Chapter 5
Cassie stared at the blinking cursor on her screen. One sentence written. Deleted. Written again. Her thoughts refused to settle.
She should've been reviewing data sets, finalizing ad placements, managing the chaos. But all her brain wanted to do was loop the same problem like a faulty reel of film.
Christian Masters.
He wasn't just a boss. He was a force. The kind of man you didn't just work for—you survived him. He unmoored her in ways she didn't want to analyze.
Her phone buzzed, snapping her out of the loop. A text from Stella.
Stella: "Still breathing? Rumor is Mr big bad wolf made an intern cry today. Stay strong, soldier."
Cassie smirked. Bless Stella and her inappropriate timing.
Cassie: "Still breathing. Barely."
Stella: "Get out of that office before he melts your spine. And hey—wasn't he at that press thing in '21? The one where he roasted a senator on live TV?"
Cassie paused. Of course he had been. He'd dismantled a man's career with three perfectly phrased sentences and a smile so slight it bordered on cruel.
Her fingers hovered over the keys again, but she didn't type. She couldn't. Because her brain, traitor that it was, was conjuring him again—his quiet assessments, the way his voice dropped when speaking directly to her, as if everything else in the room faded into white noise.
Another knock. She startled.
Christian stepped in like he owned the oxygen. No announcement. No hesitation.
"You wanted to go over the revisions," he said, already crossing the room.
She stood, instinctively straightening her blouse. "Yes. I made the changes from the last round."
He didn't sit. Just stood a little too close, hands in his pockets, his eyes skimming over her desk, then her.
Cassie forced herself to focus. She clicked through the deck, explaining the adjustments. Her voice was calm, but she felt her heartbeat in her fingertips.
"You shifted the tone," he said finally, his gaze still fixed on the screen.
"You asked for something bolder," she replied. "I pushed the message harder, more provocative without tipping into aggressive."
He looked at her then. Really looked.
"And does that reflect you, or me?"
Cassie blinked. "I don't—"
"Because I told you to sharpen it," he continued, "but this... this has you written all over it."
She hesitated. Was that a compliment? A reprimand?
"I thought it was the right move," she said carefully.
Christian stepped around her to the desk, picking up the printed packet. His hand brushed against hers—too deliberate to be accidental. She felt it like a spark under her skin.
He flipped the pages, not looking up. "Confidence suits you," he said, his voice low. "But be careful. In this world, being almost right can be more dangerous than being wrong."
Cassie's breath hitched.
He handed her the packet, his fingers lingering just a second too long. "Keep pushing. Just watch the line."
There it was again. The double-edged encouragement. The unspoken dare.
Cassie stared after him as he exited, the air in the room somehow thinner now.
She wasn't sure what rattled her more—the intensity of his scrutiny, or the part of her that welcomed it.
She sat down slowly, the cursor blinking again, waiting.
This time, she typed.