Penelope 

"Quit being judgemental," Cassian drawls. "I was too focused on smoking to realize I had my own lighter."

I shove the door open and hang my tote bag on the nearest hanger, kicking my heels off. There's no logic behind why I wore heels. They're nothing but harmful to a woman's body. "I'm not giving you your cigarettes back, Cassian."

A crease forms between his eyebrows. "Aw, come on, Pen!"

I turn to face him, shoving my heels to the side. "Smoking is bad for your lungs. I will not allow you waste away your health by smoking—even if it is a once-in-a-while hobby to calm your nerves. Find an alternative route."

As unpolished and infuriating as he may be, Cassian Russell is adorable when he pouts, and being stared down by his big brown eyes is making it impossible to think. Also, now the image of him in his suit and smoking while he leans against the pillar seems to be stuck in my head. The way he calls me "Pen" whenever we're bantering back and forth. Sometimes, I wonder how my name would sound on his lips while we're naked in bed together. I draw my bottom lip between my teeth and exhale through my nose. I'm mortified by my thoughts. My silly school-girl crush has bloomed into a full-on sex fantasy, and I don't know how to prevent it. I love everything about Cassian—from his grotesque sense of humour to the darker tone of his skin. How can I not after hearing how much he did for Jake and Hanna? After their parents perished in a car accident, Cassian offered them a place to stay and gave Jake time to compose himself.

"I don't want to find an alternative route," he replies. "Smoking is fine."

I roll my eyes and head for the kitchen. Although we only exchanged a few words during the cab ride, Cassian and I came to a mutual conclusion—we need a night out after that meeting. I may have told Cassian that Ophelia Henry and her caramel-coloured hair weren't intimidating, but they sure as hell were. After years of experience in the business world, I know how cutthroat women have to be in order to succeed, and it's obvious she knew the same. Every time that woman looked at me, I felt like daggers were digging into the powerhouse of my nerves. My nerves are still on edge. I need a gin and tonic with lime to ease them. And some deep-fried pickles.

"Seriously, Pen," Cassian calls. "I want my smokes back."

I remove his pack of smokes from my pocket, tossing them on the counter and staring at them. Tapping my bottom lip, I weigh my options. While it wouldn't profit Cassian if I were to cut them into small pieces, the action would profit his lungs. Despite his oblivious charm and his inability to see what's in front of him, I still care.

Turning around, I rummage through the surrounding drawers until I find a pair of scissors. I set them down on the counter and pick up the pack of smokes.

"Sorry, Cass," I mutter, opening the pack. I remove the first one and cut it in half. The basic components of the cigarette flutter to the counter: tobacco, chemical additives, a filter, and the paper wrapping. "This is for your own good."

"What the fuck, Penelope?" Cassian gasps. "I paid for those!"

I pick up the fourth cigarette and cut it in half, brushing the remnants into the garbage can. Then, I take my time to spit into the garbage. If there's one thing that grosses Cassian out, it's people's spit. He says it reminds him too much of when Gemma added the laxatives to the Alfredo sauce. I'll never understand where the correlation between spit and that unfavourable memory comes from, but questioning Cassian usually results in more confusion.

"It's for your own good," I reply in a singsong voice. "Jake, Gemma, me, and the rest of the lovely people in your life would be devastated if you were to develop lung cancer."

Cassian rounds the counter and tries to wrestle the scissors from his grip. But with years of self-defence on my shoulders, I work around him with grace, keeping the scissors and pack of smokes close to me as I make a dash for the living room. The house we're staying is a rental that smells of jasmine and old books. And while the smell isn't pleasing, the hardwood flooring is; I can easily slide across it in my tights.

"Penelope!" Cassian mocks as I skirt around the couch. "It's not safe to run with scissors!"

I snort, cutting the fifth cigarette in half. "It's not safe to burn your lungs with chemicals, Cassian!" I tease. With embellishment, I toss the broken cigarette to the ground. "Besides, if I accidentally cut myself with these scissors, my skin would heal. Your lungs, however, with these toxic fumes, would not. Do you see the point I'm trying to make?"

"No," Cassian spits, resting his hands on the back of the couch. "All I see is you wasting my money."

