Chapter 19 Cass

Marcus Fitz was put on this earth to test me. I was sure of it. If he wasn't driving me up the wall with his gold medal ability to put words in just the right order to make me yearn for him, he was unveiling some subtle quality that reminded me I had never laid eyes on a more endearing guy in my life. On Friday morning, for example, just twenty-four hours after I ruthlessly evaded his declaration of affection, he taught me I had never swooned before.

The sunlight heated our backs through the windows in the conference room. It shimmered on the tempered glass table, surrounding us in this ethereal haze as we sat side by side. He looked handsome in the light. It caught his hair and haloed him, making him look like the tech deity he was to the rest of the world. He was a deity to me in other ways. He fucked like a god—end of story.

At that moment, we were going through personnel records. It was a mundane task for an otherwise beautiful morning, the kind that made me yearn for a respite from the corporate walls that surrounded me. I gave him my attention though; I owed it to him. We were in the process of ensuring we had completed non-compete agreements for all his employees when his phone rang.

"This is my housekeeper. I have to take it," he informed me. "I'm really sorry about this."

"No worries," I assured him.

He rolled his chair a few inches away and faced the other direction as he answered his phone. "What's up, Mrs. Robbins?"

I could hear a woman speaking on the other line and Marcus was quiet. "U-huh…I see…I see… really ." He released a slow exhale. "Got it. Well, put me on speaker phone and bring me over there."

There was another long pause and I could see Marcus drumming his fingertips on the tabletop.

"Frank," he said after a beat. "Yep—this is your father. Mrs. Robbins told me what you did to Sammy's banana toy. She said there's catnip everywhere because you ripped it up. Is that true?"

And then he actually paused and waited before he said, "I'm not happy, Frank. This is incredibly disappointing. Is this the kind of corgi you want to be? No? I didn't think so. We're going to have a talk about this when I get home. But you better be good until then, okay?" Marcus nodded. "Okay, good boy. I love you. I'll be home early today."

After he exchanged a few more words with his housekeeper, he ended the call and rolled back over to me.

"Sorry about that," he said, shaking his head. He pushed his hand through his hair and then did quick work tidying it again. Put together, as always. "Chaos back at the apartment. Do you have any pets?"

"No. My apartment doesn't allow them. I love them though."

"Feel free to take mine off my hands any time you want," he offered, probably only half-joking. "They run the place. I'm just the guy who pays rent."

His unashamed sincerity had me thisclose to calling up my OB/GYN and telling her to brace herself because I wanted to have a hundred of this guy's babies as soon as humanly possible.

"Sorry, we were looking at non-compete commitments, right?"

"Right," I confirmed, forcing myself to look away from him.

We got through the next couple of hours without interruption and without a single seductive word from Marcus's lips. That shouldn't have surprised me at all. Yesterday, he told me he would respect my boundaries. And because he was Marcus fucking Fitz, and because he clearly woke up every morning and chugged a nice big, freshly-squeezed glass of "respects women," he did exactly what he said he would.

I was an idiot though. This arrangement was supposed to put some much-needed space between us, but all it did was make him infinitely hotter to me.

Just as we were wrapping up the review of Libra's personnel files, my own phone started to ring. It was sitting on the table between Marcus and me when it lit up with the name: Mom .

Hastily, I declined the call and dropped my phone into my tote, which was resting on the floor by my feet. Within seconds though, Marcus and I could both hear the vibrations of her relentless pursuit.

"Answer it," he recommended, unfazed and unbothered. "I don't mind."

"I'll call her later," I lied.

"I mean it," he insisted, nodding. "We have a company rule: If family calls, you should answer it. Work be damned."

I stared at him pointedly, my gaze unblinking. After a beat, realization crossed his face. "Oh," he noted, finally recalling I told him my parents cut me off years ago. "I didn't mean to intrude. I just figured you would want to talk to your mom. Whenever one of my moms calls, I answer—"

"It's not your fault," I assured him.

The silence that passed between us was punctuated by yet a third phone call from my mother.

