"Of course." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Though I have to wonder—a woman with your analytical skills, your attention to detail. You could work anywhere. Why Barone Industries?"
It was a trap. Any answer would reveal too much.
"The opportunity was compelling," I said neutrally. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to coordinate with the catering staff—"
His hand caught my elbow as I tried to move past him. Not forceful, but deliberate. "Don't rush off. I was hoping we could discuss your analysis of my Miami terminal. You made some fascinating observations about security protocols."
My skin prickled where he touched me. "Those were preliminary findings for Mr. Barone's consideration. I'm not at liberty to discuss them."
"Not even over a drink?" He gestured toward the bar being set up. "Surely one drink between colleagues isn't inappropriate."
"I appreciate the offer, but I'm working tonight." I gently but firmly extracted my arm from his grip. "And I really do need to check on the arrangements. Enjoy the evening, Mr. Calabrese."
I walked away before he could protest, my heart pounding. The way he'd looked at me—like I was something to acquire or exploit—made me feel exposed in a way that had nothing to do with my dress.
I needed air. Space. A moment to breathe without feeling like prey.
Slipping through a side door, I found myself in a quiet hallway lined with hotel meeting rooms. The muted sounds of the gala preparations faded behind me as the door closed.
I leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths. This was harder than I'd expected—representing Cassian's company, fielding questions I couldn't fully answer, dealing with men like Calabrese who saw me as either an opportunity or an obstacle.
"Running away from the party?"
I spun around, heart leaping into my throat.
Cassian stood at the end of the hallway, jacket unbuttoned, tie slightly loosened. He looked like he'd just arrived—or been avoiding the main event.
"I thought you weren't coming," I said, hating how breathless I sounded.
"Change of plans." He moved closer, his eyes traveling over me in the burgundy silk. "The situation I was handling—resolved itself. Thought I should make an appearance after all."
We stood alone in the hallway, the muted sounds of the gala a distant hum.
"How's it going in there?" he asked, nodding toward the ballroom.
"Fine. Good. Calabrese arrived early, the seating arrangements are—" I was babbling. "Everything's under control."
"Is it?" He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne. "Because you look like you're hiding."
"I'm not hiding. I just needed a moment."
"From Calabrese?" His jaw tightened. "Did he say something inappropriate?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle."
"That's not an answer, Isla."
The way he said my name—low, possessive—sent heat through me. This was dangerous. We were alone, and the memory of his hands on my skin earlier was still too fresh.
"You should go back inside," I said. "Mingle. Network. Isn't that why you came?"
"No." He moved even closer, backing me gently against the wall. Not threatening—but deliberate. "That's not why I came."
My pulse raced. "Cassian—"
"There was a time," he said quietly, his eyes searching mine, "when I would have done more than just help with a zipper."
My breath caught. He was referencing the office. Earlier today. His hands on my back.