I slip behind the empty nesting chair beside the sliding glass doors, my gaze locked with his. Cassian is intimidatingly broad and thick, with long dark hair that's been pulled into a haphazard man bun. If he were to grow a beard, it would be the wet dream of a hipster. The sour look on his face, however, is ten times sexier than his bodily elements. I like the firm line of his full lips and the prominent crease between his brows.

His brown eyes, so big and bold, top the list of favourable attributes. They're the colour of melted dark chocolate, strokes of whisky painting the area around the pupil.

"Penelope," he growls. "If you cut that last cigarette in half, you'll be sorry."

A grin spreads across my lips. "Oh," I tease, extracting the last cigarette. I drop the empty pack to the hardwood. "I'm terrified." I snip the first quarter away, listening to the soft thump it makes against the floor. "What." The second quarter gives way. "Am I." The third one follows. "Going to do?" I drop the last piece, watching flakes of tobacco flutter through the air. With our plans, he'll have no time to stop at a gas station to buy more.

He cocks a thick eyebrow. "Run."

The next scene happens quickly. I turn around, sprinting for the sliding glass doors. If I can get outside, I can outrun Cassian—none of the beaches are owned, despite being in people's backyards. I could run for kilometres down the sandy shore. He'd give up and circle back. But before I can wrench the doors open, Cassian jumps over the nesting chair and scoops me up into his arms. "I should throw you in the lake," he murmurs, nodding at the view before us. "Those were an investment."

My face falls. "Cassian. No. Put me down."

He grins at the ceiling and then reaches for the handle. "Nah, I don't think I will." He opens the door.

Panic fluctuates through my chest. He will throw me in the lake. He'll throw me right off the dock. "Cassian," I plead. "I'll look like a drowned rat if you throw me in the water."

"That's what showers are for," he shrugs, stepping out into the lazy summer air.

I've been in the Okanagan since Jake and Gemma's wedding back in June, scoping out as much information as I can about Utterly Uncorked. I've also been visiting my adoptive family and helping them out at their local restaurant. Cassian's been travelling back and forth between the Okanagan and Saanich, so he's not accustomed to the arid climate. The temperatures have dropped during the evening, which means the lake is going to be freezing. Not to mention, I'll be eaten by the Ogopogo. I grew up in the Okanagan—I know all the tricks and perks. I know of the monster at the bottom of the lake and how it lives under Rattlesnake Island. 

I'm freaking terrified of the Ogopogo!

"Cassian!" I scream, wiggling in his arms. "Put me down! I can't swim in this lake! The Ogopogo will eat me!"

Cassian pauses, glancing down at me with an amused smirk. "You don't think she's real, do you?"

"She brushed up against my leg while I was swimming. It happened when I was, like, six or seven, and I'll never forget it." I punch him in the shoulder, cold sweat dripping down my neck. "Seriously, Cassian. Put. Me. Down."

He sighs, setting me down on my feet. Aware of my flushing cheeks, I adjust my skirt and the dip of my blouse. "Thank you," I reply, using my professional voice. "I would have murdered you in your sleep had you completed your plans."

He grins down at me, his breath hot on my face. It smells faintly of stale cigarette smoke and cinnamon gum. My hand twitches to rub the dark stubble along his jawbone, to caress his broad cheekbones and strong nose. To feel his soft skin. "I will get revenge, Penelope," he whispers.

"Sure," I breathe.

Cassian narrows his eyes at me. "I'm showering first."

My face falls. "What? No! You'll use up all the hot water!"

His grin returns. "Too fucking bad, Pen. That's what happens when you destroy my smokes."

I have the urge to stomp my foot against the stamped concrete like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Cassian, despite practicing sustainability, will spend hours in the shower. I don't know what the hell he does in there, be it jerking off to a picture of Ophelia or having random arguments with his imaginary friends, but the hot water will be nonexistent by the time he's done. He'll use all the damn towels, too.

But I suppose it's only fair. Cassian rarely smokes. In fact, today was the first time I've seen him do it in months. Since catching him outside of his cabin at Cape Scott, I think I've seen him smoke seven times. His numbers are nothing compared to the average statistics of a regular smoker. I'd rather him not smoke at all.

