Innocent Until Proven Lovers

ELARA It was a cold Saturday evening and I had just let out a hiss of frustration for what seemed like the hundredth time. My best friend Sophie had been talking for twenty minutes straight about why I needed to leave my apartment. I let her talk. "You've been staring at your computer since morning," she said, leaning on the edge of my desk like she owned it. "It's Saturday. The spreadsheet will still be wrong on Monday." "It's not wrong. That's the problem." She stared at me. “Do you know what you need right now?” What? I asked back, narrowing my eyes at her. I knew she was about to say something I wasn't interested in. “A girls night out!” I leaned back in my chair and looked at her. Sophie had been my best friend since my first week at work, the only person who could walk into my space uninvited and somehow make it feel less suffocating. She had grown up with money but you'd never know it unless she told you. She worked for everything she had and never once used her father's name as a door. It was the first thing I had respected about her. It was also why I couldn't say no to her the way I could say no to everyone else. “You know what happened the last time you convinced me to go out with you.” “Yes, but that’s where the fun is” “Trying to keep your drunk self in place definitely wasn't fun.” “I promise I won't get too drunk. Look you’ve been moody all day this would be a good way for you to unwind.” “Fine, I'll go.” I managed to say after her constant pleading. “Now let's get you something to wear. You need to wear something that doesn't say I audit people for a living." She opened my wardrobe, brought out a pile of clothes and tossed them on the bed. “How about this one?” She pulls out a long red dress. “Too tight.” She tosses me another dress and I find a reason to turn it down once more. “You’re impossible.” She said, rolling her eyes. “You know what, choose whatever you want and get dressed quickly” I eventually decided to try on a short black dress. I put the dress on and looked into the mirror. Not bad, I shrugged and walked out of the bathroom. “Omg Elara. You look absolutely gorgeous. You’re definitely wearing that. It’s perfect. Now let me style your hair.” I reluctantly sit down next to my dressing mirror while she styles my hair. I put on a little makeup and about thirty minutes later I'm driving along the bustling roads going to one of the most expensive hotel bars in the city. The bar was exactly what I had expected. Music blared through the speakers, bodies moved to the beat like they had nothing to worry about. Upstairs I could see a bunch of men in expensive suits gathered around low tables with the particular ease of people who had never once in their life checked a price before ordering. It was evident they were gathered for the sole purpose of business. Sophie was already looking around excitedly like she'd found paradise. We sat where she wanted, somewhere with a full view of the room, and for a while everything was actually fine. She made me laugh and I almost forgot about the lead I had spent six weeks chasing across three shell companies and two offshore accounts that had dissolved into nothing so cleanly it felt intentional. Almost. Then Sophie leaned across the table with a look I recognized. "Don't," I said. "I haven't said anything." "You have that face." She glanced toward the other end of the bar and back at me. "He's been looking over here." "Sophie." "I'm just saying." Twenty minutes later she was gone. Not with the man who had been looking over. With someone else entirely, laughing at something he said as they disappeared toward the back. I watched her go and turned back to my drink. So here I was. Alone at a bar on a Saturday night with a drink I didn't really want, a dead lead, and a case that was going nowhere. I couldn't drive back home since I drank a little so I pulled out my phone and booked a room for the night, then set the phone face down on the bar. I sat awkwardly, staring at the pastel art against the walls. I didn't notice him until the barstool beside me shifted. I looked up and met his gaze. Sharp jaw. Dark eyes. The kind of face that looked better in person than on a screen and I had seen it on enough screens to know. It took me exactly two seconds. Cassian Holt. Thirty one. Founder and CEO of Holt Narrative Group. Known for making problems disappear before they became headlines. Known for being the kind of man who got what he wanted before anyone realized he wanted it. Also, and more relevantly, Victor Ashford’s estranged cousin. “That drink looks like it owes you an apology.” I held his gaze and said nothing. He didn't seem bothered by that. He settled onto the stool beside me with the ease of a man who had never once in his life felt unwelcome anywhere, and signaled the bartender with two fingers. He extended his hand. "Cassian." I looked at it for a moment then shook it briefly and went back to my phone. "I know who you are." A wave of silence. "And you are?" "Not interested." I really wasn't interested in what any guy had to say to me. Not even the famous Cassian Holt. "That's not what I asked." I glanced up at him. He wasn't smiling exactly but there was a tug at the corner of his mouth that suggested he found this more interesting than inconvenient. I put my phone down slowly. "Elara Vance." He ordered something I didn't catch and for a few minutes neither of us spoke. It should have been uncomfortable. It wasn't, which was somehow more irritating. I waited for the part where he'd try to impress me. The company name drop. The casual mention of somewhere expensive. But surprisingly it didn't come. "You've been sitting here alone for a while," he said. "I'm aware." "Bad day?" I glanced at him sideways. "Are you always this observant or is it just a Saturday thing?" "Occupational habit." I turned to face him properly for the first time. "Cassian Holt." Of course. I said it with an unimpressed tone. "You watch rooms. You watch people. You figure out what story they're telling before they open their mouths." He was quiet for a while. "I see you've done your research." "I do research on everyone. It's nothing personal." "What story am I telling?" I looked at him. The controlled posture. The careful eyes. The way he had chosen the one seat beside the one woman in the room who wasn't looking at him. "A man who's very good at being in a room full of people," I said, "and still somehow alone in it." The word landed differently than I'd intended. He didn't deny it. "And you?" he asked quietly. I set my glass down and reached for my bag. "I'm the one who's leaving." I stood, didn't look back. "Goodnight Mr. Holt." I was almost at the door when I realized my heart was beating slightly faster than it should have been. I didn't think about the fact that he didn't deny it. I didn't think about him at all.