by Remy Landon
That got the bastard's attention. The muscles in Brock's cheek were twitching, and his eyes hardened. “You have no grounds to suspend me. I'll be contacting my attorney.”
“You do that. In the meantime, get the fuck out of this building. I'll have security escort you.”
A cold smile on his lips, Brock picked up the box and began to empty out his desk drawers. Carlo was on his way out the door when he was halted by Brock's calling out to him.
“Oh, and friend?”
Carlo turned around.
Brock's eyes were glinting with fury. “You'll regret this.”
chapter thirty-five ~ Cassandra
Sweeping had always been one of Cassandra's favorite barn chores. She liked the immediate reward a freshly-swept floor would give you, the OCD kind of satisfaction you'd gain from getting every last tuft of horse hair, every stray piece of hay. And the arm workout was a definite bonus. You could also sweep according to your mood: brisk and aggressive if you were stressed or pissed, or long, languid strokes if you were daydreamy. Today, she was sweeping vigorously, as if her very existence depended on it.
The five days since she had last seen Carlo seemed like months. There had been no contact. After the first couple of days, she'd turned her phone on silent in some lame attempt to have control—so that if he did call or text, she would be in charge of when she'd see it. This hadn't worked. She'd kept checking every fifteen minutes, feeling like she'd been punched in the stomach each time she saw the blank screen, and then loathing herself for her neediness.
Being needy was exactly what she had battled over these past few years, and she had been winning...until Carlo. Now, not only did she feel she had lost, but she felt lost—lost and alone.
She jabbed the broom viciously at the pile of debris in the corner of the aisle, pulled it toward the shovel and dumped it in the muck bucket. If only she could attack her negative feelings in this way—clean them up, all neat and tidy, and dispose of them.
She wondered what her mother's advice would be. There was a poster her mother had given her when she was in middle school and moping over a boy who had dumped her. The poster was done in soft, blurred colors: orange and lavender and yellow—and had a picture of a young girl releasing a bird with the sun shining in the background. The caption read, If you love something, set it free...if it comes back to you, it's yours. If it doesn't, it never was. She'd always wondered why the hell the artist would have made it look soothing. From her experience, there wasn't anything soothing about breakups or pining over someone. If it had been up to her, that poster would have been done in blood-red splatter paint.
That whole idea of just letting something go didn't make sense to her. It was so passive. If you loved something, wouldn't you fight for it, try to work on things, and then let it go if things didn't work out? How many relationships had been ended by that soothing fucking poster telling people to just let go?
So what now? What was she supposed to do? It sucked, being in limbo like this—not knowing what Carlo might be thinking or what he was planning—if anything. With the way things had been left, it seemed like he was still in control, and she wasn't quite sure how to feel about this.
She hadn't had much contact with Teal now that the fall semester was in full swing, and Teal thankfully hadn't pushed her for details about that night—Cassandra had simply told her that things had gotten really hot, but Carlo had stopped it and was obviously stressing about something...she just wasn't sure what. And this part was true. Teal didn't need to know about the kinky stuff, and she didn't want Teal judging him (ironic, because Teal had been the one to defend Carlo in the very beginning).
Carlo had told her early on he was not like other men, and this was truth. He had proven himself to be complex and multi-faceted—as mysterious, bold and alluring as a black diamond, and Cassandra felt that she, too, shouldn't make any judgments until she figured out more about what was going on with him. The question was...would she get the chance?
The October wind raked its cold fingers through her hair as she stepped outside. She wanted to have some one-on-one time with her main man—or, more accurately, mane man.
Brownie nickered to her from the blue gate pasture as she came into view. The other horses lifted their heads but went back to grazing. Damn, she hoped she had a peppermint. She checked her jacket pocket and felt the crinkle of plastic. Good; she didn't need two males upset with her.
