Page 19 of Filthy Little Regrets (Princes of NYC #2)

twelve

CASSIA

Orion Investigations offers a familiar comfort that’s much needed after an annoying breakfast with Mace.

Outside of breathing, he didn’t exactly do anything wrong, except insist his hired car take me into the city when I’m perfectly capable of going on my own.

Oh, and he reminded me of his bed-sharing rule, like I was a child in need of scolding.

He can shove his California king up his tight, muscled ass.

Being told what to do irritates the shit out of me, but it’s even worse when I feel like my freedom is slowly being stripped away. Will I ever get to go to work on my own again?

Elliot, the driver Mace instructed to bring me to the city, opens the door to the town car. I slide out, thank Elliot, since he’s not the asshole in this situation, and head to unlock the door to Orion Investigations.

The new phone Mace gave me to replace the one he launched into the pool chirps as soon as I’m inside.

MACE

I see you made it safely.

Narrowing my eyes, I glance out of the lightly tinted windows, but Elliot is gone. My gaze zips to the camera pointed at the door.

Smile.

This is next level creepy, you know that, right?

Maybe, but I kind of like watching you.

Do me a favor and bend over.

Fuck you.

Stop threatening me, you’re making me blush.

Scoffing, I lock the phone and head to my desk with a scowl. I don’t understand him. One minute, he’s all I saved your life and the next, he’s all don’t fucking touch my wife , and now he’s all hehe, I want to bang . I’m having a hard time keeping up.

Another alert dings. I cast a glare at the camera, then check the message.

The officiant will be here tonight. I ordered you a dress.

A dress. The officiant. It’s really happening. I’m going to become Cassia Astor. Cassia Harris will be a name everyone forgets. Am I losing part of myself in this deal? Even worse, do I even know who I am?

And if I refuse to wear it?

We can have a naked wedding if you want.

That’s not what I meant.

You’ll wear it.

Don’t count on it.

Grumbling, but admittedly curious about said dress, I take my seat.

Apparently, everything is set for us to say I do later.

The whole thing is so anticlimactic and, frankly, fucked up, that it’s put me in a bad mood.

I typically try to keep my self-pity at bay, but there’s only so much a woman can take.

No family. No romance. A fake marriage. This isn’t the life my dad wanted for me. He always said I’d do great things. So far, I’ve done unlawful things. I can’t think too hard about whether he’d be disappointed.

Settling in behind my desk, I close my purse in the drawer, my negative thoughts alongside it, and focus on work.

Orion sent an email saying he’s out for the first half of the day and Mace has stopped texting, which means I can focus.

The building muffles most of the noise from the street, and as I click through my emails, minutes tick by.

Silence creeps around me. My body can’t tell the difference between being attacked by a bear and sitting in a room filled with dead air.

Some people enjoy the quiet, but to me, it’s a monster, vicious and cruel. A violent creature that clamps its meaty paws over my face and nose, depriving me of the very oxygen I need to live. Suffocating reminders of how alone I really am.

As my pulse quickens, my throat grows thick, the worst of my repressed feelings threatening to break free of the box I’ve shoved them inside of.

I grab the purple over-ear headphones I keep at work and cue up my favorite playlist, settling the muffs over my ears.

Closing my eyes, I count my breaths in fours, waiting until my heartbeat slows and I can breathe without pressure constricting my airways.

I release a heavy sigh as the music chases everything else away.

With my mind in check, I pick up where I left off, finding evidence of Larry stealing from his clients.

Tracking the payments from his business to various payees is tedious, but it takes all of my focus, and as I lose myself in the work, breathing gets a little easier .

It’s easy to feel okay when you shut everything out.

A while later, someone’s hand lands on my shoulder. My heart practically bolts out of my chest. I screech and throw my headphones halfway across the office. The clack of plastic on the thin tile makes me wince.

“I’m so sorry!” The guy who tapped me is five steps away, hands raised in a placating gesture. “I tried to say hello.”

I clutch my chest, do a double take, then squint to make sure I’m not imagining things. “Tony?”

“That’s me,” he says with an easy grin. “Maccon sent me to watch after you.”

Excuse me? “Do I look like I need a babysitter?”

Tony gives me a once-over.

I didn’t mean literally.

“I mean, you are pretty short.”

My hackles rise. “What does my height—you know what? Never mind. Tell Maccon he can eat my ass.”

Tony’s eyes widen. “I’m definitely not texting Mace something about your ass.”

A scoff tears out of me. “Unbelievable. Why is everyone so afraid of him?”

