128
Gianna’s POV
The conference room was too quiet. The kind of quiet that didn’t suit Matteo Abramo. Normally, he’d be cracking a joke by now, leaning back in his chair as if the weight of the world-or the company’s reputation-was something he could charm his way out of.
But this morning? Silence. It made me uneasy.
I scanned the table where my team was seated. Reports spread out like a battlefield, coffee cups half-empty, and a faint tension lingering in the air. Matteo sat at the far end, fidgeting with his pen. He caught my glance and gave me a grin that was almost disarming. Almost.
“Alright,” I said, clasping my hands together. “Let’s get started. Matteo, do you have the client brief ready?”
He straightened up, pushing the pen aside, and reached for his laptop. “Yep. It’s all here.”
“Good.” I didn’t miss the slight edge of uncertainty in his voice. “Let’s see it.”
He projected his screen onto the conference room wall, and I stood, moving closer to the screen as he began his presentation. His voice was steady, confident even, as he walked us through his pitch. I couldn’t help but notice his enthusiasm-it was one of his better traits, even if he had a tendency to let it cloud his judgment.
By the time he finished, I’d caught three errors and two assumptions that could tank the proposal if left unchecked. Typical Matteo-90% charm, 10% planning. But it wasn’t entirely bad. He’d clearly put in effort, and that was more than I could say for some of the others.
I leaned against the table, crossing my arms. “Not bad,” I said. “But not great either.”
His grin faltered. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Your demographic research is thin,” I said, pointing at one of the charts. “You’re making a lot of assumptions about what the client wants without backing it up with data. If we pitch this as it is, they’ll tear us apart.”
Matteo’s expression shifted, the confidence fading just a bit. “I can fix that,” he said quickly.
“I know you can,” I replied, my tone sharper than I intended. “But next time, make sure it doesn’t need fixing. This isn’t school, Matteo. Half-baked work doesn’t cut it here.”
The room went quiet, And I felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on me. Matteo didn’t flinch, though. He nodded, his jaw tightening. “Got it.”
“Good.” I pushed away from the table and headed back to my seat. “Now, let’s move on to the next item.”
The meeting wrapped up an hour later, and the team filed out, leaving Matteo and me alone in the room. He was packing up his things when I finally spoke.
“Matteo,” I said, not looking up from my notebook.
He paused, glancing over at me. “Yeah?”
“You did well today,” I admitted, still scribbling notes. “But you need to tighten up. Enthusiasm is great, but it won’t save you if the foundation isn’t solid.”
“I’ll work on it,” he said, and I could hear the sincerity in his voice.
I finally looked up, meeting his gaze. “Good.”
For a moment, he just stood there, as if debating whether to say something else. Then he smiled-one of those boyish, charming smiles that probably got him out of trouble more often than not.
“Thanks, boss,” he said.
“Don’t call me that,” I replied automatically, but there was no real bite to my words.
He left, and I sat back in my chair, rubbing my temples. Matteo was a wildcard, no doubt about it. He had potential, sure, but he also had a knack for skating by on charm and instinct. It was frustrating.
And yet, there was something about him-something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Maybe it was his drive or his unshakable optimism. Or maybe it was just that he reminded me of someone I used to be, back when I still believed ambition was enough to carry you through.
I shook off the thought and turned back to my notes. There was too much to do and not enough time to dwell on Matteo Abramo.
An hour later, I was in my office, knee-deep in emails, when there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I called, not looking up.
The door opened, and Matteo stepped inside, holding two cups of coffee. “Peace offering?” he said, holding one out to me.
I raised an eyebrow. “What are you trying to bribe me for now?”
“No bribes,” he said, setting the cup on my desk. “Just figured you could use a caffeine boost.”
I studied him for a moment, trying to gauge his motives. He didn’t look nervous, which was unusual for someone in my office without a good reason.
“Alright,” I said finally, taking the coffee. “What do you want?”
“Nothing,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “Just wanted to say thanks for the feedback earlier. I know I’ve got a lot to learn, but I’m working on it.”
I took a sip of the coffee, hiding my surprise. “That’s… unexpectedly mature of you.”
He grinned. “I have my moments.”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” I said, but I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of my mouth.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, pushing off the doorframe. “I’ll let you get back to work. Just wanted to say thanks.”
As he left, I found myself staring at the coffee cup in my hand, a strange mix of frustration and admiration swirling in my chest. Matteo Abramo was a pain in the ass, no doubt about it. But maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than I’d given him credit for.
I took a sip and smiled. He knew just exactly how I liked my coffee. I shook my head, a chuckle escaping my lips before I forced myself to focus on the work I was dealing with once again. I was too busy to let myself dwell on the thoughts of a worker.