“Hey, buddy,” she called, smiling because he was trotting over like it had been weeks since they'd seen each other instead of just hours. God, he was magnificent, his flashy black legs pumping as he moved effortlessly toward her, his burnished coat gleaming in the late-day sunshine.
She unwrapped the treat and gave it to him as discreetly as she could, planting a quick kiss on his velvety muzzle as he crunched. “This is just because you came over first. Don't be thinking you're special or anything, bud.” But they both knew better.
Cassandra opened the gate latch and stepped inside the pasture. She had to leave soon for her waitressing shift, but she wanted to soak up some happy horse vibes to get her through the night. She stroked Brownie's muscled neck as he swung his head around to nuzzle her, his ears pricked forward and his expression serene. Her eyes burned with sudden tears. “Pass that mood on to me, would you, bud?”
“Talking to the horses again?”
Startled, Cassandra turned around. It was Sonya, standing next to the pasture gate and grinning, hands in her coat pockets and a halter and lead rope over her shoulder. Her hair was in two long braids under a baseball cap, making her look about twelve. She quickly lost her smile when she saw Cassandra's expression. “Aww...you look upset. Are you all right?”
Cassandra blinked quickly and nodded. “I will be.”
“Sorry if I interrupted your time with the big boy here.” Sonya winked. “I was going to start bringing them in.”
“Jesus, is it that time already? I better get going.” Cassandra gave Brownie a goodbye pat and came out of the pasture, holding the gate open for Sonya.
“Hey, before you go, I've got news, and I'm like dying to share it with somebody.” Sonya's brown eyes were sparkling.
Just what she needed...bubbly Sonya, with good news about her life. Cassandra gave herself a firm yank out of the pity puddle she was wallowing in. “Okay...I'll walk in with you.”
Sonya quickly haltered Brownie and led him out with Cassandra at her side. “I just found out I got accepted to study abroad for next semester.”
“Seriously? That's awesome.”
“I'm super excited! My advisor helped me apply for scholarships, and I'm going to Sweet Briar College in Nice, France.”
“Wow. What are you studying?”
“International Relations.” Sonya flashed Cassandra a mischievous smile. “But I'm hoping to study sexual relations, too.”
“Ha! That would only make sense.” She was grudgingly impressed with Sonya for taking this on. “So Ingrid will have to find someone to take your place.”
“Yeah. She was kind of pissed, but she'll get over it.”
“She'll have to. It's a great opportunity.”
“Yes...I can't wait. I'd just been feeling like I was on this treadmill, like doing the same things and going nowhere. So I started looking into going abroad, and I just thought, why not? YOLO and all that.” She grinned. “Once I figured out what I wanted, I just decided to go for it.”
They reached the barn. Sonya unlatched Brownie's stall, and the gelding went immediately to his grain pail as Cassandra stood nearby, thinking hard.
Once I figured out what I wanted, I just decided to go for it.
Whoa. Flighty, immature Sonya, being unwittingly profound?
This was most definitely different from that pale, wimpy, let it go poster. It was bold and striking, vivid and reckless. And maybe it was just what she needed.
Cassandra said goodbye to Brownie and Sonya and walked to her car, her thoughts building one on top of the other unti
l her mind was packed with possibilities. She had proven to herself that she didn't have to be with someone. And she had fought the idea of getting involved with anyone because she was so afraid of becoming needy and dependent again. But this wasn't about wanting a man in her life. It was about wanting Carlo. He'd had the power in their relationship, but she would take some of it back, because she had figured out what she wanted.
And she would go for it. Just like that.
Reaching into her coat pocket with eager fingers, she took out her phone, her heart suddenly open and light, as if someone had opened all the windows inside her to let in fresh air. The text message she sent was simple and direct.
I want to see you.
