The guest suite was obscene.
Not in the vulgar sense. In the "this single room is larger than my entire apartment" sense. King-sized bed with posts that looked like they belonged in a castle. A sitting area with furniture that cost more than cars. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the estate grounds. An en-suite bathroom visible through an open door, all marble and chrome.
Cassidy stood in the center of the room, still radiating embarrassment and fury in equal measure.
"This is where you'll be staying." Her voice had recovered some of its condescension. A defense mechanism. "Try not to get your poverty on anything. The sheets are Egyptian cotton, so they're probably worth more than your entire wardrobe."
"I'll sleep on top of them."
"That's not— that's not how— ugh." She threw her hands up. "Whatever. The closet is over here."
She marched toward a heavy wooden door on the far side of the room. I followed at a reasonable distance.
Learn from the last incident. Don't stand too close.
"And in here, you'll find—"
She yanked the door.
It stuck.
She yanked harder.
The door unstuck all at once, swinging open with sudden force. The momentum threw her backward. Off balance. Arms flailing.
Directly into me.
Oh no.
I didn't have time to dodge. Didn't have time to brace. One second I was standing at a professional distance, the next I was pinned between Cassidy Valentine's body and the wall.
Her back slammed against my chest. Her head tucked under my chin. Her body pressed flush against mine from shoulder to hip.
The wall behind me was cold. She was very, very warm.
This is the second time in five minutes. At this rate, we'll have covered every base by dinner.
My hands were trapped at my sides, pinned by the angle of impact. I couldn't move them without making the situation significantly worse. Or better. Depending on perspective.
Cassidy had gone completely rigid.
I could feel her breathing. Rapid. Shallow. I could feel the curve of her back against my stomach. The softness of her hair against my jaw. The way her body fit against mine like a puzzle piece I hadn't known was missing.
She smells like strawberries. And expensive shampoo. And something underneath that might just be her.
She was trembling.
Tiny vibrations that ran through her body into mine. Not from cold. From something else entirely.
"Cassidy."
My voice came out lower than I intended. Rough. Scraped raw.
She made a sound. Not quite a word. A small, trapped noise in the back of her throat.
"You need to move."
She didn't move.
"Cassidy."
"I KNOW."
But she stayed right where she was. Her hands were pressed flat against the wall on either side of my head, trapping us in a cage of her own making. Her hips were fused to mine. Every time she inhaled, her chest brushed against me, soft and heavy and dangerously warm.
She was trembling.
Tiny vibrations ran through her thighs, into mine. Her scent—strawberries and expensive perfume—filled my lungs. It was suffocating. It was intoxicating.
I looked down.
She looked up.
Her pupils were blown wide, swallowing the purple of her irises. Her lips were parted, swollen, just inches from my jaw. If I leaned forward—just an inch—
Bad idea. Terrible idea. Career-ending idea.
God, she's warm.
"I'm going to touch you now," I said. It sounded like a warning.
Her breath hitched. She didn't pull away. She didn't tell me to stop. She just stared at me, her chest rising and falling in rapid, jerky rhythms against my shirt. Waiting.
I brought my hands up. Slowly. Deliberately.
I let them hover for a second over her bare arms. I could feel the heat radiating off her skin before I even made contact.
Then I gripped her shoulders.
Her skin was soft. The muscle underneath went rigid at my touch. She gasped—a sharp, sudden intake of air that sounded loud in the quiet room. Her eyes dropped to my mouth.
For one second, neither of us moved. My hands on her skin. Her body pressed to mine. The air between us heavy enough to choke on. I could feel the erratic thud of her heart against my own ribs.
Push her away, Isaiah.
I tightened my grip.
"Stand up, Cassidy."
I pushed.
She stumbled backward, the separation feeling violent, like ripping a bandage off fresh skin. She spun around, putting distance between us, her heels catching on the plush carpet.
When she turned back to face me, her face wasn't just red. It was burning.
Her chest was heaving. Her hair was disheveled in a way that made her look like she'd just rolled out of bed.
Don't think about her in bed. Don't think about her in bed. Don't—
"WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS STANDING RIGHT BEHIND ME?!"
Her voice cracked again. Higher pitched than before.
"You invited me on the tour. Following you is literally the job."
"NOT THAT CLOSE!"
"I wasn't that close. You fell into me."
"I didn't FALL, the door— the stupid door—" She was flailing now, gestures wild, face burning. "This is YOUR fault! Everything is your fault! You and your stupid calm face and your stupid not-panicking and your— your—"
"My what?"
"YOUR CHEST!"
I looked down at my chest. Then back at her.
"What about my chest?"
"It's— you're—" She made a frustrated sound that was half scream, half sob. "Why are you so SOLID? Normal people aren't that solid! Are you made of rocks? Do you WORK OUT?!"
"Nah, just piano and calligraphy."
"WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN!"
She looked ready to commit murder. Or burst into tears. Possibly both.
