Nathaniel's POV
"Drink, huh? Can someone explain why we're downing strong liquor at this hour?" Hugh grumbled, setting his empty glass on the table with a loud clink before motioning for another. "It's eight o'clock, for crying out loud, and we're in a bar like a couple of heartbroken teens."
I barely heard him over the noise of the bar. The place buzzed with life—laughter, clinking glasses, muffled conversations blending into a chaotic hum. But none of it reached me. My focus was on the glass in my hand, its amber contents swirling like the storm inside me. I took a slow sip before leaning closer to him, lowering my voice. "Do you remember the girl I told you about?"
Hugh looked up mid-swig, his brows furrowing as he tried to recall. "The one who just… what did you say? Randomly spawned into your life?" He smirked. "Like some NPC character in a game, right? And now she's got you all tied up in her little web?"
I nodded, tightening my grip on the glass. "Yeah. Cassandra Reed." The name rolled off my tongue with a weight I couldn't shake, like the sound of a door closing. "The same girl who had no place in my world but somehow managed to make it her own. And guess what? She's dating one of my stockholders now."
Hugh's expression shifted, his smirk faltering as shock flickered in his eyes. "What?" He sat straighter, shaking his head as though trying to make sense of it. "How is that even possible? You didn't chain her down the right way, man. How could she escape you? This is—what do you call it? A first in history."
I clenched my jaw, staring at the liquid in my glass as though it might hold some sort of answer. His words felt like salt on a wound I'd barely begun to acknowledge. "And to think," he continued, clearly not grasping the gravity of the situation, "she doesn't even have a net worth that could touch yours. Not even close. Man, you've got to step your game up."
I shot him a glare, but he only chuckled, tipping back another drink like he had all the wisdom in the world. "Screw you, Hugh," I snapped, slamming my glass down on the table. "You're no help."
I stood abruptly, reaching for my coat. The urge to leave, to escape this maddening conversation, was overwhelming. The office, cold and sterile as it was, seemed like a refuge compared to this. But just as I turned to leave, Hugh's voice cut through the noise.
"Wait, hold on," he slurred, leaning forward with a sudden intensity that didn't match his earlier mocking tone. "You know what you should do?"
I froze mid-step, curiosity pulling me back despite my better judgment. "What?"
"You should make a policy in your office," he said, his words slow but surprisingly coherent. His drunken grin faded into something resembling seriousness, though his flushed cheeks and glassy eyes betrayed him. "No dating inside the company. Make it official. That way, they'll have no choice but to keep their hands off each other."
I turned to face him fully, narrowing my eyes. "What are you talking about?"
"It's simple, really." He shrugged, his voice dropping as though sharing some grand secret. "If you can't keep her in your life, at least make it impossible for her to be with him. Let the rules do the work for you."
His words, ridiculous as they sounded, struck a chord. I studied him, half-expecting a drunken smirk or another teasing remark, but none came. He was serious—or as serious as Hugh could be in his current state. It was unsettling how much sense he made.
For a moment, I stood there, the noise of the bar fading into the background. Could it work? Would it even be right to take such a step? The thought twisted in my chest, a bitter mix of pride and desperation warring within me.
"You're unbelievable," I muttered, shaking my head, but I didn't move to leave. Not yet.
Hugh laughed then, the sound loud and careless. "I know, man. That's why you keep me around." He raised his glass in a mock toast, the humor in his voice back in full force.
Hugh and I had been friends for as long as I could remember. Our bond was the kind that didn't need words—he could read me like an open book with just a glance. We weren't just friends; we were practically brothers, tied together by years of shared laughter, fights, and the kind of loyalty that only grows with time.
He had been there through it all: the day I stumbled into my first relationship, naive and starry-eyed; the heartbreak that followed, leaving me hollow and questioning everything; and the long road that shaped me into the man I was now. Hugh was my constant, my anchor. While he excelled at guiding me through the labyrinth of business and money, his advice about love was a different story. He was, without a doubt, a complete menace when it came to matters of the heart.
I glanced at him as he leaned back in his chair, swirling the remnants of his drink. The bar's dim light cast a soft glow over his face, and despite his teasing nature, I knew his words often carried a grain of truth—even if they were wrapped in drunken humor.