A deep, slow exhale. Now, she would wait. And hope.
chapter thirty-six ~ Carlo
He had just fallen asleep—it felt like only moments before—when the dream came to him again. Cornstalks, waving in the wind...the rattle of their brittle leaves in sharp contrast with the wailing sound that blares and fades, blares and fades. There is light, spilling over the cornfield, and he squints from his position lying on the ground, cold and damp beneath him. A dark shape, some twenty feet away from him, out of the light. He blinks. The wail has become a scream.
Then, a silhouetted figure walking through the cornfield, the stalks parting and their tassels hanging stiffly. He strains to see. The figure passes through a beam of light, and he can now see long auburn hair, loose and wavy, a white blouse...Cassandra. He can't see her face and realizes she is walking away from him. He tries to call out to her, but his voice is only a whisper. She becomes smaller and smaller, as if being swallowed by the cornfield, and then he can't see her anymore.
He struggled to awaken, pulling himself back into the present—his bedroom, the ceiling fan whirring overhead. Bleary-eyed, he looked down at himself, trying to get his bearings. He was still in his dress clothes, minus his tie and shoes, with his shirt unbuttoned and loose at his neck. After a Scotch on the rocks, he had laid down to ease his ongoing headache, not intending to fall asleep. But yesterday's event with Brock, combined with the aftermath of the night with Cassandra, had taxed him to the point of utter exhaustion, both mental and physical. He supposed he should take the shards of sleep whenever he could get them, as sharp and broken as they were, although if the dream was going to keep recurring, he'd rather be awake.
The addition of Cassandra in the dream was unsettling. And watching her walk away...even in sleep, it clawed at the solid, self-assured part of him, leaving him feeling hollow and exposed.
Of course, he was responsible for the separation. It had surprised him to receive the text from her last night. He'd just finished a lengthy phone call with his attorney, discussing how to proceed with Dall, when Cassandra's message came through. I want to see you. The words were five jabs into his heart. She still wanted him.
The simplicity and honesty of her message had gutted him. But he hadn't responded. And this, too, killed him—thinking of her waiting for an answer that didn't come. She deserved better.
He reached for his phone which was on the bed next to him. 7:30. He didn't like this frame of mind he was in, especially since it made him want to drink. This time, he'd choose water.
He picked up the empty tumbler on his nightstand and took it into the bathroom, startling at his reflection in the mirror. Jesus, he looked like shit. Rumpled hair, five o'clock shadow, bloodshot eyes...he was paler than usual, too, with bluish smudges under his eyes. No wonder Estelle had kept staring at him today. He hadn't told her yet about Dall, but he would. He supposed she'd have the attitude good riddance, or even I told you so. She had never cared for Brock—Carlo should have trusted her instincts. He hated the thought of having been duped—betrayed—by that lying cocksucker. And knowing that he and Brock had collaborated on that fucking contest made his guts burn and his skin crawl.
After filling his glass, he headed back into the bedroom. He needed a distraction, something to lighten his mood. He would call Gianna—his little sister's sunny, breezy nature had never let him down him before.
Climbing back on his bed, he arranged the pillows behind him and picked up his phone.
“My fratello! What are you doing calling me?”
“Just wanted to see how my baby sister is doing.”
“I'm good! Jordan had a photography exhibit today, and it went really well.”
“Good for him.”
“You sound tired.”
“I am. Just waking up from a nap.”
“A nap? That's not like you.” He could hear the concern in her voice. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Just some challenges with work. Let's just say Brockton Dall has outlived his usefulness at Miller Valve.”
“Wow, seriously? What happened? Or can't you tell me?”
“I'm not at liberty to say right now, but I'll share it with you when I can.”
“Okay. I'm actually glad—he always kind of creeped me out. Something about him. Estelle didn't care for him, either. And her instincts are always right.”
“True. Although her choice of boyfriends still surprises me. Martin wasn't at all what I expected.”
“He's so nice, though, Carlo. And sometimes the best things happen when you least expect them.” There was purpose laced through her voice. Carlo braced himself for the inevitable. “Speaking of that...how's Cassandra?”
