by Remy Landon
Cassandra blinked, and a coolness pooled in her eyes as she extended her hand to Olivia and smiled sweetly. “Yes. I basically deal with Mr. Leone's shit.”
Ouch. And yet he knew he deserved it.
Olivia laughed as she took Cassandra's hand. “She's feisty—I like her. Hang on to this one, Carlo.”
“I plan to,” he said evenly. Cassandra would not look at him, but he could feel Liv's curious gaze. “Olivia Malstrom is the new district manager for one of my suppliers,” he continued. “She's here on business but wanted to see what the Manheim area nightlife was like.”
“I'm sure you'll give her a wonderful experience.” Cassandra smiled again at Olivia. “I hope you enjoy your stay. Nice to meet you. If you'll excuse me, I'm on my way to the restroom.”
Addressing Carlo after Cassandra had left, Liv raised an eyebrow. “Stable employee, hmm? Sounds like some unfinished business there.”
“Let's go grab that table before someone else does.” Carlo led Liv to the other end of the pub, helped take off her coat and pulled out a chair for her. He wondered where Cassandra was sitting, torn between wanting her nearby so he could look at her and having her at a distance to keep the stress level down.
A waiter came and took their drink order: banana bread ale for Liv and a Guinness Irish Stout for Carlo. With the way this evening had started out, Carlo could use a few—although he was well aware he needed to keep his wits about him tonight.
As he was opening the menu, he saw Cassandra across the room. She was walking with her head held high, careful not to look in his direction, and took a seat at a table in the center of the pub. She was sitting with three other people: a petite blonde leaning her head on the shoulder of a bearded, dark-haired man, and a rugged-looking guy with light brown hair and a plaid shirt, raising a frosted mug of beer to his mouth and grinning at Cassandra as she slid in beside him.
This man was of particular interest to Carlo. It looked like Cassandra was on a double-date.
Carlo felt his jaw tighten. Obviously, he knew he had no claim to her, and he had always thought that someone as beautiful as Cassandra would have men lining up to date her. But thinking this was possible and seeing this reality a few tables away were two different things. The addition of a romantic interest for her made a difficult situation even more complicated. And the thought of someone else touching her...
“Hey. Carlo.” Liv was poking him. “Allied Packing would like to know if Miller Valve wants an appetizer.”
He forced a smile and tore his gaze away from Cassandra's table. “Sure. You decide.”
“A bit preoccupied, are we?”
“I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude.”
“You're not being rude. Do you want to talk about anything? I'm here for you—in several ways.” She winked, her dark eyes sparkling mischievously as she laid her hand lightly on his leg under the table.
He couldn't help but smile. The woman was attractive and fun, and he needed to remember that his attention should be on her tonight. “My stable employee is not the only woman I know who's feisty.”
“I'm a female in a very penis-populated business, remember? I've learned how to stay on top.” She winked again. “So to speak.”
“I can see that.”
“But seriously—if you want to talk about anything, I'm a very good listener.”
The waiter brought over their beers. While Liv opened up her menu and asked about appetizer choices, Carlo had an irresistible urge to look again in Cassandra's direction. She was smiling as she listened to her presumed date who seemed to be telling a story to their table. The blonde girl and her date were also sitting in rapt attention, and the three of them suddenly burst out laughing.
An ache began to throb in his gut. He knew it was wrong as hell to feel hurt and jealous that she was happy. But as selfish as it sounded, he wanted her to be happy with him.
He turned back to Olivia who was ordering potato skins. Thankfully, she hadn't seen him looking at Cassandra. To ward off any other potentially dangerous questions, Carlo steered their conversation to a rather safe discussion of family, telling her about Gianna and her upcoming spring wedding. Olivia was sharing that her older brother was a professor at U-Conn when their waiter appeared with another beer. “For you, sir.”
Carlo was puzzled. “Thanks, but I didn't order this.”
