I studied her carefully. The power imbalance argument was valid—on the surface. But it didn't explain why she'd deliberately sought out this position. Why she'd researched me thoroughly enough to use a nickname only my inner circle knew.
Women usually threw themselves at me because of my position, not despite it.
And Isla had done exactly that.
So which was it? Genuine fear? Or a convenient excuse?
"You're right," I said slowly. "I could fire you. But I won't. And you know that."
"Do I?"
"Yes. Because if you truly feared that power imbalance, you wouldn't have applied for this job in the first place."
She stiffened. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"If that's your concern, I can transfer you to another department."
"No." Too quickly. Interesting.
"Then what do you want?"
"I want to do my job without complications."
"Too late." I circled the desk."We're already complicated."
Her tablet chimed."Tokyo is on the line. The investors' call."
"Let them wait."
"Cassian—"
"Tell me you don't feel this. Tell me Friday night meant nothing."
Her breath caught.
Her tablet chimed again—insistent.
She pulled back. "I need to take this call. It's what you're paying me for, remember?"
The professional mask slammed back into place. "Fine. Put them through."
The Tokyo call dragged on for three hours. When it ended, I grabbed my jacket and paused at Isla's desk. "I'll be back for the Harcourt meeting at two."
She nodded without looking up.
Something on her desk caught my eye. A small silver frame positioned so it faced her rather than visitors. It hadn't been there last week—her workspace had been conspicuously bare of personal items.
"New addition?" I nodded toward the frame.
Her hand shot out, almost knocking it over. "Just a personal photo."
The reaction triggered my suspicion. "Of?"
"Nothing important."
I reached past her and picked up the frame before she could stop me.
"Cassian, please—"
