Chapter 62: Pink-haired Lunatic pt 2

“I see you still have your… unique taste in décor, Cyan,” Cassian said, his tone dripping with a sarcasm so thick you could have paved a road with it. He didn’t even look surprised. He just looked annoyed, as if he’d seen this all before or probably something even worse.

“What? These are art, Cassie!” Cyan cried, throwing his arms out. “They symbolize strength! Vitality! The raw essence of the human spirit! You have no taste. You probably have a boring grey office with boring grey pens.”

“I have an office that doesn’t require a ’Mature’ rating for entry,” Cassian countered.

Cyan ignored him and flopped onto a velvet sofa, dragging Cassian down beside him. He practically glued himself to Cassian’s side, leaning his head on his shoulder. “Oh, I’ve been so bored, Cassie. Spain is beautiful, but the men here are so… traditional. They don’t understand my vision. Tell me about prison. Was it awful? Did you get into fights? Did you miss my cooking?”

Prison?

Did he just casually mention Prison?

I sat down on the edge of a chair that I sincerely hoped wasn’t shaped like a buttock.

I felt like I was hallucinating. I watched as Cyan rambled on about his boutique, his ’art’ collection, and how he’d decided pink was his signature color.

Every few seconds, Cassian would interject with a sharp, cutting critique, “That’s a hideous idea,” or “Your business model is a disaster,” or “Stop touching my sleeve.”

It was the most bizarrely domestic thing I had ever seen.

Suddenly, Cyan’s focus shifted. He realized he was ignoring the ’cupcake.’ He turned his bright, predatory eyes toward me.

“You’re being mean, Cassie. Hmph! I’m not talking to you anymore. Your cute assistant here will do.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands, peering at me.

“Now, tell me everything about yourself! Where are you from? What’s your star sign? Do you like boys? You definitely like boys. You have that ’I’m-confused-but-intrigued’ look about you. Is Cassie mean to you? Does he make you cry? I bet he makes you cry. He’s such a bully! Right? Right?”

The questions came at me like a volley of arrows. I sat there, cornered like a trapped cat, my hands gripping my knees. “I… I’m from New York. I’m a Virgo. And I… I’m just an assistant.”

“A Virgo! Oh, how delicious! Methodical, clean, perfectionist. No wonder Cassie likes you. He loves people he can organize!” Cyan reached out as if to pinch my cheeks again, but this time, a hand intercepted him.

Cassian’s hand.

He didn’t just stop Cyan; he physically grabbed him by the back of his emerald jacket and dragged him off the sofa.

“You’re the one cornering him like a wild animal,” Cassian said, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that usually meant someone was about to get fired or buried. “Get up. We need to talk. Privately.”

“Aww, but I was just getting to the good stuff!” Cyan pouted, blowing a kiss in my direction as Cassian literally hauled him toward a side door. “Bye-bye, cutie! Don’t go anywhere! I’ll be back to hear all about your deepest, darkest secrets! And your favorite color! I bet it’s something boring like blue!”

“Stay here,” Cassian commanded, throwing a final, unreadable glance over his shoulder at me. “We’ll be back.”

The door shut with a firm click.

And then there was silence.

I sat alone in the center of the office. The crystal chandelier tinkled slightly in the air conditioning. I looked to my left. A two-foot-tall silicone tentacle stared back at me. I looked to my right. A row of realistic wax monuments stood in formation like a very specific army.

I looked down at the gold dildo monument in the corner. It was actually shining. Someone had polished it recently.

I reached out and tentatively took a sip of the sparkling water a staff member had left for me. It tasted like expensive minerals and my own impending nervous breakdown.

Who is this guy? I wondered, my mind racing. How does he know Cassian? He’d mentioned prison. Was Cyan an ex-convict too? The thought was absurd. I tried to imagine this pink-haired fashionista in a prison yard and failed miserably. He’d probably have the guards wearing sequins within a week.

But Cassian tolerated him. He let him call him ’Cassie.’ He let him kiss him. He let him act like a chaotic child. There was a history there, a deep, weird, likely illegal history.

And why were there so many dildos?

“This is my life now,” I whispered into the silent, phallus-filled room. “I am an assistant to a potential murderer, currently sitting in a room full of silicon dicks in the middle of Spain, waiting for my boss to finish a secret meeting with a pink-haired lunatic.”

I looked at the gold monument again. It really was quite a craftsmanship.

“And I’ve become a pervert,” I groaned, leaning my head back against the chair. “I’m surrounded by dicks and all I can think about is why Cassian looked so good in the dark last night.”

I stayed there, in the stunned, uncomfortable silence of Cyan’s ’art’ gallery, wondering if the world would ever make sense again. I highly doubted it.

Every time I thought I’d figured out the rules of Cassian Wolfe’s world, someone showed up with pink hair and a tentacle and threw the rulebook into a woodchipper.

I checked my watch. Five minutes. Ten minutes.

I considered getting up and inspecting the ’monuments’ more closely, then immediately decided that if I touched one, I would officially lose my last shred of dignity. So I just sat there. Stiff. Professional. Surrounded by the most obscene collection of wax and silicone in the European Union.

“Just another day at work, Noah,” I told myself, my voice sounding hollow. “Just another day at work.”

I stared at the emerald velvet walls and waited for the Wolf and the Peacock to return, praying that whatever they were discussing didn’t involve me, a gold statue, or any more ’cu-chi-coo’ cheek pinching.

My life was a tragedy. A high-fashion, high-stakes, extremely weird tragedy. And the worst part?

I wasn’t even sure I wanted to leave anymore.

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