"You know," I said, breaking the silence, "I should probably head back now. The office won't wait for me to wallow in self-pity."
Hugh smirked, his eyes gleaming with that familiar mischievous glint. "Running off already? Didn't think heartbreak turned you into a coward."
I chuckled, shaking my head. "No, just practical. Someone has to keep the company running while you sit here and drink away my money."
He let out a loud laugh, raising his glass in a mock toast. "Cheers to that, brother. But don't forget—if you want her back, you better start fighting for her. No woman worth her salt is going to wait around forever."
His words hit me harder than I expected, though he probably didn't realize it. I paused for a moment, gripping the back of my chair, then turned to leave. "I'll send you the money later so you can keep this little party going. Try not to bankrupt me in one night."
Hugh laughed again, a sound so carefree it almost made me smile despite myself. "Sure thing, boss. Just don't come crying to me when you realize she's gone for good. Get your woman back, you bastard!"
I glanced over my shoulder, meeting his gaze one last time. There was something in his expression—a rare flicker of sincerity beneath the teasing exterior. He didn't say it outright, but I knew he wanted the best for me. That was Hugh. Always laughing, always pushing, but somehow always there when it mattered most.
As I walked out into the cool night air, his words lingered. Get your woman back. But how?
The walk back to my office felt heavier than I expected, as if each step was weighed down by the thoughts racing through my mind. The towering silhouette of my building came into view, its lights shining like scattered stars against the night sky. A soft laugh escaped my lips, though it carried no real humor.
Did I really make her life miserable on her first day? Was I that cruel? Giving her a mountain of impossible tasks to climb, all while watching her struggle? And now, after everything, what am I doing? Falling for her?
The thought twisted something deep inside me. I felt ridiculous. A man like me, someone who thrived on control and order, suddenly reduced to this—overthinking every word, every glance, every choice she made. She had chosen to eat dinner with him. Not with me. Him.
It was as if the night we shared meant nothing to her. She cast it aside so easily, like it never happened. But here I was, unable to stop thinking about it. About her. It was pathetic, and the realization stung.
I reached the office building and stepped inside, the quiet emptiness pressing down on me. Most of my workers had gone home hours ago, probably curled up in bed or laughing over drinks at some bar. The faint hum of the fluorescent lights accompanied me as I made my way to my office, my thoughts still tangled.
Then I saw her.
Cassandra was curled up on the couch in my office, her form bathed in the dim light from the desk lamp. She looked small, almost fragile, as she slept. Her hair was in disarray, strands spilling over her face, hiding her expression except for the slight furrow of her brows. Was she dreaming? Was it a peaceful escape, or was something troubling her even in sleep?
I stood there, watching her, caught between guilt and something I couldn't name. She looked exhausted. Was this my doing? Had I pushed her too far with my impossible demands, with my need to make her life as chaotic as my own?
A whisper slipped from my lips, quiet enough that it felt more like a thought given voice. "You really took it seriously, huh? Sleeping instead of having your dinner."
I stepped closer, careful not to wake her. Her breathing was steady, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with the quiet of the room. She looked so peaceful, and yet I couldn't shake the guilt pressing down on me. Had I been fair to her? Or had I let my emotions cloud my judgment, punishing her for feelings she had no control over?
For a moment, I considered waking her. But then what? Apologize? That wasn't something I was good at. Or maybe I just didn't want to face whatever expression she'd give me.
Instead, I grabbed the spare blanket I kept folded in the corner of the room and gently draped it over her. My hand lingered near her shoulder, tempted to brush back the strands of hair covering her face, but I stopped myself.
"Goodnight, Cassandra," I murmured, more to myself than to her.
I glanced at her phone as the screen lit up. The soft glow caught my eye, revealing an alarm she must have set to keep herself awake. A small smirk tugged at my lips. Typical Cassandra, always trying to prove herself, even if it meant fighting her own exhaustion.
Instinctively, I reached over and silenced the alarm, thinking she could use the rest. But as the screen dimmed, a notification caught my attention. It wasn't from someone saved in her contacts, but I recognized the typing style immediately.
It was Killian.
"I will be waiting for you outside. Take your time."
The message was short, yet it felt loaded. My grip on the phone tightened as my jaw clenched. A special errand together? At this hour?