“That young woman with the red hair did. She wanted me to be sure to tell you the name of the ale.” He paused, flashing Carlo a nervous smile as he set down a cocktail napkin and the mug. “It's an...Arrogant Bastard.”
Olivia covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. After the waiter left, she leaned in to Carlo. “What the hell did you do to piss her off? Can you at least tell me that? Let me guess...you broke up with her.”
“I'd rather not discuss it, Liv. Let's just say I fucked up, and I deserve what she gives me.”
“All right. I won't keep hounding you. We've all been there—regret will eat your soul, Carlo. I hope you can move on.”
“Thanks for understanding.”
The two Flirtinis Liv drank with dinner made her even more giggly, forward and entertaining. She could not seem to keep her hands off him, which in his own alcoholic haze, he didn't totally mind. Sneaking glances at Cassandra, he noticed that she was apparently feeling the effects of her drinks as well. He could hear peals of laughter from their table, and Cassandra seemed to be leaning in closer to the man next to her, even twirling a lock of hair around her finger as she talked to him. Her smile was even suggestive, and Carlo felt a dull, heavy weight in the pit of his stomach.
Now she was getting up from her chair, flipping her hair off her shoulders and heading in the direction of the restroom. Carlo watched as she turned the corner and disappeared. He waited a few moments and dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “I'll be right back. Duty calls.”
Liv was lifting a spear of broccoli to her mouth and nodded. “Okay. I'm going to need to visit the little girls' room myself before too long.”
He walked to the back of the pub, glancing over at Cassandra's table. The blonde girl was looking at him with what appeared to be a knowing expression on her face. For some reason, this gave him hope.
The men's and women's restrooms were down a short hallway. He leaned against the wall and waited. The women's door opened, and Cassandra came out, stopping in surprise when she saw him.
“What are you doing here?” Her cheeks were pink and her eyes bright—from drinking, probably, but he hoped he was factored in somewhere.
“I'd tell you I was here to use the bathroom, but that's only partly true.”
“Oh, so you're going to be honest.” Folding her arms and lifting her chin, she spoke in an even tone, although he could see her chest was moving up and down ever so slightly. “Does it feel weird? You know, to actually tell someone the truth?”
“I'm standing here because I wanted to see you. I will be honest with you, Cassandra. But it's an impossibility if you won't let me talk to you.” He took a few steps toward her. She backed against the wall, and he could see her trembling.
“What are you so afraid of?” God, how he wanted to take her in his arms.
“I'm not afraid.”
“You're shaking.”
“It's just...it's stressing me out, you being so close.”
“And why do you think that is?”
“Because I don't want you near me.”
“Are you being honest with me, Cassandra?” Carlo took a step closer as she drew herself up against the wall. To be only inches away from her and not touch her was agonizing. His voice dropped to a murmur. “Because I feel like you really do want me near you—so much it makes you tremble.”
She was breathing harder now, and he felt his own heart rate climbing. “Please let me come see you. Tomorrow. And we can talk.”
Her eyes searched his helplessly, as if she was trying to find an answer she knew was deep inside them.
“Please, Cassandra. After you hear what I ha
ve to say, it might change the way you feel about me. But if not, then maybe it will give us some closure.” He paused. “I just can't keep going like this.”
These last words seemed to have an effect on her. Maybe she realized that she, too, couldn't keep going like this.
A stocky, curly-haired man walked past them tentatively, flashing an anxious smile and keeping close to the opposite wall. Cassandra looked down at the floor and then back up at Carlo. Her eyes were brimming with tears as she spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Can you promise me that if I say yes, you won't...” She exhaled shakily, closing her eyes for a few seconds before speaking again. “You won't try anything? Meaning, you'll keep your distance and won't touch me in any way.”
Looking down at her now, seeing her beauty and raw emotion simmering on the surface, he wanted to be able to promise her the world. But...he had made the commitment to be honest with her.
