135
Matteo’s POV
The hum of Gianna’s laptop was the only sound in the room, save for the occasional rustle of papers as I flipped through reports. We’d agreed to use the evening to finalize everything for tomorrow’s meetings, but the silence between us was almost suffocating. Not awkward-Gianna was too self-assured for that-but dense, like the quiet demanded my respect.
She sat cross-legged on the bed, her blazer discarded on the chair, leaving her in a crisp white shirt with sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her focus was absolute, her fingers flying across the keyboard as if her life depended on it. I, on the other hand, had finished my share of the work ten minutes ago and was trying to resist the urge to interrupt her.
“Are you always this intense when you work?” I finally asked, breaking the silence.
She didn’t look up. “Intense gets results.”
“Fair enough. But do results always mean sacrificing your sense of humor?”
That earned me a flick of her gaze. “My sense of humor is intact, thank you.”
I smirked. “Sure it is. I just haven’t seen it yet.”
Her lips twitched-almost a smile. Progress.
I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms behind my head. “Come on, Gianna. Even CEOs laugh once in a while. Tell me the last time you found something genuinely funny.”
She stopped typing, tilting her head in thought. “Does watching you fumble through introductions at that client dinner count?”
“Ouch,” I said, clutching my chest dramatically. “Straight for the kill.”
She smiled, a quick and fleeting thing, but it was enough to keep me going.
“Seriously, though,” I pressed. “You’ve got to have a story. Something that made you laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe.”
Gianna sighed, leaning back against the headboard. “Fine. When I was in college, my roommate convinced me to go to this comedy improv show. I was skeptical, but the performers were surprisingly good. At one point, they brought a guy from the audience onstage, and he completely stole the show. Turns out, he wasn’t a random audience member-he was the headliner, planted there to warm up the crowd.”
I grinned. “That’s actually pretty clever.”
“It was,” she admitted. “And watching him completely throw the performers off their game was hilarious.”
Her expression softened as she spoke, and for the first time, I saw her relax. It was subtle-the way her shoulders eased, the way her voice lost its usual clipped tone-but it was there.
“See?” I said. “Told you you had a sense of humor.”
“Don’t get used to it,” she replied, but the corner of her mouth curved upward.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table between us. “I’ve got one for you. When I was twelve, Emilia dared me to jump off the roof of our garage into the pool.”
Gianna raised an eyebrow. “Did you do it?”
“Of course I did,” I said, grinning. “What kind of little brother would I be if I didn’t rise to the challenge? Only problem was, I misjudged the distance and ended up hitting the edge of the pool instead of the water.”
She winced. “That sounds painful.”
“It was,” I admitted. “Dad had a good laugh about it. But the real kicker was the lecture I got from our mom afterward. She was so mad she didn’t even notice Emilia hiding behind the curtains, laughing her head off.”
Gianna actually laughed at that, a soft, melodic sound that caught me off guard. It wasn’t the polite chuckle she gave in meetings or the half-hearted scoff she used to deflect my jokes. It was real, and it made something in my chest tighten.
“You’re lucky you didn’t break anything,” she said, shaking her head.
“Luck had nothing to do with it. Pure skill,” I said, flashing her a grin.
“Sure,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Let’s call it that.”
The conversation shifted after that, the tension that usually lingered between us dissolving into something lighter. She closed her laptop, leaning forward to rest her arms on the bed, and for the first time, it felt like we were equals-not boss and employee, but two people sharing a moment.
“You know,” she said, her tone thoughtful, “you’re not what I expected.”
“Oh?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “What did you expect?”
She hesitated, her eyes flicking to mine. “Someone cocky, maybe. Overconfident without the skill to back it up.”
I laughed. “So basically, you expected me to be a disaster.”
“More or less,” she said, smirking. “But you’ve surprised me. You’re good at what you do, Matteo. You just need to work on your delivery.”
“Delivery?” I repeated, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know my delivery is impeccable.”
Gianna gave me a pointed look. “Impeccable delivery doesn’t involve accidentally calling a client by the wrong name.”
“That was one time,” I said, holding up a finger. “And in my defense, Steve and Stan are practically the same name.”
“They’re not,” she said, laughing again.
I leaned back, grinning. “Admit it-you’re starting to like having me around.”
“Don’t push your luck,” she said, but there was no bite to her words.
For a moment, the room was quiet again, but this time, the silence was easy. I watched her as she gazed out the window, her expression unreadable.
“You work too hard,” I said softly.
She glanced at me, her brow furrowing. “It’s part of the job.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s healthy,” I pointed out.
“I don’t have a choice,” she said, her voice quieter now. “This company-it’s everything my family built. I can’t let it fall apart.”
“You’re not letting anything fall apart,” I said, my tone firm. “You’re doing an amazing job, Gianna. But you’re human. You’re allowed to take a break once in a while.”
She looked at me for a long moment, something unreadable in her eyes. “It’s not that simple.”
“Maybe it is,” I said, leaning forward. “You just don’t want to admit it.”
She smiled faintly, shaking her head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Impossible in a good way, though,” I said, flashing her a grin.
Gianna laughed again, the sound filling the room and settling something deep inside me.