“Listen, I’m just doing my job. Are we going to have a problem here, or can I”—he gestures to the seating area—“get to it?”

I glare at the cameras. My phone dings with a new message from my overbearing freaking soon to be hus—no. He’s not that. Not yet. Not ever. He’s simply Mace. The phone dings again. Nope. I’m not speaking—er, texting—to him right now.

Tony eyes the phone warily, taking a step toward the chairs. “You might want to text him back if you don’t want him to show up. ”

“Seriously?” My voice is edging on shrill, but it is what it is.

“I don’t make the rules,” Tony says, shaking his head and grabbing my headphones for me. He sets them on my desk with a firm nod, then posts up in one of the empty chairs.

Grudgingly, I check the messages.

MACE

Tony is there to protect you.

You can be mad, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.

This is a massive invasion of privacy. What will Orion say?

Orion already knows. He’s fine with it.

Huffing, I text Rose.

He sent a bodyguard.

Oh, good.

You too? Is no one on my side?

The Astors have their fair share of enemies... and some business partners you don’t want to get on the wrong side of.

I’m so annoyed.

That’s valid.

I set my phone on the desk and glare at Tony. “Don’t talk to customers.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he says, eyeing the windows. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Famous last words.

My headphones were indeed broken, so this time, when the bells over the door tinkle, my eyes fly up from the monitor.

A woman wearing black slacks and a nice purple blouse that brings out the green in her hazel eyes stands nervously in the doorway. Her brunette hair is pulled back in a no-nonsense bun.

Tony eyes her like she’s about to kill us both. He must be bored.

Ignoring him, I focus on the potential client and stand. “Hello. Are you here to make an appointment with Orion?”

She walks toward me. “Actually, I’m here to see you.”

My eyebrows hit my hairline. “Me?”

“Yes. Mei sent me? She said I should talk to you.”

I guess Mei is happy with the work we’ve done to help find evidence against her cheating husband.

The woman casts a worried glance over her shoulder at the bodyguard. “Alone.”

“Right, of course. There’s a private room.” I gesture her toward it, then point at Tony when he tries to follow. “No. You’re going to sit there, and you’re going to like it.”

“I see why he likes you.”

I scowl. “Shut up.”

Laughing, Tony shakes his head and pulls out his phone. “Don’t keep the lady waiting. The stick up her ass might get lost.”

I bite back a grin. He can’t make me laugh; it makes it difficult to be annoyed by his presence. Taking a breath, I head into the private conference room, where the lady is standing beside the table, clutching the strap of her purse, and close us in with a soft exhale and a big smile.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t think we introduced ourselves. I’m Cassia.” I extend my hand, which she takes in a firm grasp and shakes.

“I’m Paige,” she says with a smile. “Let’s talk about Mace.”

My hackles rise, but I keep my customer service face in place. Is this chick really here to get a story? Did all those social media warriors finally figure out where I work?

“I’m not sure I can help you?—”

“I think you can,” she says, eyes sharpening. The nervousness from earlier evaporates, and suddenly, a shrewd businesswoman stands before me. But even that doesn’t feel quite right. Something tells me she’s not in finance.

The fine hairs on the back of my neck rise. “What was your name again?”

“Paige.” She grabs something from her back pocket. “Paige Smith.” The little black wallet she draws up has my stomach turning. Fuck. Her fingers slip between the two flaps with practiced ease. My throat goes dry as she shows me what’s inside—it’s not a fun surprise.

United States Department of Justice. Federal Bureau of Investigations. Agent Smith.

She’s kept the wallet at her hip, out of sight of the camera. Smart bitch. She shuts the holder before I can check her badge number. “Let’s have a chat.”

How about, no .

“Do I need a lawyer?”

She tips her head, but I’m not fooled by her fake innocence. “Do you think you need one? We should take a seat before your friend out there gets suspicious.”

Conscious of the camera in the corner of the room, I take my seat and keep a pleasant look on my face. “What do you want?”

She looks serene when she says, “Mace Astor.”

To anyone watching, it would look like a typical exchange, but there’s an undercurrent of annoyance in both our tones. We’ve barely met, but she doesn’t like me and I don’t like her. Glad we’re on the same page .

My forehead wrinkles. “So go talk to him.” What does she think I can do?

She smirks, but it’s not attractive. It’s predatory. “No, I think you’ll do just fine. What do you know about Ian Hargrove?”

My jaw clenches. Fucking Ian. “Not a lot.”

She hums. “But you do know about a wire transfer, don’t you?”