grip his hand with calculated firmness, neither too aggressive nor too yielding. "Maxwell. This is unexpected."
"Is it?" His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I thought Zara would have informed you of my attendance."
"Your attendance, yes. Your early arrival, no." I gesture to the boardroom. "But since you're here, perhaps we can discuss why you've suddenly developed an interest in our Creative Director."
No point in dancing around it. Grant respects directness, even as he avoids it himself.
"Cassandra Monroe?" He affects surprise poorly. "Impressive talent. I had no idea you were developing such innovative vision at Lumière."
"Cut the shit, Maxwell. What's your angle?" I keep my voice low, aware of the early-arriving executives in the lobby.
He laughs, the sound as hollow as his ethics. "Always so suspicious, Roman. Can't one businessman simply appreciate another's creative team?"
"Not when that businessman has spent a decade trying to dismantle said team."
Grant leans against the boardroom table, entirely too comfortable in my space. "Water under the bridge, surely. We were young, ambitious. Things got... competitive."
"You call stealing my fiancée 'competitive'?"
"Catherine made her own choices." His smile turns smug. "Just as Ms. Monroe will make hers."
There it is—the threat wrapped in casual conversation. I fight the urge to grab him by his custom-tailored lapels and physically remove him from my building.
"If you approach Cassie with anything less than professional courtesy, I'll?—"
"You'll what?" Grant interrupts, his eyes gleaming with interest. "'Cassie,' is it? Not 'Ms. Monroe'? How... familiar."
Fuck. A rookie mistake, revealing the personal connection through a casual use of her first name. Grant pounces on it like the predator he is.
"Interesting," he continues, studying me with renewed intensity. "I'd heard rumors, of course, but I didn't think you'd be quite so... transparent about it."
"There's nothing to be transparent about," I keep my voice level through sheer force of will. "Ms. Monroe is a valued member of the Elysian team."
"Of course she is." Grant nods with exaggerated understanding. "And I'm sure the board would agree that your personal relationship with her doesn't influence her position at all."
The implied threat hangs in the air between us. Grant hasn't simply come to poach Cassie—he's come to use her as leverage. Against me. Against Elysian.
"Whatever you think you know—" I begin, but I'm interrupted by the arrival of the CFO and several board members.