Chapter 4 - THE SECRET IN THE SEAMS
At 3:45 a.m., Noel’s mind began to float back toward consciousness.
She felt warm. Warmer than she had felt all autumn.
She felt a steady, rhythmic thud beneath her cheek—thump, thump, thump. It was a heartbeat.
Her eyes snapped open.
Panic shot through her blood like ice water.
She was not in the high-backed leather chair. She was lying on the massive king-sized bed, her head resting directly on Cassian Marchetti’s chest, her left arm draped over his ribs.
And Cassian Marchetti was asleep.
His dark lashes rested against his cheekbones. His face was relaxed, stripped of his cold, formidable edge. His right hand was wrapped gently around her shoulder, holding her secure against him.
Noel gasped softly, freezing in place.
Oh God, she thought, her heart hammering wildly. I fell asleep. I broke the rule.
She began to carefully, inch by inch, slide her arm back, trying to disengage from his grip without waking him.
As her hand slid across his white shirt, her fingers brushed against a hard, rectangular object tucked inside a hidden interior pocket sewn into his undershirt, directly over his heart.
Noel paused. Her instinct as a meticulous cleaner kicked in.
It wasn't a gun. It wasn't a knife.
It felt like a small, flat leather pouch.
Through the thin fabric of his shirt, her fingers felt the faint outline of a metallic key and a small, folded piece of thick archival paper.
Cassian stirred. His grip on her shoulder tightened slightly, a soft groan escaping his throat as his dark eyebrows pulled together. He was beginning to wake up.
Noel quickly pulled her hand back, sliding off the edge of the bed and landing lightly on her feet on the plush carpet. She smoothed her faded sweater, her chest heaving, her hands trembling uncontrollably.
She looked at the clock on the nightstand: 3:55 AM.
She grabbed her cloth bag from the chair, backed away from the bed, and walked swiftly toward the walnut doors.
Cassian’s eyes fluttered open just as she reached the handle.
He sat up instantly, his dark hair messy, his grey eyes clearing from sleep with shocking speed. He looked at her standing by the door, then down at the empty space on the bed beside him.
For a brief second, a look of profound shock—and something strangely like vulnerability—flashed across his face.
"Ms. Draper," Cassian called out, his voice rough and deep.
Noel turned, her hand on the brass handle, terrified that he was going to execute her for breaking the rules.
"I'm sorry," Noel stammered out, her voice trembling. "I'm sorry, Mr. Marchetti. I didn't mean to fall asleep. Please don't withhold the pay. My brother—"
Cassian held up his hand, cutting her off.
He stood up from the bed, his tall figure towering in the dim room. He walked slowly toward her, stopping three feet away. He did not look angry. He looked at her with a terrifyingly intense scrutiny.
He pulled a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from his nightstand drawer and held it out to her.
Two thousand dollars.
Noel looked from the money to his face, hesitant to reach out.
"Take it," Cassian ordered softly.
Noel took the cash, her fingers brushing his warm palm briefly. "Thank you."
"You fell asleep," Cassian stated quietly.
"I... I was exhausted," Noel whispered, looking down at her shoes. "It won't happen again."
"It will happen again," Cassian corrected firmly. "You will return tonight at midnight."
Noel looked up, startled. "You want me back?"
"Midnight, Ms. Draper," Cassian said, his grey eyes burning into hers. "Do not be late."
Noel nodded quickly, opened the walnut doors, and stepped out into the hallway.
Leo was waiting outside, his arms crossed. He looked at his watch, then at Noel, a look of utter bewilderment crossing his scarred face.
"She lasted," Leo muttered under his breath, watching her walk toward the elevator. "She actually stayed until four."
Noel stepped into the elevator, clutching the stack of cash against her chest.
As the elevator descended forty-two floors, her mind raced.
She had paid Ellis’s bill for the month.
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She had survived the Mafia boss’s bedroom.
And she had felt the secret resting against his heart—a key and a piece of paper that Cassian Marchetti protected even in his sleep.