"Fine," I mumble. "But I'm choosing which restaurant we go to."

"Deal," he replies. "And you're buying me a new pack of smokes."

Without another word, Cassian turns around and slips through the doorway. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, watching the way his dress shirt hugs his toned figure. The way his dress pants hug the muscles in his sexy bum whenever they flex.

"Goddamn it," I mutter, wiping a line of sweat from my forehead. I trudge after him, stepping into the house just in time to hear the bathroom door slam.

Sighing, I hoist myself up onto the counter and grab an orange from the fruit bowl. I peel it, wishing it was enough to distract me from my Cassian problem. It's obvious he's pining after Ophelia—whom he knew and crushed on during middle school—but I can't prevent myself from succumbing to his charm. If he's the plausible liar, then I'm the fool who believes him. If he's a drug, then I have an addiction that can't be satisfied.

I pop a piece of orange in my mouth and chew. If Gemma wasn't in Thailand, I would call her for advice. After facing every type of man imaginable, she's wise with men. She knows how to scout out their weaknesses and crack into their minds. Then again, I don't want to be the woman who pines over a man she can't have. I can only imagine all the brute names they would call me.

I sigh again. Why hasn't the world become any easier for women? Why are we still dealt double standards and inequality? A man can have who he wants and be called determined when he fights for her—even if she doesn't want him. A woman gets called possessive and obsessed. If our roles were switched, Cassian would be a god.

Another piece of orange finds its way into my mouth. And when the juicy sweetness spreads across my tongue, I wish it were alcohol.

I could really use that gin and tonic right about now.

"All right. You can shower now."

His voice takes me by surprise, causing me to drop the orange. I slide down from the counter and spin around, coming face-to-face with Cassian. We're almost the same height, but he's got more muscle packed on than three of me combined. Which is my polite way of asking, Who can blame me for staring at his desirable body?

Steam isn't spilling from the small crack beneath the door across the hallway—that's how short his shower was. At this rate, I'm going to be able to shampoo my oily hair or shave my prickly leg without needing to worry about feeling ice spill down my bare skin. 

My mouth turns dry at the sight of him, his lower body wrapped in nothing but a towel. Cassian's body is ridiculous. He's all sculpted muscle and dark skin and tattoos. The salmon that's inked in black, white, and red on his left pectoral is an ode to his Indigenous blood, representing abundance, prosperity, and determination. It's been inked into his skin in an abstract format, with thick lines and defined shapes. I want to trace every line and shape with my lips.

I elbow Cassian in the ribs. "That was a quick shower. What happened to using all the hot water?"

Without his man bun, Cassian's hair flows down to his shoulder blades. It's much longer than it was when we met, but the hairstyle looks ravishing on him. He flinches, pressing a hand to where I elbowed him. "I'm hungry," he shrugs. There's a confused crease between his brows. "And I want a drink. I need to get my mind off of our fucked-up meeting."

"Very well," I sigh. "I'll be quick."

I push past Cassian and head for the bathroom. To my surprise, there are two towels laid out across the vanity. Three bottles sit there as well: my shampoo, conditioner, and favourite body wash—champagne toast from Bath & Body Works. My makeup bag sits next to the sink.

There's only one person who could've collected my belongings from my bedroom.

My heart flutters as I shut the door behind me.

Yeah, I need that freaking gin and tonic.

* * *

"Thank you so much for getting us in, Gabriel. I know our reservations were brief notice," I tell my cousin as he guides us to our table. Gabriel works at a high-end restaurant in the downtown area of West Kelowna, right next to the new hotel that was recently built.

He pats my back. "Any time. Things get stale around here when all the regulars hit up the bar. Maggie, the functioning alcoholic, has countless stories about her glory days. If you're looking for the definition of dysfunctionality, take the stool next to hers." He pats my back again. "It's nice to have fresh blood in here."

Cassian snorts. "Don't you guys get tourists?"

"Yeah," Gabriel replies, "but tourists are boring. They only care about aesthetics. Having locals like Penelope gives this place character." He pauses and glances at me. "How are you two getting home?"

"A cab," I reply.

"I was just thinking," Cassian interrupts. "If Pen is a local, then how is her blood new?"

