144

144
Gianna’s POV.
I didn’t intend to be cold, just distant. The kind of distance that says, I’m over it without having to say it. That’s what I’d been aiming for with Matteo. Professional, cordial, efficient-nothing more.
But Matteo has always had this infuriating way of slipping past boundaries every damn time, even when I set them with the precision of an architect. And today, apparently, he’d decided to bulldoze right through them.
I eyed the cup of coffee that appeared in front of me. A cappuccino, just how I liked it-extra foam, light sprinkle of cocoa powder. I looked up, startled.
Matteo was already settling into the chair across from me, his expression annoyingly unreadable.
“Don’t look at me like I poisoned it,” he said, not even glancing my way as he pulled out his laptop.
“I wasn’t-”
“You were.” He finally looked up, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s coffee, Gianna. Not a bribe. Just… a gesture.”
I frowned, unsure whether to thank him or call him out for being presumptuous. He didn’t wait for either.
“You’ve got a habit of skipping breakfast,” he added casually, as if this was normal workplace conversation.
“How would you know that?” I shot back, immediately defensive.
He raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m observant. And because you’re always in a worse mood when you skip it.”
I opened my mouth to retort but found myself… stumped. He wasn’t wrong, but admitting that felt like giving him too much ground. So I settled for a curt, “Thanks,” and turned my attention back to my notes.
Except I couldn’t focus.
“We have presentation in an hour,” I murmured, getting up from the table and packing my things. I ignored the cup. “Let’s go.”
“You can leave in about thirty minutes,” he started but I narrowed my eyes at him. “I said, let’s go.”
“Fine,” he grumbled, getting up and taking his laptop. I eyed the cup again and against my better judgement, I took it along with me.
My mind was a jumbled mess, a result of too much caffeine and too little sleep. God. I should have slept yesterday instead of burying myself with work. And now I was suffering for it. I blinked a few times, hoping my blurry vision will get clear.
I clicked to the wrong slide, and a tangle of numbers and charts flashed onto the screen.
“Uh…” My mind went blank.
“Actually,” Matteo’s voice cut in smoothly, “this is a good time to discuss projections for next quarter.”
I blinked at him. His tone was calm, authoritative-like this was part of the plan all along. He turned to the room, addressing the small group of clients with the ease of someone born to command attention.
I stood there for a moment, stunned, before catching on and flipping to the correct slide. By the time he was done talking, the room was nodding along, impressed.
He leaned toward me as I sat down, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “Take a breath, Gianna. You’re fine.”
My jaw clenched. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
“No,” he agreed. “But you needed it.”
I wanted to argue, to tell him off for swooping in like some kind of savior. But the truth was, he had saved me. And I hated that I was grateful. I cleared my throat as Mr Clifford, the most important client I’d been hoping to impress got up and walked to me with a satisfied grjn on his face. “My assistant will get back to you, Miss Lorenzo.”
“Thank you, Mr Clifford. I’ll be expecting,” I grinned back at him with relief. The clients left the room one by one and I felt like I could finally take a breath.
“I’m going out for lunch,” Matteo murmured, not waiting for my reply ask he walked out of the conference room.
I ran my hands through my hair, trying to understand the reason for his weird kindness. Was this Matteo’s way of getting under my skin again? Or was it genuine? Did it even matter?
“Earth to Gianna.”
I looked up to find Matteo standing in front of the conference table, holding a takeout bag.
“What now?” I asked, more sharply than I intended.
“Lunch,” he said, setting the bag down. “You missed the catering earlier.”
“I’m perfectly capable of finding my own lunch,” I snapped, glaring at him.
“I’m aware,” he replied, unruffled. “But you didn’t.”
I stared at the bag, my stomach betraying me with a low growl.
“You can keep being mad at me,” he added, stepping back. “But eat something first. You’re unbearable when you’re hungry.”
I wanted to throw the bag at him. I wanted to demand why he cared, why he was suddenly paying attention to every little thing about me. But instead, I opened it.
Inside was my favorite-a turkey and avocado wrap from the cafe downstairs.
“Unbelievable,” I muttered under my breath.
Matteo didn’t respond, just walked away, leaving me to stew in my own confusion.
I ate as fast as I could, refusing to admit to myself that the food was wonderful.
**
Matteo and I were seated side by side, reviewing notes for a meeting with a client tomorrow. I had been trying to hard to pretend that his presence wasn’t affecting me, but that was hard to do because I was hyper aware of everything about him. The way he crossed out some things in his jotter, the way his cologne was wafting through my nose…I was officially on edge.
And then, because the universe clearly had a sense of humor, my pen ran out of ink during a brainstorming session.
“Great,” I muttered, rummaging through my bag. No luck.
“Here.” Matteo held out a sleek black pen.
I hesitated, staring at it like it was a trap.
“It’s a pen, Gianna,” he said dryly. “Not a commitment.”
I snatched it from his hand, muttering a begrudging “Thanks.” And ignoring the painful meaning behind his words.
By the time the workday ended, I was exhausted-not from the workload, but from Matteo.
His kindness was infuriating me. I should have been feeling all giddy about it but instead it was doing the opposite to me. I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just listen to me when I say he should leave me alone.
I stayed late, hoping to avoid any more interactions with him. Packing up my things, I heard his voice behind me.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
I froze, my pulse quickening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play dumb, Gianna. It doesn’t suit you.”
I turned to face him, my defenses up. “What do you want, Matteo?”
His expression softened, and for the first time all day, he looked… sincere. And hurt. “I want to know why you’re acting like I don’t exist.”
“Because it’s easier,” I admitted before I could stop myself.
“Easier than what?”
“Easier than dealing with… this.” I gestured between us, my frustration bubbling over. “I don’t know what we’re doing, Matteo. And I don’t think you do either.”
He stepped closer, his gaze steady. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“Really? Because one minute you’re cold and detached, and the next you’re-”
“Trying to make your day a little easier?” he interrupted. “God forbid.”
I stared at him, thrown by the mix of sarcasm and sincerity in his tone.
“Gianna,” he said softly, “I’m not trying to complicate things for you. But I can’t pretend I don’t care. I can’t pretend I don’t see you.”
The air between us felt heavy, charged with everything unsaid.
“Why?” I whispered, hating how vulnerable I sounded.
His hand brushed mine, tentatively. “Because you’re impossible not to notice.”
I didn’t pull away. I stared at his hands for a few minutes longer, and then I took a step back, shaking my head. “It’s not right. This is not right. You seem to forget that I’m older than you, but I can’t. I can’t do this.”
I grabbed my things and hurried out, leaving him in there alone.