147

147
Gianna’s POV
The moment I set foot into the conference room, I knew something was wrong.
The atmosphere was tense-not the kind of tension I’d expected from a routine meeting, but the kind that prickled the back of your neck. The clients, seated in a neat row at the long table, were whispering amongst themselves, their faces tight with irritation. Matteo was already there, leaning casually against the table, his face a mask of calm confidence.
I strode over to him, keeping my expression neutral. “What’s going on?” I murmured.
Matteo glanced at me, his mouth quirking into an almost-smile. “Our presentation is in the wrong language.”
I blinked. “What?”
He handed me a printout, and sure enough, the neatly arranged slides-our meticulously crafted pitch-were in Spanish. The clients were Dutch.
I sucked in a sharp breath. “How did this happen?”
“No idea,” Matteo said, shrugging. “But freaking out won’t help. You’ve got a plan B, right?”
I opened my mouth to snap back but stopped myself. Plan B? I’d barely had time to register Plan A had fallen apart.
“Gianna,” he said quietly, leaning closer. “Let me handle this.”
I hesitated, every instinct screaming against relinquishing control. This was my project. My reputation. But Matteo’s eyes were steady, calm in a way that made me pause.
“Fine,” I muttered. “Don’t screw this up.”
“Wouldn’t even dare,” he replied with an easy smirk as he turned away from me.
Matteo stepped forward, all easy confidence, and addressed the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the mix-up. Clearly, there’s been a mistake, but I assure you, the substance of our proposal remains the same. With your permission, I’d like to walk you through the key points.”
The clients exchanged skeptical glances, but one of them-a silver-haired man who seemed to be the leader-nodded. “Go ahead.”
Matteo launched into the pitch, switching effortlessly between English and Dutch, much to my surprise. His voice was steady, his gestures measured, and he answered their questions with an ease I envied.
I stayed back, my arms crossed, watching him work. It was infuriating how good he was at this-how he could take a crisis and somehow turn it into an opportunity.
By the time he wrapped up, the tension in the room had eased. The clients were nodding along, even smiling. Matteo thanked them, and they left the room looking impressed rather than annoyed.
When the door closed behind them, I let out a long breath. That was a close call.
“Well?” Matteo said, turning to me with a smug grin. “What do you think?”
“I think you got lucky,” I said, though my tone lacked its usual bite. Truth was I didn’t know if I’d have survived this if he wasn’t here.
“Come on, Gianna,” he said, stepping closer. “Admit it. I saved your ass.”
I crossed my arms, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. “You did fine.”
He laughed, the sound rich and warm, and for a moment, I forgot to be annoyed.
I packed up my things, rolling my eyes at he smug look on his face as I made my way out of the conference room and back to my hotel room. I plopped down on the bed, wondering how easy it was for him to handle himself and our clients with so much confidence that even I wasn’t sure I could muster. The way he handled the room like it was nothing. It was irritating how much I respected it.
But there was something else, too. Something I didn’t want to admit. Watching him command the room had reminded me of another moment when Matteo had been in control-when he’d had me pinned beneath him, his mouth at my ear, his hands on my skin.
I shook my head, trying to banish the memory, but it clung stubbornly, sending a flush of heat through me.
This was ridiculous. One night. That’s all it had been.
And yet, here I was, thinking about him again.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair when a knock rang through my room. I froze, considering pretending that I wasn’t here. It could be only one person by the door. Matteo. I really should pretend like I wasn’t here. But curiosity won out, and I opened it to find him leaning against the frame, looking far too pleased with himself.
“Dinner?” he asked.
I frowned. “What about room service?”
“Room service is boring,” he said. “Come on. You owe me after today.”
I sighed. “Fine. But you’re paying.”
“Sure thing,” he answered with a casual shrug, the grin on his face widening.
“Get out. I need to get dressed,” I murmured with a roll of my eyes and slammed the door shut on his face. I dressed quickly in a top and jeans before walking out of the room.
We ended up at a cozy little restaurant a few blocks from the hotel. The lighting was low, the tables look too much like it was set for couples, and the air filled with the rich scent of spices.
Matteo ordered for both of us, much to my annoyance, but when the food arrived, I couldn’t complain.
“This is good,” I admitted, taking a bite of something warm and savory.
“Told you,” he said, smirking. “You should trust me more often.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue.
For a while, we ate in comfortable silence, the chaos of the day fading into the background.
“Why did you do it?” I asked suddenly, surprising even myself.
Matteo looked up, his brow furrowed. “Do what?”
“Step in during the meeting,” I said. “You could have let me flounder.”
He leaned back in his chair, studying me. “Because we’re a team, Gianna. When you win, I win.”
It was a practical answer, but there was something in his tone-something softer-that made me wonder if there was more to it.
“Well,” I said, looking down at my empty plate. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice gentle. “We should go.”
“Yeah,” I replied with a nod and got up. I waited outside while Matteo paid, and as we walked back to the hotel, I felt confused.
Matteo had saved me today. There was no denying it. And while part of me hated relying on anyone, another part-a quieter, more vulnerable part-was grateful.
But gratitude was dangerous. It opened doors to feelings I wasn’t ready to confront.
I exhaled slowly, rubbing my face just as we reached the hotel, Matteo turned to me, his expression unusually serious.
“You did good today, Gianna,” he said. “Don’t forget that.”
His words lingered long after I closed the door to my room, leaving me with a mix of feelings I wasn’t ready to confront.