150
Matteo’s POV.
This gala was the kind of event I hated but had perfected enduring over the years. Suits too stiff, champagne too warm, and conversations too shallow. Mr Clifford, who was hosting it, is, of course, a big player, and making an appearance wasn’t optional.
I scanned the room, my gaze naturally landing on Gianna. She was near the bar, her sharp black dress cutting a figure that commanded attention without trying. Her head tilted slightly as she listened to some older man in a loud suit, her polite smile firmly in place. I could tell she wasn’t enjoying the conversation; her fingers tapped against her glass in that rhythmic way they did when she was irritated.
The man leaned closer, a little too familiar, and I felt my jaw tighten.
Before I could second-guess myself, I was already walking toward them, sliding into the conversation with a practiced ease.
“Gianna,” I said, my voice cutting cleanly through whatever the guy had been saying. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
Her eyes flicked to mine, widening slightly in surprise before narrowing. I could almost hear her internal debate-should she thank me for the interruption or call me out for interfering?
“Matteo,” she said, her tone neutral but laced with relief. “I didn’t realize you needed me.”
“I always need you,” I said smoothly, ignoring the sharp glance she shot me.
The man in the loud suit frowned, clearly displeased with my arrival. “We were having a conversation,” he said, his tone bordering on indignant.
“Of course,” I replied, my smile not reaching my eyes. “But if you’ll excuse us, I have a matter that requires her immediate attention.”
Without waiting for a response, I gently but firmly guided Gianna away, my hand resting lightly on the small of her back.
“You’re welcome,” I said once we were out of earshot.
“For what?” she asked, her voice tight.
“For saving you from that human embodiment of a used car commercial.”
She huffed out a laugh despite herself, shaking her head. “I had it under control.”
“Sure you did,” I said, smirking. “And I’m sure you were just seconds away from giving him a piece of your mind.”
Her lips twitched, but she didn’t respond, taking a sip of her drink instead.
We found a quiet corner of the room, away from the main throng of guests. I leaned against the wall, watching her as she scanned the crowd, her expression guarded.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said finally, her tone softer than I expected.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t need rescuing,” she said, meeting my gaze head-on.
I nodded, my smile fading. “I know. But that doesn’t mean you have to put up with people like him.”
She stared at me for a moment, as if trying to decipher my motives. “You don’t always have to step in, you know.”
“I know,” I said again, my voice quieter this time. “But I’m going to anyway.”
“Thank you,” she said at last, her voice a little bit too quiet.
“It’s no problem,” I replied, shooting her a small smile. “Matteo to the rescue, anytime.”
She told her eyes, eyeing me slightly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she murmured, just as Mr Clifford called out her name.
She brightened up instantly, though it felt forced and practiced, and she headed straight to where he was with a bunch of other men.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of handshakes and small talk, but my focus never strayed far from Gianna. She moved through the room with the kind of poise that made people take notice, even when she wasn’t trying.
I caught glimpses of her throughout the night-laughing at something a client said, nodding thoughtfully during a conversation, her eyes scanning the crowd like she was always one step ahead.
By the time the event began to wind down, I found myself near the bar again, nursing a glass of whiskey. Gianna appeared beside me, her expression unreadable.
“Do you always have to play the hero?” she asked, her voice light but edged with something I couldn’t quite place.
“Only when the damsel is worth it,” I said, meeting her gaze.
She rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite to it. “I’m not a damsel.”
“Never said you were.”
We fell into a companionable silence, the noise of the gala fading into the background.
“Thank you,” she said after a while, so quietly I almost didn’t hear her.
I turned to her, surprised. “For what?”
“For stepping in,” she said, her eyes fixed on her glass. “Even if I didn’t need it.”
I smiled, lifting my drink in a mock toast. “Anytime,” I replied softly, not able to take my eyes off her. “By the way, you’ve said that before, if you don’t remember.”
“I did,” she replied with a shrug. “That man was being an ass. An infuriating ass. And I don’t know what kind of potential client watching us at this event, I can’t just be rude to him,” she explained.
“With all due respect, I can’t handle working with an infuriating ass in the company,” I murmured, frowning slightly as I noticed the man across the room.
“It doesn’t matter. Money is money,” she answered lightly with a shrug, taking a sip from her glass. “We should leave. I told Mr Clifford we were leaving now anyway.”
“Yeah let’s go,” I answered, nodding my head and we both walked out.
As we waited for the valet to bring the car around, she stood beside me, her arms crossed against the chill in the air.
“You’re not what I expected,” she said suddenly, her voice thoughtful.
I glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “You’re… different.”
“Different good or different bad?” I asked, a teasing edge to my voice.
She didn’t answer immediately, her gaze fixed on the street. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer than I’d ever heard it.
“Different good.”
I smiled, the words settling somewhere deep in my chest.
“Careful, Gianna,” I said lightly. “You almost sound like you like me.”
She shot me a look, but there was no real heat behind it. “Don’t push your luck.”
I laughed, the sound echoing in the crisp night air.