Chapter 4
Cassie had always known how to stand her ground. She'd built her career on instincts and hustle, never needing anyone to fight her battles. But this was different.
This was Christian Masters.
The call came at 9:02 AM, brief and dispassionate.
"Cassie. My office. Now."
Nothing urgent in the tone. But the way he said her name? That tight curl in her stomach told her this wouldn't be routine.
She walked the length of the corridor, heels echoing across the polished floor like a countdown. As she stepped into his office, he didn't look up. Just flipped through the campaign deck she'd worked on for weeks like it was some half-hearted flyer.
"You wanted to see me?" she asked, her voice steady, betraying none of the tension rising in her spine.
Christian glanced up, expression unreadable. "Yes. Sit."
She did. Slowly.
He flipped another page. It looked like it physically annoyed him to touch it.
"This won't work."
Cassie blinked. "It hits every core demographic—"
"Exactly."
A beat. "What?"
"It's designed to please." He pushed the pages aside, eyes finally locking on hers. "That's not what we do."
Her mouth parted slightly, confused. "So… you want it to alienate people?"
"I want it to matter," he said, voice low. "You built this like a brand manager. Not a strategist. Not someone hungry. Masters doesn't play by the rules—we set them. This campaign? It's just... noise."
Cassie leaned forward, pulse spiking. "It's strategic. It's bold. It was designed to challenge the current narrative and reposition the brand as—"
"It's weak."
That landed. Clean and brutal.
Her cheeks flushed. "You said you wanted something that demanded attention."
"No." He stood, circling the desk slowly. "I said I wanted something that shifts the balance of power. This doesn't. It plays nice."
He was behind her now, and she felt his presence like gravity, pressing into her skin.
"You're good at sounding like you know what you're doing," he said softly. "But sounding competent isn't enough here."
Cassie stood. Slowly. Met his gaze. "And undermining your team with veiled insults is supposed to drive innovation?"
His brow ticked—barely noticeable, but it was the first crack in that perfectly sculpted control.
"I'll fix what needs fixing," she continued. "But I'm not gutting the campaign just to stroke your ego."
For a second, something flickered behind his eyes. Surprise? Amusement?
Gone in a blink.
"Careful, Cassie," he said, voice velvet and steel. "There's a difference between guts and recklessness."
"Or maybe you're just not used to being challenged."
Another pause. Just long enough for the tension to twist tighter.
Then, abruptly, he stepped back.
"Make it work," he said. "And don't confuse my patience for weakness. Fail again, and I'll replace you before the ink dries."
Her jaw tightened, but she didn't flinch. Not this time.
He moved past her to open the door—deliberately, slowly—and the air between them seemed to shift.
"I need someone who knows how to be seen," he added, voice low. "You still think like someone hoping to impress. That's not good enough."
Cassie's fingers curled into fists at her sides.
"I don't impress. I lead."
She stepped through the door, but paused just before leaving.
"I hope, for your sake," she said without turning, "you don't underestimate me again."
And then she was gone, leaving Christian alone with the campaign he claimed to despise—yet hadn't thrown out.
Not yet.