149

149
Gianna’s POV
If I hadn’t been hyper aware of Matteo since two nights ago, I wouldn’t have noticed the smallest things he was doing for me. He wasn’t hovering or overt, which made it harder to pinpoint it, but it was there and it was driving me crazy.
Like the coffee on the conference table. I eyed it. And then eyed Matteo who was sitting near the window. We had a meeting this morning and I was too much in a rush to get my coffee as usual. But there was one on the table, still steaming in a cup that wasn’t from the hotels subpar cafe. I eyed it once again and eyed Matteo who was sitting near the window, flipping through his phone like he had t done a single thing out of the ordinary.
“Is this yours?” I asked, holding up the cup.
He looked up, feigning mild confusion. “It’s yours. I figured you’d need something better than whatever they serve downstairs.”
I blinked. “How do you even know how I take my coffee?” That was a pointless question by the way. Because he had been getting me coffee for a few days since we got here.
He smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Gianna, we’ve worked together for years. It’s not exactly a state secret. Plus I’ve been getting you coffee for weeks now. Why is this any different?”
“Right.” I murmured, nodding my head as I sank into the chair. I picked it up and took a long sip, while trying to pretend like his little nice gestures weren’t making my heart constrict all the damn time. “Right,” I murmured again, but didn’t thank him. Not because I wasn’t grateful, but because acknowledging it felt like handing him a win.
The meeting with the client was going seamlessly over a client call, and I walked around the room a bit, gesturing to the projector screen.
“Excuse me?” The client asked, a brow raised as he stared at me with a look that made me pause. And that was when I realized my mistake. I just tripped over a major figure in the presentation.
“Shit,” I murmured to myself, running a hand through my hair as I felt the heat of embarrassment rise to my cheeks.
Before I could recover, Matteo stepped in seamlessly, his tone smooth and confident as he redirected the conversation.
When the call ended, I turned to him, arms crossed. “I had it under control.” And then I blinked, feeling stupid and childish for even arguing with him on something like this in the first place.
“Of course you did,” he said, his voice calm, like he hadn’t just saved me from a professional stumble. “But two voices are better than one, right?”
I wanted to argue, to tell him I didn’t need saving, but the words stuck in my throat. “You’re just being stupid,” I told myself internally, shaking my head as I sat down on the chair and turned to my laptop, trying to ignore him. And I thought that was working until I caught him watching me as we packed up for the day, his expression unreadable.
“What?” I asked, my tone sharper than intended.
“Nothing,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “You just look like you’re overthinking something.”
“I’m not.”
He chuckled, low and knowing. “Sure you’re not.”
I bristled, not because he was wrong, but because he could see it so easily. I rolled my eyes and pushed my laptop and bag into his chest. “Drop this off at my room,” I told him flatly, turning around and moving out of the room.
“What am I now? Your personal assistant?” He asked me and I turned around to see him raising a brow.
“I don’t think I need to remind you that you work for me,” I answered flatly with a slight roll of me eyes. “Take those to my room.”
I didn’t wait for his reply and just walked out, letting my leg lead me wherever until I found myself at the hotel bar, nursing a glass of wine I didn’t particularly want. I felt like I was walking on a tightrope and Matteo was the net below, waiting to catch me whether I liked it or not.
I was halfway through my drink when he appeared, his presence as natural as if we’d planned to meet.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked, already pulling out a chair.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really.” He grinned, ordering a whiskey from the bartender.
We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the hum of conversation around us filling the gaps. I expected him to push, to prod at the cracks in my resolve like he had a knack for doing. But he didn’t.
Instead, he asked about work-nothing personal, nothing loaded. Just the kind of easy, professional chatter I could handle.
But even that felt different, softer somehow.
“You’re not going to make a snarky comment?” I asked after a while, narrowing my eyes at him.
“About what?”
“About anything. Isn’t that your thing?”
Matteo chuckled, shaking his head. “You think I’m all snark and no substance?”
I shrugged, feigning indifference. “If the shoe fits.”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping slightly. “Maybe I just know when to let up.”
There it was again-that patience, that understanding that felt almost out of character for him.
I didn’t respond, turning back to my wine. He was throwing me off balance. God. I hated that. I got up from the chair, eyeing him. “You can pay for our drinks when you’re done,” I told him, flashing my teeth at him in a faux smile and walked out from the bar.
*The next morning*
Today, when I woke up, I had sworn to keep things strictly professional between the both of us. But it seemed fate had other plans.
Currently we were in a cramped meeting room, going over the last minute details for an upcoming pitch. I was running through the agenda when I caught him watching me again, that same unreadable expression on his face.
“What?” I snapped, my patience fraying.
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Nothing. You’re just very… thorough.”
“Thorough is good,” I said, my tone defensive. “Thorough gets results.”
“It does,” he agreed, his voice calm. “But it also drives you crazy if you don’t let yourself breathe once in a while.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. Because, annoyingly, he wasn’t wrong.
“Fine,” I said, crossing my arms. “What do you suggest?”
He smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “How about dinner? My treat.”
I hesitated, torn between the desire to keep my distance and the undeniable pull of his persistence.
“Dinner. That’s it,” I said finally, pointing a finger at him.
“Scout’s honor,” he said, holding up three fingers like a Boy Scout, his grin unmistakable.
Dinner was surprisingly… pleasant. Matteo didn’t push, didn’t probe at my carefully constructed defenses. He let the conversation flow naturally, steering it away from work and anything too personal.
It wasn’t until the server brought the check that I realized how much I’d let my guard down.
“See? That wasn’t so bad,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile.
“Don’t get used to it,” I warned, though the edge in my voice was softened by the faint smile tugging at my lips.
He chuckled, standing as I gathered my things. “Noted.”