Chapter 43

Cassian returned on a Wednesday morning.

He didn't walk in like a man coming back from a trip.

He arrived like a storm that had been waiting for just the right moment to touch down.

Sienna was at her desk, buried in supplier invoices and blueprints, when she heard the sudden hush ripple through the office. Whispers. The shuffle of feet. Someone gasped softly.

She looked up—and there he was.

Tall, tanned, and infuriatingly smug, Cassian Hayes walked through the glass doors of Evermark like he hadn't just been gone for two whole days. Like he hadn't left her teetering on the edge of every phone call, every late-night whisper, and every sleepless moment.

His suit was sharp. His eyes sharper. But what made her heart stutter was the way his gaze locked on hers immediately, like she was the only reason he came back at all.

He stopped in front of her desk.

"Missed me?" he asked.

Before she could even form a response, he placed a sleek black shopping bag on her desk. Then another. And then two more.

Sienna blinked. "What is this?"

"Peace offerings," he said casually, adjusting his cuffs. "I figured after making you handle the company while I sipped champagne with my mother's bridge club, I owed you something."

Inside the bags: a silk scarf in her favorite shade of wine red. A leather-bound planner with her initials embossed in gold. A silver pen. A delicate necklace with a moonstone pendant. And at the very bottom of one bag, a small white envelope.

Dinner tonight. My treat. Wear something sexy.

She looked up at him.

He smiled. "You free?"

She wanted to say something sarcastic.

She wanted to be mad at how smug he looked.

But she also wanted to jump across the desk and kiss him in front of the entire floor.

So she settled for a raised brow. "What time?"

"Eight."

—

That night, she stood outside the restaurant, heart doing sommer sault in her chest.

It was a hidden gem tucked between two art galleries—a quiet, candlelit place where each table had fresh roses and the menus were handwritten in looping script. Warm golden lights sparkled from the ceiling like stars, and soft jazz hummed in the background.

Cassian was already there when she walked in.

He stood the moment he saw her.

And Sienna, for a second, forgot how to walk.

He looked stunning. Sleeves rolled just enough to show a flash of his watch, a dark button-down that looked like it was tailored with sinful precision. But it wasn't the clothes—it was the way he looked at her.

Like she was a vision.

"Wow," he breathed. "You're dangerous."

She smirked, slipping into the seat he held out for her. "You said to dress the part."

"I didn't think you'd destroy me with a single look."

Dinner was slow. Sweet. The conversation flowed like wine—easy, teasing, occasionally veering into flirty territory.

"You left me," she said at one point, sipping her pinot.

He raised a brow. "For forty-eight hours."

"Felt like a week."

Cassian leaned in slightly. "You called me every night."

"You called me."

"You didn't hang up."

She blushed and stabbed her risotto.

He chuckled. "I missed you too, Caldwell. More than I thought was healthy."

She looked at him then—really looked.

And all the longing she'd been holding in came rushing back.

After dinner, he paid without letting her touch the bill. Then he offered his arm, which she took, pretending it didn't make her heart stutter.

"Where to?" she asked as they stepped into the cool night air.

"I was thinking…" he turned to her with a mischievous smile, "we go to that ridiculous speakeasy bar with the velvet couches. You've always wanted to try their signature whiskey sour."

She gasped. "You remembered that?"

"I remember everything about you."

The bar was loud, dim, and alive with music. They found a booth near the back, half-hidden by red curtains and flickering lights. He ordered her drink without asking and took a scotch for himself.

They laughed. Played cards the bartender slipped them. People-watched. Teased each other mercilessly.

At one point, he leaned close, brushing her hair back, and whispered, "I can't stop staring at your mouth."

Sienna nearly choked on her cocktail.

But she didn't tell him to stop.

And when the music changed to something slow and smokey, he held out his hand.

"Dance with me?"

She hesitated for a second.

Then slid her fingers into his.

And let him pull her into his arms, right there in the middle of the bar.

Her head rested on his shoulder. His chin tucked against her temple.

He smelled like whiskey, spice, and something warm she couldn't name.

They didn't speak.

They just moved.

But the tension between them was thick enough to drink.

Cassian's hand slid lower on her back, just barely grazing the dip of her waist. His thumb moved in slow, deliberate circles over her spine, and Sienna had to focus hard on breathing steadily.

His breath was warm against her temple, his voice low when he finally said, "You know, I'm trying very hard not to kiss you right now."

Sienna swallowed. "You're not trying very hard."

He chuckled softly, the sound brushing against her skin. "You're right. I'm failing."

She tilted her face up just slightly, catching the gleam in his eyes under the dim lights. Their faces were so close—one breath away.

The way he looked at her wasn't playful anymore. It was hungry. Intent.

The music slowed even further, the beat almost sensual now, and their movements fell into sync with it. Sienna's fingers curled against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat through his shirt.

Cassian's hand shifted again, fingertips grazing just beneath the edge of her dress. Not indecent—barely even noticeable—but her entire body reacted like he'd stripped her bare.

Her thighs tightened. Her breath hitched. He noticed.

He dipped his head again, voice rough. "You're killing me tonight."

She gave a breathless laugh. "You deserve it."

"Probably," he murmured, leaning in until his lips almost brushed her ear. "But I plan on earning some mercy later."

Her knees weakened.

And she suddenly realized—this wasn't just flirting anymore.

They were both on fire, and this slow dance was the fuse.

When the song ended, Cassian didn't let her go right away. He held her there, both of them suspended in that breathless pause.

And in her heart, Sienna already knew—

If he asked her to come home with him, she wouldn't say no.