She hesitated. "I have prior commitments."
"Cancel them."
"Not everything in my life revolves around you, Cassian." Her voice hardened. "I said no."
For a moment, something flickered in my eyes—surprise, perhaps, or respect. Then I stepped back, hands raised slightly in surrender.
"Understood." My voice was cool, professional. "Then I'll wait with you until your cab arrives."
"That's not—"
"Non-negotiable." I glanced toward the exit, where a group of drunk investors was loudly saying their goodbyes. "Calabrese is still here. I'm not leaving you alone in this lobby."
She opened her mouth to argue, then caught sight of Vincent Calabrese near the bar, his eyes tracking her across the room.
"Fine," she said. "You can wait with me."
We moved toward the exit in tense silence. The valet stand was busy, a line of guests waiting for cars. She pulled out her phone to call a cab.
"Problem?" I asked, though my tone suggested I already knew.
"The cab wait is—" she sighed. "Long."
"My car is being brought here now. The offer stands, Isla. No strings. No expectations. Just a ride home because it's late and I'm going your direction anyway."
She looked at her phone, then at Calabrese, who'd moved closer to the exit. Then at me. I watched her with what I hoped was an infuriatingly patient expression.
"Your direction?" she challenged. "You don't even know where I live."
"Brooklyn. Prospect Heights area." At her startled expression, I added, "It's on your employment paperwork. And yes, I'm going that direction—I have a meeting in Red Hook tomorrow morning.
It was a lie. But Calabrese was definitely walking toward us now.
"Fine," she said, sounding defeated. "But this doesn't change anything."
"Wouldn't dream of it." I placed my hand on the small of her back—lighter this time, not possessive—and guided her toward the car.
Outside, the night air was cool against my face. The valet brought my Aston Martin around, and I opened the passenger door for her. She hesitated.
She slid into the passenger seat with one last glance toward Calabrese, who was still watching from the lobby. Whatever hesitation she'd had about accepting my offer had been overridden by the very real threat of his attention. I closed her door and walked around to the driver's side, giving myself a moment to regain control. This woman affected me in ways I couldn't explain—ways I didn't like.
The drive was silent at first. I could feel her tension, see her fingers twisting in her lap.
"Where am I taking you?" I asked finally.
"Do you know the address? In Brooklyn?"
I nodded, adjusting our route. "Not what I would have expected."
"What did you expect?"
"Someone with your skills? Tribeca. Maybe the Village." I glanced at her. "Brooklyn is… domestic."
Her shoulders stiffened. "It's affordable and safe."
"Two priorities I understand." I turned onto Central Park West, the trees casting shadows across the windshield. "What else do you prioritize, Isla Quinn?"
"Privacy," she said pointedly.