His eyes lingered on her beautiful mouth, and he was aching for her. “I can't promise you that,” he answered, smiling ruefully. “But I can promise I'll try.”
Carlo couldn't be sure what he saw on her face. Gratitude, maybe, that he was telling her the truth, and a bit of relief.
He waited, and then came the words he had wanted to hear for months.
“All right. We can talk.”
chapter thirty ~ Cassandra
It was the alcohol. That must have been it. She had drunk too much last night, and this was why she had agreed to let Carlo come over when he had basically cornered her outside the bathroom. She refused to let herself believe she had been swayed by his words, or the way his shoulders and chest looked in that charcoal-gray sweater with the sleeves pushed up. Or what she saw in his eyes. But whatever had been the cause, he would be at her apartment in fifteen minutes.
She finished brushing her teeth and turned off the faucet, scrutinizing her image in the bathroom mirror. Her face looked tense—the opposite of what she wanted to portray. It hadn't helped that she'd had the entire day to freak out over this. Today was Friday, and while she was free except for her stalls and feeding noontime hay at Windswept, Carlo had texted her he'd come over at 5:30, after work. So she had found ways to keep busy: reading for her intro business class, which had just started this week. Making an appointment to meet with her advisor at Wilson College. Cleaning her entire apartment and dusting the living room, which was where she was determined she and Carlo would spend the entire visit: him on the couch, her in the armchair. She had thought this through carefully; if she was on the couch, he could easily join her...but in the chair, it would be her alone, with no room for anyone else. Kind of like a metaphor for her life right now. In the far corners of her mind, she realized that thinking a chair could actually provide protection from Carlo Leone was lame as hell. But it made her feel better.
She had applied and reapplied and re-reapplied deodorant and changed her outfit three times, hating herself for caring what she looked like, because why should it matter? Yet it did. The middle-school girl part of her wanted to look so hot it would torture him, while the mature, sensible part of her wanted to dress conservatively and show him that she hadn't put any real thought or effort into what she was wearing. Jesus, she was seriously so fucked up. She finally settled on a stretchy, mint-green boyfriend cardigan (oh, the irony) over a plain white cami and black yoga pants, and pulled her hair back into a low, messy bun. No cleavage to be seen, and the sweater came down below her ass, so he wouldn't be seeing any of that. Screw him.
Okay, so that really wasn't the attitude she should have. This talk needed to be civil, respectful, and platonic. They were both reasonable adults. She had no idea what Carlo was going to talk to her about, but she would listen, and respond. And maybe this would be the last time she would see him. This thought was honestly inconceivable. But finding closure—ending this—was her ultimate goal. Wasn't it?
An involuntary tremor rippled through her. She rinsed out the sink with a paper cup and went into the kitchen to light the sparkling cinnamon candle on the windowsill over the sink. Her heart began to hammer in her chest as she checked the microwave clock. Ten minutes.
The skin on the back of her neck felt cold and prickly, and she scrunched up her shoulders to alleviate the sensation. She'd been so jumpy lately. Driving home from her shift at Tucker's a few nights ago, someone had followed her closely. It was impossible to know if it was the same car as before, and she'd tried to tell herself that it most likely was not, and to stop being so fucking paranoid. She took several turns down different side streets. The car had followed. She made the decision again not to go to her apartment, and instead pulled into the parking lot of the nearest convenience store, sitting in her car with the feeling of a thousand tarantulas crawling on her skin. Her supposed stalker roared past, just as before, and she was unable to see the make of the car. After hearing about this, Teal suggested that she report it to the police, but Cassandra declined, because really, what would she say? It had only happened a couple of times, the person hadn't actually done anything to her, and she had no further information to share. If it was Brock doing this shit, she wished he'd have the balls to meet her face to face, say what he wanted to say and get it over with, although he seriously creeped her out.
It was too quiet in here.
I can think of one thing that's missing.
Really. And what is that?
Music.
That was a deliberate choice. I want you to be completely focused. And I want to be able to hear every sound you make.