“I'm not sure. We haven't seen each other in a while.”
“Ughh, why not? Or is that also something you can't tell me?”
“I'd rather not share it, no.”
“This phone call is turning out to be a lot of talking about nothing,” she teased.
“Sorry. You know how I can be.”
“Yes, I do.” Her voice was soft, reminding him once again of his mother. “Carlo...have you ever considered that it might be time?”
He didn't answer. He knew what she meant, of course, just didn't know how to respond.
“She's very special, isn't she?”
He closed his eyes.
“I just don't want you to lose someone who may be right for you.” Gianna paused. “I know I've said it before, but I want you to find happiness again. Seeing you with Cassandra at the party—it's obvious you two have strong feelings for each other. Can you at least admit that?”
A dull ache throbbed in his chest, spreading through him. “It's not just about feelings, Gi. It's much more complicated than that.”
She sighed. “Carlo—sometimes I wonder if you're making it too complicated. Maybe if you tried to see it for what it is in simple terms.”
“And what is it, cara?”
“A boy and a girl who really like each other.”
Carlo chuckled in spite of himself. His sister's unflagging optimism could sweeten the sourest of moods. “You really are amazing, you know that? And I love you.”
“Yep, I do know that, and I love you, too.”
“It's been rough, Gi.” His eyes were burning—probably from the fatigue.
“Then find the smoothness, my sweet fratello. Find it, and maybe you'll find yourself.”
God, if only it were that simple.
“Hey...Jordan and I are going to meet some friends for drinks, so I've got to go. Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“You're lying, but I want you to think about what I said. Keep it simple. A boy and a girl. Do what boys do, and ask her out.”
They said their goodbyes, and Carlo shifted himself against the pillows, contemplating. The ache inside him pulsed, a quiet, persistent reminder. Gianna was young and naïve; she didn't understand how complex his world had become, and he wanted to keep it that way. But she could also be incredibly perceptive.
Despite how their last night together had ended, despite what Carlo had asked of her, and even though he hadn't initiated any contact for almost a week, Cassandra still wanted to see him. And lying here in bed, alone in this empty house, pondering his empty heart, Carlo decided he wanted to see her, too. He had
reached his own point of submission. He would give in to his feelings.
He picked up his phone again and tapped on Cassandra's last message, staring at the blinking cursor. Before he could think too much (this had always been his downfall), he texted a reply. I want to see you, too.
Five minutes passed, his heart thudding in his chest. And then, one word from her. When?
Tomorrow night.
OK. I have the bring-in chore at Windswept. I'll need to shower after so I don't smell like a horse. Come to my apt 6:30?
Yes. There is a lot we need to talk about. Carlo hesitated. She deserved to know this. I have missed you.
From miles away, he felt her smile.
chapter thirty-seven ~ Cassandra
Cassandra hummed as she dumped grain into Sweet Surrender's bucket. The black mare laid her ears back as she attempted to shove her nose into the pail.
“Manners,” Cassandra scolded her. But she could relate to impatience. It had been less than twenty-four hours since Carlo had texted her back, and she was practically jumping out of her skin waiting for 6:30 to get here. She was trying not to get too dramatic, but God, she couldn't wait to see him again. Imagining their reunion had kept her awake last night, and she hadn't been able to fall asleep until she'd made herself come. Any previous reservations had been shoved to the far corners of her mind, crowded out by fantasies of kissing him, touching him, lying underneath him.
If Carlo wanted her in a submissive role, she would try her best to comply, and hoped they could work up more slowly to where he needed her to be. She'd been scared at times that night, but if she was honest with herself...before she had let it overwhelm her, she'd also been more turned on than she ever had.
Cassandra did plan to ask Carlo at some point about the reasons behind his need for dominance. Understanding might make it easier for her to accept his commands. It was a turn-on just remembering the things he had her do, the way his voice had sounded when he had spoken to her in that sexy growl.