"I'll just deal with it," I decided, knowing she wouldn't stop until I answered. I grabbed my phone from my bag and stood. "I'll just be a second. I'm sorry—"

"Don't ever apologize for family," he responded, nodding at me.

I hurried out of the conference room and pushed open the front door of the office so I was on the street outside of Libra. When I answered the call, I didn't say hello. I just held the phone to my ear and waited for my mother to say, "Cassandra, are you there?"

"Why are you calling me? I'm at work."

"Did you initiate a direct transfer of funds to your father's bank account?"

I paused, one hand tucked into the pocket of my blazer. The sound of city traffic cut through the silence on the call, and for that I was eternally grateful. "So?" I finally said.

"For the last time, we do not want your money."

"Then why did he send me an invoice?" I already felt the anger rising in my chest. "Look, I'm nearly halfway through my debt to you both, so if you would just start cashing the checks and be done with it, we could make this a clean—"

"You're being ridiculous."

"I'm being ridiculous?" I questioned, clapping my hand against my collarbone as I spoke. "Do you have any idea how insane it is for you to say I'm being ridiculous?"

"Cassandra, that tone—"

"You two cut me off during my first year of law school , all because you didn't like the guy I was dating. That 's ridiculous, mother."

"He was—"

"No, this isn't about Trevor," I insisted as I started pacing. "Trevor hasn't mattered for years. What matters is you and dad turned on me the minute I didn't fit into the perfect little story you wrote for my life. Do you realize how scary that is—that your love was so conditional?"

I stopped in my tracks, aware that passersby kept craning their necks to look at me. I shook my head. "I'm not having this conversation again. If he doesn't want my money in his account, he can donate it to a charity. I don't want it back."

I didn't wait for her to respond. I simply ended the call and shoved my phone into the pocket of my jeans before I shut my eyes and rested my forehead against my palm. I could feel tears forming, stinging my eyes as I pressed my eyelids down in a futile attempt to keep from crying.

Suddenly, a hand wrapped around my shoulder. When I looked up, I found Marcus standing in front of me. Before I could speak, he pulled me into an embrace—right there on the sidewalk outside of his office.

"I'm—"

"I don't need an explanation," he responded, speaking into my hair.

I inhaled into his shirt, grateful for the feeling of his warm body pressed against me. My cheek rested against his pectoral and I felt the tension release from my shoulders as he rubbed his hand along my back.

"Let's take a walk," he recommended after a beat. And before I could protest, he added, "Everything else can wait."

He turned me around and guided me to begin walking down the street.

We were silent while I sniffled. When I moved to wipe my nose with the back of my hand, Marcus caught my wrist. Startled, I looked over at him. Without a word, he reached into the pocket of his slacks and took out a brown paper napkin he had folded neatly down the middle. I took it from him, eyeing him curiously as I unfolded it and dabbed at my face.

"It was an extra napkin from my lunch," he offered in explanation. "I thought you might need it."

"You were watching me through the window?" As soon as I asked him that, I regretted it. It ended up sounding accusatory, which I really didn't intend.

Marcus didn't care though. "I watch you a lot," he answered honestly. "You were obviously upset."

I balled up the napkin and slid it into the pocket of my blazer before I crossed my arms. I took a deep breath and released it, grateful for the fresh air. After a few seconds, Marcus nudged me gently with his elbow. "Are you feeling better?"

"I am. Thanks."

We reached the end of the block and stopped at the intersection, where the Do Not Walk sign was up. As we stood at the crosswalk, Marcus turned to face me and I saw there was a spot of mascara on his heather gray polo shirt, clearly from when I was tearing up against his chest.

"Sorry about that," I apologized, nodding at his shirt.

He looked down and canted his head to the side. "It happens," he offered. "And it's not a big deal. I'm heading straight home after work anyway. I've got to deal with Frank."

His mention of his corgi made me smile. I was able to force out a soft chuckle, which in turn made Marcus's expression ease. He reached forward and rubbed his thumb along the bottom of my eyelid.

"Did I mess up my makeup?"

He shook his head. "No, you look incredible."

