Chapter Four

Cassia spent the rest of the afternoon staring at the black folder on her desk.

She had rewritten the opening paragraph of Mr. Blackwood's speech six times.

Every version sounded wrong.

Too formal.

Too cold.

Too safe.

With an irritated sigh, she deleted another paragraph.

"You've been glaring at your computer for twenty minutes," Olivia said, walking past with a cup of coffee.

"I have writer's block."

"You'll survive."

"You don't understand." Cassia leaned back in her chair. "It's for the CEO."

Olivia smiled sympathetically.

"He's demanding, but if he asked you personally, it means he saw something in your work."

"I hope so."

By six o'clock, most employees had gone home.

The Communications Department was nearly empty.

Cassia looked out at the city skyline as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the glass buildings in shades of orange and gold.

She looked back at her screen.

Still nothing.

"Okay," she whispered. "One more try."

An hour later, she finally had a draft she was proud of.

She printed the pages, slipped them into a folder, and glanced at the clock.

7:18 p.m.

She could leave them with his assistant in the morning...

Or she could deliver them now.

Before she could overthink it, she stood.

—

The executive floor was eerily quiet.

Victoria looked up from her desk as Cassia approached.

"Miss Ashwood."

"I finished the speech."

Victoria glanced toward the closed office doors.

"He's still here."

Cassia frowned.

"He hasn't gone home?"

"Mr. Blackwood is usually the last person to leave."

Somehow, that didn't surprise her.

Victoria pressed the intercom.

"Sir, Miss Ashwood is here."

A brief pause.

"Send her in."

Cassia took a steadying breath and entered.

Harden was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his suit jacket draped over the back of a chair. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled neatly to his forearms, revealing strong, tanned skin and the expensive watch resting against his wrist.

Without the jacket, he somehow looked even more imposing.

"You finished already?" he asked.

"I work quickly."

She handed him the folder.

He accepted it without a word and began reading.

The room fell silent.

Cassia clasped her hands behind her back, resisting the urge to fidget.

His expression never changed.

He turned one page.

Then another.

Another.

Finally, he closed the folder.

"You changed the opening."

"I thought the original draft sounded too distant."

"It did."

"You wanted people to trust you before asking them to donate."

Harden looked at her.

"So I wrote it as a conversation instead of a speech."

Another long silence.

Then...

"It's excellent."

Cassia blinked.

"Really?"

"I don't give compliments I don't mean."

A smile spread across her face before she could stop it.

"Thank you."

Something softened in Harden's expression as he watched her.

"You smile differently."

She tilted her head.

"What does that mean?"

"The smiles you give everyone else are polite."

His voice was quieter now.

"That one was real."

Cassia wasn't sure how to respond.

No one had ever noticed something so small.

"You pay a lot of attention."

"I notice everything."

His answer sent an unexpected flutter through her chest.

The office suddenly felt much smaller.

He stepped around the desk and stopped only a few feet away.

"How old are you, Miss Ashwood?"

"Twenty-four."

"And you know I'm forty-two."

"I... do."

"Does that bother you?"

She looked up at him.

His gray eyes held hers steadily.

"No."

"It should."

"Why?"

"Because I'm your employer."

"And because you're older?"

His jaw tightened slightly.

"Among other things."

Cassia offered a small smile.

"My father always said age tells you how long someone has lived."

She shrugged.

"It doesn't tell you who they are."

For the first time, Harden looked genuinely caught off guard.

"You surprise me."

"I've heard that before."

"I imagine you have."

The silence between them was no longer awkward.

It was... charged.

Not with fear.

With awareness.

Cassia became acutely conscious of how close they were standing.

Close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne—clean cedarwood with a hint of spice.

Close enough to notice the tiny scar near his jaw.

Close enough that she had to tilt her chin to meet his eyes.

Neither of them moved.

A knock at the office door broke the moment.

Victoria stepped inside.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but your car is waiting."

Harden didn't look away from Cassia immediately.

"I'll be down shortly."

Victoria nodded and quietly closed the door.

Cassia let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"I should go."

"You should."

She turned toward the door.

"Miss Ashwood."

She looked back.

"Yes?"

"You no longer have to call me 'sir' when we're alone."

Her heartbeat stumbled.

"What should I call you?"

"Harden."

She hesitated.

"It feels... inappropriate."

A faint smile touched his lips.

"Perhaps."

She laughed softly, shaking her head.

"Goodnight..."

She paused, testing the name.

"...Harden."

His eyes darkened almost imperceptibly at hearing his name on her lips.

"Goodnight, Cassia."

She left the office with her pulse racing.

As the elevator doors closed, she leaned against the mirrored wall and closed her eyes.

She had told herself she would keep things strictly professional.

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