The words felt like a warning. A countdown.
"I'm not hiding anything," I lied.
His lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Everyone's hiding something, Isla. The question is whether I'll find it before you're ready to tell me."
For a moment, I imagined telling him everything. Imagined watching his expression change as he realized who I was, what we had created together. Imagined the moment he learned about Leo—would he be angry? Hurt? Would he want his son?
Instead, I said, "Everyone has secrets, Mr. Barone."
"Cassian," he corrected, his thumb brushing against my knuckles. "And yes, they do. The difference is, I'll discover yours."
The certainty in his voice sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn't a threat—it was a promise.
As the dance ended, he leaned close, his lips brushing my ear. "Sweet dreams, Isla. I'll see you Monday."
He released me and walked away, leaving me standing alone on the dance floor, breathless and afraid—not of him, but of how desperately I wanted him to remember.
CHAPTER 7
Cassian
Iwatched her walk away, her burgundy silk dress shifting with each step. Something primal in me wanted to follow, to finish what that dance had started. But Cassian Barone didn't chase women—especially not employees with secrets.
"Quite the assistant you've found," Marco commented, appearing at my shoulder with two whiskeys. He handed me one. "She handled Calabrese well tonight. Both times."
"She did." I took the glass, not taking my eyes off the exit Isla had disappeared through.
"She also handled you well on that dance floor." There was amusement in Marco's voice. "Didn't give you an inch."
"She gave me enough." The memory of her body against mine, the way her breath had caught at my words. "She's hiding something, Marco. Something big."
"The Miami connection?"
"More than that." I finally looked at him. "Where are we on the background investigation?"
"Still digging. The boyfriend story is definitely false—we confirmed that. Previous employment checks out on paper, but I'm verifying with former colleagues." He paused. "You really think she's more than just the woman from Miami?"
I thought about the way she'd moved through this event—competent, professional, handling everything I'd thrown at her. Including me.
"I think Isla Quinn walked into my life for a reason," I said. "And I'm going to find out what it is."
I drained the whiskey and set the empty glass on a passing tray. "I need to go."
“Already? You've barely been here two hours.”
"I've shown my face. Made the necessary connections." My eyes found Isla again, gathering her things near the coat check. "That's enough."
I crossed the room, ignoring the attempts to engage me in conversation. When I reached her, she was slipping her phone into her clutch.
"I'll drive you home," I said.
She startled. "That's not necessary. I can get a cab."
"It's after nine. I'm leaving anyway." I placed my hand at the small of her back again, guiding her toward the exit. "Consider it a professional courtesy."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