Gabriel sets our menus down on the table. "She's never been to this restaurant before. That's how her blood is new. Anyway, if you guys need anything or want anything specific, that's not on the menu, give me a holler." A sly grin crosses his face. "I am the head chef."

Cassian frowns. "And you're willing to put your staff through hell by making something that isn't on the menu?"

Gabriel rolls his eyes. "No, I'm willing to put in the extra effort for my cousin." He flashes me a warm smile. "It's good to see you again, Penelope. Let me know what night you want to get together for catch-up drinks."

"Thanks again, Gabriel," I smile.

He squeezes my arm before heading back into his domain, also known as the kitchen.

Cassian sits down across from me, leans across the table, and pries the drink menu from my hand. He stares down at the list. "God, these drinks are expensive."

"Finally," I chuckle. "Something we agree on."

"We agree on a lot," Cassian shrugs. "The composition of oxygen and the fact our lungs need it, whether the world needs another Twilight novel, that gin is disgusting."

I glance over my shoulder at the bar, focusing on the bottles of gin that line the back. I'm in the mood for Empress Gin, but I'd also take the cheap shit. Anything that's going to get my mind off of today's meeting and Ophelia Henry. I turn back to him. "I don't think we agree on that last statement."

Cassian's eyes glimmer with humour as the corner of his mouth pulls to one side. "Okay, maybe not the last one."

He picks up a piece of the complementary bread our server has set down. "Hello, my name is Wren and I'll be your server tonight. Is there anything I can get you to drink?"

"I'll have a gin and tonic with lime, please," I reply. "And he'll have a whisky on the rocks. Preferably Pendleton whisky if you have it."

"Of course," she smiles. "Anything else? Some appetizers, perhaps?"

"We'll get the calamari and deep fried pickles," Cassian smiles. "And keep the drinks coming. Pen and I are here to forget."

I smile at the server. She must think we're aiming to get drunk and then screw each other before the night ends. "We've had a long day at work," I clarify. "A meeting he thinks didn't go very well."

"Ah," Wren smiles. A strand of her dark brown hair falls in her face. "I understand. There's nothing wrong with needing to ease the tension. I'll be back with your drinks. The appetizers will take about ten minutes."

I doubt our appetizers will take over five minutes with Gabriel as the head chef, but I let her get on with her work instead of speaking out. Instead, I turn to Cassian. "Can I ask you something?"

He chews and swallows enough to answer. "No, Pen, I will not tell them to change this God-awful elevator music." He reaches over and grabs another slice of bread, saturating it with herb butter. "Now I have a question for you, Montgomery. Why'd you move to Vancouver?"

I roll my eyes and ignore his question. While I'm fairly open with Jake and Cassian, I haven't delved too much into why I moved away from my adoptive family. While I appreciate their hospitality and their willingness to care for me and love me, and while I love them just as much as they love me, I've always wanted to find my biological parents. Moving to Vancouver was part of that pipe dream. Four years ago, I came across a lead that led me to Vancouver. The lead came up short, but my love for the city developed. Overall, the lack of knowing who my biological parents are is too difficult to discuss.

"I don't mind the elevator music," I admit. "What I'm wondering is why you think we failed today's meeting? Aside from your nerves you can't seem to override."

Cassian breaks off a piece of bread and pops it into his mouth, chewing. "Our presentation time was cut short. Jake said we needed two hours to convince Utterly Uncorked we're a dependable team."

I raise a sculpted eyebrow. "What if we're just that good we got our point across in under two hours?"

He shakes his head, a strand of his hair coming loose from the man bun. "More time equals more convincing. We should have waited until he got back."

"I disagree." Although I want to enjoy the calamari, I take a piece of bread and break it in half, dipping it in the balsamic reduction. "I think we did an exceptional job without Jake. In case you've forgotten, I also have a degree in business."

Cassian gives me a look. "I'm not trying to downplay your skills, Pen. All I'm saying is that out of everyone I know, both male and female, Jake has people skills. He's good at persuading people without being manipulative."

I chew slowly. Jake's people skills are something I can't argue about with Cassian. Over the years I've been part of Elemental Coffee, I've seen Jake with different age groups and different people. He's a natural at making the room feel welcoming and relaxed. He's persuasive, too.