She's completely unraveled. The tough girl act is gone. This is the real her underneath. Embarrassed. Flustered. Completely out of her depth.
It's kind of cute.
Don't tell her that. She'd actually kill you.
---
Cassidy seemed to realize, all at once, how much of herself she'd exposed.
Her expression shuttered. The embarrassment was still there, burning in her cheeks, but something harder was building in her eyes. It wasn't just anger anymore. It was panic. The panic of a predator realizing the prey hadn't run away.
She stepped forward.
She didn't stop until the toes of her combat boots bumped against my sneakers.
"You think this is funny."
Her voice was low. The screeching was gone, replaced by a vibration that I could feel in the soles of my feet.
"I think it was an accident."
"Don't lie to me."
She reached out. Her hand—small, manicured, and shaking slightly—grabbed the knot of my tie.
Iris's tie.
She yanked. Hard.
It forced my head down. It forced her up on her toes. Our faces were suddenly inches apart, occupying the same breathable air.
"You're not a guest here, Isaiah."
She twisted the silk around her fist, tightening the slack. A leash.
"You're not my friend. You're not my equal." Her eyes searched mine, frantic and fierce, looking for a crack in the armor. "You're the help. You're staff. You exist in this house because we allow it."
She pulled me closer. Her chest brushed against mine. A ghost of a touch, electric and terrifyingly warm.
"So don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're bored."
Her breath hit my lips. It smelled like peppermint and adrenaline. Her pupils were blown wide, swallowing the purple, leaving only dark pools of challenge.
"You think you're so calm? You think you're unbreakable?" Her voice dropped to a whisper, intimate and dangerous. "I've made grown men cry in this hallway. I've broken professionals with a sentence. Do you really think you can handle me?"
She wasn't asking if I could handle the job. She was asking if I could handle her. The heat radiating off her skin. The erratic beat of her heart that I could still sense, echoing the rhythm of my own pulse.
She was daring me to react. To shove her away. To kiss her. To do something that proved I wasn't made of stone.
Rich people.
They think everything is a game. They think people are toys to be broken when they're bored.
I looked down at her hand wrapped around my tie. Then back up to her eyes.
"Are you done?"
Cassidy flinched. Just a micro-movement. Her grip on my tie faltered.
"What?"
"The intimidation tactic. The personal space invasion. The heavy breathing." I kept my voice flat. "Are we finished with the performance, or is there a second act?"
Her lips parted. A flush darker than the embarrassment from earlier crept up her neck.
"It's not a—"
"You're trying to get a reaction," I said, cutting her off. "You're embarrassed because you fell, and now you want me to be scared or flustered so you can feel big again."
I reached up. Covered her hand with mine.
Her skin was burning hot.
I didn't squeeze. I just held her hand there, trapping it against my chest. Letting her feel the steady, slow beat of my heart.
"I'm not scared of you, Cassidy."
Her eyes widened. She tried to yank her hand back, but I held it.
"And I'm not flustered."
I released her.
She stumbled back, putting two feet of expensive carpet between us. Her chest was heaving. She looked like she'd just run a mile. Or been kissed. The expression was confusingly similar.
"You..." She struggled for air. "You're infuriating."
"I'm expensive," I corrected.
"Excuse me?"
"Ten thousand a month." I straightened my tie, smoothing the wrinkles she'd left in the silk. "That's the price tag. For the scheduling. For the errands."
I met her gaze, letting a hint of that smirk return.
"And for dealing with whatever this is."
Her jaw dropped.
"You think... you think you're getting paid to deal with ME?"
"I think hazard pay should be included, but I'll settle for the base rate."
For a moment, I thought she was actually going to punch me. Her hands balled into fists at her sides. Her whole body was vibrating with a tension that had nowhere to go.
She looked at me with pure, unadulterated loathing.
And underneath the loathing?
Hunger.
The kind of hunger that had nothing to do with food.
"Fine." She spat the word out. "Fine. You want to be the help? Be the help."
She spun on her heel, marching toward the door. Her hips swayed more aggressively than before.
She paused at the threshold, gripping the doorframe until her knuckles turned white. She didn't look back.
"Find your own way out, Isaiah."
Her voice was strained. Tight.
"And fix your tie. You look like you've been manhandled."
"I wonder whose fault that is."
She made a noise of pure frustration and slammed the door behind her.
The sound echoed in the silence of the massive suite.
I stood there for a moment, letting the adrenaline fade. My heart was beating faster than I'd let on. Much faster.
I looked down at my tie. It was still slightly crooked.
I could still feel the phantom heat of her knuckles against my chest.
Troublesome.
Very troublesome.
I walked to the mirror in the en-suite bathroom to fix the knot.
My eyes looked tired. Same as always.
But the reflection showed something else, too. A flush high on my cheekbones that hadn't been there ten minutes ago.
I tightened the tie.
I just have to survive until graduation without doing something stupid.
Like enjoying it.