Cassian leaned forward, bracing his hands on the armrests of my chair, caging me in. His face hovered inches from mine, close enough that I could see the faint scar above his lip. A scar I'd once traced with my fingertip in a dimly lit hotel room.
"What matters, Ms. Quinn, is what you're hiding."
I didn't flinch. Couldn't. "We all have private lives, Mr. Barone."
"Privacy is a luxury you surrendered when you accepted this position." His gaze dropped to my mouth, then back to my eyes. "Your employment gap. Explain it."
The lie came easily, practiced as it was. "I was caring for a family member."
"Who?"
"My mother. Cancer." I swallowed. "She didn't make it."
Not entirely false. My mother had cancer, but that was ten years ago.
He studied me for a long moment, then straightened. "I'm sorry for your loss."
The unexpected gentleness in his voice caught me off guard. I looked away, afraid he'd see the truth in my eyes.
"Thank you."
He returned to his desk, putting a welcome distance between us. "One more question, Ms. Quinn. Why did you apply specifically to work for me?"
Because I needed to know what kind of man fathered my son. Because I needed to understand if you were someone Leo should ever know existed.
"Your reputation," I said instead. "You're known for recognizing talent and rewarding excellence. I wanted to work somewhere my capabilities wouldn't be wasted."
He nodded slowly, considering. "Fair enough. For now."
For now. The implied threat wasn't subtle.
"Will that be all, Mr. Barone?" I stood, needing to escape the suffocating tension of his office.
"No." He glanced at his watch. "I have a dinner meeting tonight. You'll accompany me."
Not a request. A command.
"That wasn't on today's schedule."
"It just came up. Seven o'clock. The Carlton. Wear something appropriate."
My mind raced. I'd need to call Mrs. Petrovich, see if she could watch Leo longer. "May I ask what the meeting concerns?"
"You may not." His tone brooked no argument. "Be ready at six-thirty. My driver will collect you."
"Mr. Barone, I have personal obligations this evening that—"
"Reschedule them." His eyes hardened. "This is non-negotiable."
I bit back the refusal that rose to my lips. I couldn't afford to lose this job. Not yet. Not until I had what I needed.
"Six-thirty," I confirmed, hating the acquiescence in my voice.
He dismissed me with a nod, already turning his attention to his computer. I walked out, spine straight, steps measured, while inside my mind screamed with panic.
I called Mrs. Petrovich from the bathroom, speaking in hushed tones.
"Of course I can keep little Leo," she said, her thick Russian accent comforting somehow. "He is good boy. We make cookies tonight."
