Elias startled awake, sitting up. For a moment confused about how he had gotten into this really opulent room. Then he relaxed once he remembered how he got himself into Cassian's mansion. He's surprised there wasn't a gun out to his head that morning.
He settled back into the pillows, burrowing deeper with a long, pleased sigh. The bed was too soft, the sheets smelled faintly like lavender detergent. Morning sunlight spilled faintly through gauzy curtains, bathing the room in a light warm glow.
He remained content until he remembered the catch that came with this newfound pleasure.
"How do you plan to pay me back for saving your life?"
That fucking little shit of a mafia.
Elias groaned, flipping on his stomach and pressing his face into the pillow. "He's going to be the death of me."
Running away wasn't an option. That much he knew. Cassian Frost didn't strike him as the kind of man who'd lose sleep over hunting him down. And if Cassian got bored enough… Elias wasn't stupid. Dead background character. Unceremonious fade-to-black. End of arc.
No, thank you.
He rolled over and stared at the ceiling, trying to think. He had read this stupid book — well, skimmed, really. Skipped the long political nonsense, the business jargon, the gritty mafia subplots… and, okay, maybe he did skip straight to the spicy bits. Which were surprisingly written in excruciating detail. But now that was biting him in the ass because he couldn't remember who of the many villains exactly deserved to die at this point of the plot. There were so many smug bastards in the book.
He dragged a hand through his hair and sighed. "God, I really fucked up."
Fine. Lying here was not doing him any favours. He had to get up and get to work, so this would all be over sooner before he gets killed by either Cassian or his target.
He climbed out of bed, bare feet touching the cool marble floor. Elias smirked at the fuzzy furry white slippers and slipped it on. He peeked into the bathroom and gawked at the wide space. One could throw a party in here. There were lots of mirrors and a huge tub. Yeah, he was definitely going to enjoy this to the fullest before he gets kicked out or killed. He perked into every drawer he spotted as he brushed his teeth.
When he finished, he decided to explore more and go downstairs. The hallway outside his room stretched wide and silent, like a museum. He hardly paid attention to it after he was led to the room last night by an elusive guard. He half-expected to see Cassian's portrait on the wall, smirking down at him.
Following the faint scent of coffee, he found his way downstairs to the dining room. It looked even better on a second look, as if it was extracted straight from a magazine spread. His ogling cut short as his mouth watered and stomach greeted the room with a loud rumble. Breakfast was a spread of eggs, fruit, toast, pancakes, waffles, and juice. He swallowed thickly, ready to eat it all when he noticed Cassian sat the other end of the table.
For a moment, Elias didn't recognize him. Gone was the usual tailored dark suit. In its place, a simple loose black top with the sleeves rolled up, veins visible on his forearms, hair still damp from a shower. The man looked almost… normal. Now, Elias understood what his sister meant by him being hot.
Damn!
Cassian met his gaze and gave a questioning look.
"Morning," Elias croaked, voice embarrassingly small.
Cassian's brow arched slightly. "Sit."
Elias did as told, mostly because his legs didn't trust him not to. The smell of food called to him, and his stomach immediately betrayed him with a loud growl. Cassian's mouth twitched.
"You didn't eat dinner," Cassian said, cutting neatly into his omelette. "I assumed you'd be hungry."
"Thanks," Elias muttered, reaching for toast. He took a bite and moaned at how good it tasted. "Oh my god, this is—"
Cassian's eyebrow lifted.
Elias cleared his throat. "—fine. It's fine. Just… normal toast."
Cassian hummed softly. "Eat more. We have things to do today."
"Things?" Elias repeated suspiciously. "Already?"
Cassian didn't elaborate. Breakfast went on mostly in silence, broken only by the faint clinking of silverware. Elias tried not to stare too long at Cassian. He really did. But the man was so distracting. It's probably his face or his annoyingly big presence.
When Cassian finished, he stood smoothly. "Freshen up. We're leaving in twenty minutes."
"Where are we going?"
Cassian didn't answer. He was already gone.
Twenty minutes later, Elias found himself standing in a high-end clothing boutique. Now, he was confused. What does the mafia boss mean by going shopping? He thought they were going to kill someone.
"We're getting you some clothes."
"Why exactly?" He muttered, feeling a bit embarrassed.
"For the role you're going to play tonight."
Elias blinked. "Role?"
Cassian didn't respond immediately, just handed a pile of clothes to a waiting attendant and said, "Put these in a fitting room."
Elias crossed his arms. "I can dress myself."
"I'm sure you can," Cassian said dryly. "Now, be good and do as I say."
Elias scowled. "You're unbelievable." Elias sighed dramatically but followed the attendant anyway. When he stepped into the fitting room and saw what Cassian had chosen, his soul nearly left his body.
"Absolutely not," he blurted.
The outfit, if it could even be called that, was sheer. Thin fabric, translucent enough to show skin underneath, with a neckline that dipped scandalously low.
"Is this—" he turned, yelling through the door, "—is this a shirt or foreplay?!"
Outside, he heard Cassian's low voice. "Put it on."
"Hell no!"
"Elias." His name rang like a low warning.
Elias groaned and stared at the offending fabric. "I hate this world," he muttered, and began changing.
When he stepped out, his face was flaming so hard, he thought it might combust. Cassian didn't smirk or leer when he looked his way. He simply assessed like Elias was some kind of project he was refining.
Elias tugged at the hem self-consciously. "I look ridiculous."
"You look perfect," Cassian said simply.
Elias's face burned. "That's—don't say that like it's not weird!"
Cassian ignored him and gestured to the mirror. "Spin."
"I'm not—"
"Elias."
He spun. Muttering curses.
Cassian finally nodded in approval and turned to the attendant. "Wrap the rest. We'll take them all."
Elias stared. "You can't be serious. That's like—ten outfits!"
"I know." Cassian signed the receipt without a second glance. "Consider it an investment."
"In what, public humiliation?"
Cassian didn't answer, just handed him a small perfume bottle. The glass shimmered faintly, the scent inside rich and dark.
"What's this?" Elias asked warily.
"It covers scent."
Elias blinked. "Come again?"
Cassian stepped closer, so close Elias could see the faint flecks of grey in his irises. "To hide my scent on you. If anyone gets too close, they won't know you've been near me."
Elias's breath hitched. "I—I don't think anyone's sniffing me that hard, Cassian."
The corner of Cassian's mouth twitched. "You'd be surprised."
Elias fumbled with the bottle. "So… I'm your decoy now?"
Cassian took a step back, his gaze sharp again. "We're meeting someone tonight. You'll play a part. You don't need to know details — just what to do."
Elias swallowed hard. "And that is…?"
Cassian's eyes found his. "Flirt with him."
For a moment, Elias thought he'd misheard. "What."
"You heard me."
Elias stared, jaw slack. "You want me to flirt? With your target?"
Cassian's tone didn't waver. "He won't expect it. And while you're keeping his attention, I'll handle the rest."
Elias hissed. "Are you insane? I can't— I'm fucking scared."
Cassian's voice dropped lower, colder. "Then I'll be there to make sure he doesn't."
Elias's pulse roared. He wanted to argue, to scream, but with Cassian looking at him like that, he couldn't find the words. He hated that part of him felt safer in Cassian's presence.
"You better."
Cassian leaned close enough for Elias to feel the warmth of his breath against his ear. "Be a good darling for me tonight, will you?"