It took everything I had not to hold his hand right there, to bring his palm to rest against my cheek. Instead, I exhaled and kept looking into his eyes. "I'm in some debt," I said after a moment.

The light changed and the Walk sign came on. We headed into the crosswalk and continued walking, but Marcus didn't stop staring at me. When we reached the sidewalk on the other side, he finally responded, "Well, if only you had an application that tracked all your debts in one place. And unlike other apps that focus primarily on your bank accounts, it sounds like you need an app that integrates all your debts from different sources and then uses deadlines and interest rates to provide you with guidance on how to pay those debts and use free cash flow to maximize long-term savings. God, if only there was an app that did that."

I probably should have seen it coming. Marcus had just recited the pitch for Libra by heart.

"Libra doesn't work for me," I explained. "It's more complicated than that."

Of course, he frowned. His app worked for everyone—that was why it was so valuable. An economic report from the federal government even highlighted Libra as one of the key levers to address the student loan crisis in our country.

"It should," he said. "What's wrong with it?"

"The lenders I'm trying to repay are my own mother and father."

"Through a legally binding agreement with repayment terms?"

I shook my head, which intrigued Marcus enough to get him to stop walking. He caught me by my elbow and motioned for me to turn around and speak to him. Reluctantly, I rotated and took a few steps back so we were facing each other right outside of a CVS.

"Do you really want to hear this?" I tucked a flyaway lock of hair behind my ear. "It's not pretty. It's pure insipid, rich girl drama."

"I watch old episodes of Gossip Girl when I fly internationally because it helps to pass the time, so this is right up my alley."

I paused. "Wait, are you serious?" I inquired, surveying his expression.

Marcus just winked in response.

"Okay, we'll definitely be revisiting that topic at a later date. But for now, let me just ask, do you have any idea how much it costs to raise a spoiled, privileged kid?"

"Well," he said, glancing upwards as he seemed to tick through some mental math, "those typically aren't my clientele…but I'm going to just shoot out a number: Let's say seven hundred and fifty thousand over the course of that kid's lifetime."

"Close. When I sat down and did the math, it ended up being nine hundred and eighteen thousand dollars. And that's precisely how much I intend to pay my parents."

Silence hanged between the two of us for far longer than I expected. Marcus's brow tightened more and more with each passing second. After a few beats, he took his hand out of his pocket and brushed his thick hair away from his forehead. "Sorry—did they ask you to do that?"

"In a way."

"In what way?"

I raised a shoulder. "It's complicated."

"Well, I'm not a dumbass, so you can try me. Tell me what's complicated."

"It's stupid, honestly."

"Don't care," he insisted. "It's obviously not stupid if it's so important to you."

His expression was unwavering. He kept his eyes on mine and he nodded his head, as if to reassure me he really did care enough to listen to me speak about this.

"Six years ago, right after I graduated from Princeton, I went to law school at Columbia. My parents were expecting me to go to Harvard, so they were surprised I picked Columbia, but I was insistent I wanted to move to New York."

"Sure," he said. "Lots of people dream of moving to New York. Alex and I obviously picked it over Silicon Valley."

"You moved to New York because you wanted to be closer to the financial industry, which made a ton of sense in your line of work," I acknowledged. "I moved to New York for a guy."

Marcus flinched, but he didn't say a word. He swallowed hard once and he nodded encouragingly. "Got it. So, you moved here for a guy."

"I met him when I was a senior in college. He was…not what my parents wanted for me."

"How so?"

"Tons of tattoos. Played in a band. Never went to college. You get the picture."

He nodded again, his jaw clenching. "Yep. Got it."

"I kept him a secret, but of course my parents found out. One of their friends' daughters sent them a picture of us—something shitty like that. They were livid, and they gave me an ultimatum: Break up with him or you're cut off."

"And it sounds like you didn't break up with him," he reasoned.

"My parents were even angrier after that," I went on. "I think they just assumed I would never, ever give up all the privilege and perks that came from being the daughter of one of the most successful lawyers in San Francisco. So when I picked him over them, they decided they were done with me. I wasn't their daughter anymore. My father emailed me an invoice for the cost of the three months of law school that he paid for and wished me the best of luck."

