The Maybach glided through Manhattan traffic. The partition was up.
"Drop me off at the corner," Cassidy said, breaking the silence.
Kingsley looked up from his phone. "Why?"
"I'm your Crisis Consultant. If I walk in holding your hand, no one will respect me. They'll think I'm just the wife."
Kingsley smirked. "To them, you are just the wife. The assumption will be that you slept your way into this position."
"I signed my way into the job," she corrected. "Stop the car."
Kingsley knocked on the glass. The driver pulled over.
"Don't be late for lunch," he warned as she got out.
Cassidy walked the last block, her heels clicking on the pavement. She entered the Osborn Tower, blending in with the morning rush.
She met Mercer in the lobby.
"Low profile," Mercer whispered. "Mr. Osborn is... territorial. Don't get too friendly with the male staff."
Cassidy rolled her eyes and went to the PR department. The gossip was already flying.
"Have you seen the wife?" a junior associate whispered near the coffee machine. "I heard she's a Russian model."
"No, she's a senator's daughter," another said. "Political alliance."
Cassidy stirred her coffee. "Sounds intense," she muttered, blending in.
At noon, Kingsley's secretary summoned her to the top floor.
Cassidy walked in to find a white tablecloth spread over the coffee table. Lobster salad and sparkling water.
"Sit," Kingsley commanded. "We have to maintain the image of a functioning couple. My nutritionist tracks my intake."
"You're eating lobster for your image?" Cassidy sat down.
They ate in silence, but it was less hostile than dinner. The office felt like neutral ground.
A sharp knock on the door.
"Come in!" Kingsley called out.
Cassidy's eyes widened. She looked for an escape route, a place to hide, but there was none. Panic gave way to professionalism. Her training took over.
In a split-second, she straightened her spine, picked up a financial report from the coffee table, and stood, adopting the posture of an advisor ready to present.
Kingsley looked over at her, an eyebrow raised. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He was amused by her quick thinking.
The Sales Director walked in. "Mr. Osborn, the Q3 projections..." His eyes flickered to Cassidy.
"This is Ms. Steele," Kingsley said smoothly, gesturing with his fork. "A new consultant on the brand initiative. She's... thorough."
Cassidy nodded curtly at the Director, her expression a perfect mask of professional detachment. The Director, accepting the explanation, launched into his report.
The meeting dragged on. Cassidy stood by the window, pretending to study the skyline, acutely aware of Kingsley's gaze on her. The air was thick with their shared secret. He was impressed, and that fact was more dangerous than his anger.
The Director finished his report. "Sir? Anything else?"
"Fine," Kingsley said, his eyes still on Cassidy. "Leave the report. Get out."
The door closed.
Cassidy let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. She placed the report back on the table.
"Not bad, Miss Steele," Kingsley said, his voice a low rumble.
"It's Mrs. Osborn," she corrected, dusting off her skirt. "And I'm not hiding under your desk. Ever."
For the first time, the name didn't sound like an insult. It sounded like a challenge.