"Fine," I reply. "I'll agree with you. But I still think we did an exceptional job. By the end of the week, we'll have the partnership."

Just as I finish my sentence, Wren arrives with our drinks. "One whisky on ice and one gin and tonic with lime. Have we decided on anything to eat yet?"

I glance at Cassian. God knows I wasn't reviewing the menu while we were talking. He sends a sheepish smile at Wren. "We got caught up in conversation. Can we have a few more minutes?"

"For sure," Wren smiles. "Take your time."

When Wren walks away, I pick up my menu and scan the list. Anything Gabriel cooks will be fantastic, so I go with the cheapest item on the menu: a chef's salad. Even if Gabriel said whatever we order is on the house, I don't want him losing too much revenue because of me and Cassian.

"I think I'm going to get the clubhouse sandwich," Cassian says. "And I bet you're getting the chef's salad."

I set the menu down and pick up my drink, taking a long, soothing sip. "What made you guess?" I drawl. "My apparent love for salads?"

"Just a pinch," he chuckles.

I roll my eyes. Cassian always makes fun of my love for salads, despite my reasoning being valid. They're a universal dish that can be made in any way you desire. You can make a garden salad, a Caesar salad, a Greek salad, a pasta salad—basically anything can be made into a salad. Even bread can be added to a salad. My favourite guilty pleasure is a panzanella salad with extra garlic and fennel.

"How pathetic are we?" he jokes. "Ordering the cheapest things at a five-star restaurant. We should have gone to a pub instead."

I pick up a piece of bread and toss it at Cassian. It whacks his forehead. "Despite choosing the cheapest meals, the food will be five-star level. Gabriel will make sure of that."

He picks up the piece of bread and inspects it.

"Gabe is probably—"

My phone rings.

I withdraw it from my purse, holding a finger up to Cassian. "Hold that thought." I tap the accept button and bring it to my ear. "Hello?"

"Hello, is this Penelope Montgomery?"

I frown at Cassian, not recognizing the voice on the other line.

"Who is it?" he mouths.

"Speaking," I reply, waving Cassian off. He's clutching the piece of bread I threw at him so tightly it's moulded to the shape of his grip.

"Hi, Penelope, it's Ophelia Henry calling. I just wanted to update you about the direction my team has gone. After much consideration, we would like to team up with Elemental Coffee for the foreseeable future. We think both our businesses will greatly benefit from one another."

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. I had been expecting this call, but not today. I thought Utterly Uncorked would take their time to mull over our potential partnership. "Well, that's wonderful. Thank you so much for giving us this chance. We're looking forward to working with you."

"Please," Ophelia smiles, "the pleasure is all mine. I have your contact information, so I will e-mail you the details sometime this week. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening. We'll be in contact soon."

"Yes, of course," I reply. "Thank you for allocating your time to call us. Cassian sends his regards. I'll keep my eye out for the e-mail."

Ophelia and I exchange goodbyes. Stuck in a pool of disbelief, I set my phone down and stare at Cassian. "We got the partnership," I breathe.

Cassian's face portrays several emotions over several seconds, ranging from shock to disbelief to a bold, glowing smile. Instead of exchanging congratulatory words with me, he signals the server.

"Is everything okay?" Wren asks.

"Everything is perfect," Cassian replies, toasting his glass in her direction. He tosses back the rest. "Can we get another round of drinks, please? And we'd like to add an order of your surf 'n turf to our order." He glances at me. "To share."

Although I feel guilty for stealing revenue from Gabriel with such an expensive order, I can't stop myself from picking up my glass and clinking it against Cassian's. As I shake my head, a smile paints my lips. Now, I can breathe a sigh of relief. Cassian's happy. Jake will be happy.

"Of course," Wren smiles. "I'll place the order and bring your drinks right away."

When Wren is gone, I smile at Cassian. "See? What did I tell you? We fucked nothing up."

Cassian throws his head back and laughs. "Fine, Montgomery. I'll give you the win."

Shaking my head, I toss back the rest of my drink, a slight buzz blurring the edges of my mind.

Just like the day Jake and Gemma got married, everything feels right in the world.