Shaking my head, I placed her phone back down and returned to my desk. The stack of contracts waited for me, but my mind was far from focused. Her words from earlier replayed in my head—how she insisted she would stay awake to watch me finish every last document. And yet here she was, lost in the kind of sleep that seemed rare for her.
Two hours passed. The room was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of papers and the scratching of my pen against the pages. She still hadn't woken up, her form undisturbed on the couch.
There was something peaceful about it, seeing her like this. No sharp retorts, no determined arguments—just Cassandra at rest. As much as I wanted to wake her, I couldn't bring myself to do it. Let her have this moment, I thought. She had earned it after the way I'd pushed her earlier.
I was nearly finished with my work, down to the second-to-last document, when the sudden blare of her phone shattered the silence. It was obnoxiously loud, startling even me.
Cassandra jolted awake, sitting up abruptly, her hair a wild mess and her eyes darting around the room. She fumbled for her phone, clearly disoriented, and didn't even seem to notice I was watching her from my desk.
"Hi?" Her voice was groggy, cracking slightly as she answered the call. It was the same tone I had heard once before—soft and unguarded, like the mornings when she woke up next to me.
I stayed silent, my eyes fixed on her as she listened to whoever was on the other line. Slowly, her expression changed. Her eyes widened, and panic spread across her face like wildfire.
"Killian!" she exclaimed, her voice rising in alarm. "Oh my gosh, I completely lost track of time. Where are you? You're outside? Oh my—"
She shot up from the couch, stumbling slightly as she grabbed her coat in a frantic rush. Her movements were hurried, almost chaotic, as she muttered to herself. She didn't even glance in my direction, too focused on the call to notice me sitting there, watching her every move.
"You have bed hair, Cassandra," I said softly, my voice cutting through her frantic movements as I stood near the door. "And your bra straps… yeah, you might want to pull them up."
She froze in her tracks, her hand instinctively going to her shoulder, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and embarrassment. "Did you just—did you take a peek at me?!" she stammered, her voice rising in indignation.
I leaned back against the edge of my desk, setting my glasses down with deliberate care. "It's not like I haven't seen your body before," I replied, my tone as nonchalant as I could manage, though her reaction amused me. "You should be thanking me for telling you. Would you really want your boyfriend to see you like this? In that state?"
Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and she fumbled to grab her purse, digging through it for a mirror. When she finally caught her reflection, her expression shifted from indignation to mild horror. She hurriedly began fixing her hair, her fingers smoothing down stray strands as she muttered under her breath.
"Oh my gosh, I look like a mess," she said, barely loud enough for me to hear.
I folded my arms, watching her with an unreadable expression. "And let me remind you," I said, letting my voice drop just slightly, "I still haven't finished signing this last document. Shouldn't you be behind me, ensuring everything's in order, instead of... sleeping?"
My words hung in the air, heavy with implication, as I tapped my pen against the desk. The rhythmic clicking seemed to grate on her already frayed nerves. She turned to me, her eyes narrowing, her face a blend of annoyance and weariness.
"Will you please give me a break?!" she snapped, her voice cracking as the frustration she'd been holding back finally spilled over.
I raised an eyebrow, refusing to back down. "Was the sleep not enough?" I asked, my tone low but pointed. I knew I was pushing her buttons, and some part of me reveled in it, though I couldn't explain why. Perhaps it was the way she fought back, the way she refused to wilt under pressure. It was infuriating and fascinating all at once.
Her lips parted, ready to unleash a retort, but then she stopped herself. Instead, she let out a deep sigh, running a hand through her freshly tidied hair. "You really don't know when to stop, do you?" she muttered, more to herself than to me.
I shrugged, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Someone has to keep you on your toes."
She shot me a glare, one that might have intimidated anyone else, but I'd seen her in worse moods. There was something almost endearing about her exasperation, though I'd never admit it out loud.
"You know what?" she said, grabbing her coat and draping it over her arm. "I don't have the energy for this tonight. If you're done with your little games, I'll be downstairs."
Just before she stepped out, she paused, her hand resting on the handle. She didn't look back, but her voice carried a weight that lingered in the air.
"For what it's worth, thanks for the... heads-up," she said, her tone softer this time. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.