"Shit," he murmured, shaking his head. "That's really messed up, Cass."

"Trust me, I know," I responded. "But I wasn't going to fight it. I moved in with my boyfriend, scrounged up every dollar I could from selling my old furniture, dropped out of law school, and paid back the invoice. I really don't think they were expecting that either. And I don't think I expected to feel so good after paying that debt."

"So, you decided you were going to pay for your entire life, even though they didn't ask?"

"Nailed it."

His eyes widened. "But Cass, that's a ton of money to owe someone. The average American in our age range only owes around twenty-five thousand in debt."

" Only , millionaire?"

He shrugged. "Fair point. But seriously—you want to pay your parents 900k?"

"I want to and I will."

"And they want you to pay it? They accept your money?"

"No. I just deposit it into a checking account I don't touch."

Marcus was shaking his head as he listened to me. "Jesus, Cass." He let out a quick whistle and he started to walk again. "Are you hurt?" he inquired as he turned around suddenly to face me. "That's the important thing. Are you doing okay?"

"I'm fine."

This time, he was the one to tuck a flyaway lock of hair behind my ear. When he lowered his hand, he let it linger on my shoulder. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. My life is on track. It took me a while to find a good job, but they love me at Davenport-Ridgeway. After I went back to school for my MBA, D-R rehired me with a humongous signing bonus and a salary increase—"

"Which all goes into your untouchable account," he interjected, frowning. "How much do you have left to pay?"

"I need to put away another five hundred and fifty thousand."

As soon as I said that number, I saw Marcus's lips part. My stomach surged and I held up my hand.

"Cass—" he began.

"Marcus—"

"That's nothing to me. I could—"

"You are not paying off my debt."

"I want to."

"You're out of your mind," I insisted, taking a step back from him. "You hated me three weeks ago. Hated me . You're not just going to give me half a million dollars, Marcus."

"Why not?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't need all this money. I don't even care about the money. I'm constantly looking for shit to spend it on. Did you know I casually bought myself a robot cat litter box this morning? It cost me seven hundred dollars, Cass. Seven hundred . I literally bought it on my phone while I was walking into the office."

"The point isn't to give them money," I countered. "They don't need the money either. My dad makes over seven million dollars a year. The point is to prove I never needed their money. I can't make a point if a guy I slept with once pays it off for me."

Marcus ticked his eyebrows up. "You're dead-set on this," he realized.

"I really am," I confirmed. "So there you go. Now you know how messed up my family is. Thoughts?"

"To be honest, Cass…I think you need therapy," he told me.

"Go fuck yourself."

Immediately, he took a step closer to me and put his hands on my arms. He ran them over me, warming my skin with his touch. "No, I don't mean that as an insult. I would never." Marcus let out a chuckle. "I talk with my therapist every week. I've done it since I was a kid. It's honestly one of the best things I've ever done."

I couldn't believe I had forgotten that, after the whole debacle with his binder. I was about to apologize when he shook his head—somehow, he knew I didn't mean it.

"I just think you should have a space where you can talk to someone about how you feel," he continued. "I think you would be surprised by how much we all need to do that occasionally. Even you."

"I guess," I murmured.

"Just think about it," he said. He squeezed my shoulder. "How are you feeling? Ready to go back?"

"Sure," I agreed. "I actually do feel a lot better."

"It's the talking," he insisted. "And you know what else might make you feel better?"

"What?"

"Coming with me to Alex's party."

I looked over and saw he was grinning at me. I tried to resist the draw of that grin—the pull of his annoyingly handsome face. Forcing myself to look away, I cleared my throat. "I'm not PR-firm approved."

"I could make that happen in a heartbeat," he replied. "Come on. I'll even take you to dinner beforehand and I'll probably try to convince you to blow off the party. It'll be fun."

"It's not happening," I responded flatly. "Don't ask again."

Marcus let out a sigh and faced forward as we walked. "You let a girl cry on your good polo shirt, and this is how she repays you…"

"Send me an invoice if you're so mad. You know I pay my debts."

He laughed. "God we could have fun together. You have no idea."