Cassandra shuddered again. God, that night. Tonight, though, things would be on her terms. There would be music.
She went to the small black boombox on the kitchen counter and clicked through the stations, deciding on soft country rock.
Which immediately reminded her of Josh. She'd enjoyed herself with him last night, despite the unexpected appearance of Carlo. Teal and Garrett had picked her up, and Josh had met them at Bull Feeney's. He had handled Teal's witty jabs like a pro, and it was like the four of them had known one another for years. After his second beer, he leaned in to Cassandra. “Don't get mad at me,” he had said, his blue eyes earnest. “I really like your friends, but I keep having to make myself talk to them.” She had wrinkled her brow at him in confusion, and he explained. “Because all I want to focus on is you.”
At that point, she had become so flustered she had to excuse herself to use the restroom. And then Carlo was there when she came out. Jesus Christ on a cracker, her head had been spinning and her heart had been pounding, and she had said yes to Carlo.
She checked the microwave clock again. And the doorbell rang.
Her heart was thudding wildly. He was here.
This is a good thing, she told herself soothingly. Teal wanted you to hear what he had to say. He needs closure. You need closure. This is a good thing.
Deep breath, clench and unclench fists. Another deep breath, chin up, and then open the door.
Carlo was standing on her doorstep in a black wool coat sprinkled with snow. The wind was ruffling his hair, snowflakes nestling in the tousled black waves, and he was holding a bouquet of flowers—she could see the colors peeking out from their protective sleeve. And he was smiling, as if he was there to pick her up for a date.
“Hi—come in,” she managed, stepping aside.
“These are for you.” He handed her the bouquet, his smile broadening enough to show his dimple.
“You didn't have to do that. But thank you.” She peeked inside. Crimson Gerbera daisies—the same kind of flower at Gianna's engagement party—red tulips, scarlet amaryllis, and one white lily. One individual color, to stand out.
“Your mom,” she said quietly.
“No. You.” He was still smiling, but there was a smoldering intensity in his eyes, and she had to look away.
Carlo hung up his coat on a hook in the entryway and slipped off his boots, leaving them on the doormat. He was still dressed for work, wearing a crisp white shirt, dark blue pleated trouse
rs and a navy necktie with gold flecks. Seeing him in socks made him somehow less threatening. She'd be fine if she could just keep looking at his feet.
“Can I get you anything to drink before we sit down?”
“I'll take a water, please.”
Carrying the bouquet, Cassandra went into the kitchen at the exact second she realized Carlo would now have his choice of seating. She laid the flowers down on the counter and clenched her fists in frustration. God damn, she was already screwing this up. It was too late now; she'd have to deal with it.
She came into the living room with two bottles of water, giving an inner sigh of relief when she saw that he had taken a seat on the couch. Maybe he was expecting her to sit beside him. Handing him a water, she put her water bottle on the end table and sat down in the flowery armchair across from him, holding a throw pillow in her lap as if it were some sort of safety shield.
Carlo unscrewed the cap and began to drink. Her insides clenched as she watched his lips close around the opening of the bottle. Jesus. Socks. Look at his socks.
He set the bottle on the coffee table and leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely. “Thank you for letting me come to see you. I can't tell you how much I've wanted to talk to you.”
“You're welcome. But I'll be honest...I still don't know if this is a good idea.”
“I hope I can change your mind about that. Christ, Cassandra—I've missed you. So much.” He was looking at her almost hungrily, his eyes beseeching.
How was she supposed to respond to that? She could feel the tops of her ears start to burn. Self-consciously, she reached up to her hair, brushing the loose tendrils away from her face, well aware that he was watching her every move.
“But as much as I wanted to come here and talk to you, it's really quite excruciating—to sit here and know I am not allowed to touch you.” He loosened his necktie, unfastened the top button of his shirt and unclasped the cufflinks, dropping them in his shirt pocket. Then he neatly folded up his sleeves once, twice.