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151
Matteo’s POV
Dinner with Gianna was an exercise in restraint, though I’m not sure why I bothered anymore. She’d made it clear after the night we spent together that we were employer and employee-nothing more, nothing less.
Yet, there I was, sitting across from her at a quiet restaurant, trying not to stare at how the soft lighting caught the warmth of her skin or how her lips curved slightly when she read the menu.
“Don’t get the salmon,” I said, breaking the silence.
She glanced up, one eyebrow arched. “Why not?”
“Because it’s dry here. Trust me, I’ve been to this place enough times to know.”
Gianna set the menu down and folded her arms on the table. “And you’re suddenly an expert on everything now?”
I smirked, leaning back in my chair. “I’ve been accused of worse.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of amusement in them. “Fine. What would the expert recommend?”
“The risotto,” I said without missing a beat. “It’s one of the few things they don’t manage to ruin.”
Her lips twitched, as if she were fighting a smile, but she nodded. “Risotto it is.”
The waiter came and went, and soon we were nursing glasses of wine while waiting for our food. It should have been a simple dinner-just an employer and employee debriefing after a long day. But every time I tried to steer the conversation toward work, she deflected.
“So,” I said, swirling my glass, “how long are you planning to pretend you didn’t hear me earlier about that marketing pitch?”
“I wasn’t pretending,” she replied smoothly. “I just didn’t think your input was relevant.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You know, most people find me charming.”
“Most people are easily fooled.”
Her deadpan delivery caught me off guard, and I found myself grinning despite her sharp tongue.
“You wound me,” I said, placing a hand over my heart.
“You’ll survive,” she replied dryly, but her eyes softened slightly, betraying her amusement.
When the food arrived, I couldn’t resist testing the waters further.
“Is it good?” I asked, watching as she took her first bite of the risotto.
“It’s… fine,” she said after a moment, her tone neutral.
“Fine?” I echoed, feigning offense. “That’s the best risotto in the city, and all you can say is ‘fine’?”
She shrugged, taking another bite. “Maybe you overhyped it.”
“Or maybe you have terrible taste,” I shot back.
“Coming from the man who thinks black coffee is a personality trait?” she retorted, raising an eyebrow.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Touche.”
As the meal went on, I found myself leaning into the banter, letting the conversation flow naturally. It was easy with her, even when she kept me at arm’s length.
“So, Gianna,” I said, my tone deliberately light, “what do you do for fun? Or is work your entire personality?”
She paused, her fork halfway to her mouth, and gave me a look. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“Come on,” I said, leaning forward slightly. “You have to have some hobbies. Knitting? Bird watching? Secret karaoke sessions?”
She set her fork down and crossed her arms. “Why do you care?”
“Because I’m trying to get to know you,” I said honestly.
Her expression softened for a split second before she straightened her posture, the walls going back up. “We work together, Matteo. That’s all this is.”
“And what’s wrong with knowing the people you work with?” I countered, keeping my tone casual even as her words stung.
She sighed, her fingers toying with the stem of her wine glass. “This isn’t a team-building exercise. You don’t need to know my favorite color or what I do on weekends to get the job done.”
“Maybe not,” I admitted, “but it wouldn’t kill you to loosen up a little.”
Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought I’d pushed too far.
“I’m perfectly fine as I am,” she said coolly.
“I never said you weren’t,” I replied gently. “But there’s more to life than work, Gianna. You know that, right?”
She didn’t respond immediately, her gaze fixed on the tablecloth. When she finally looked up, her expression was unreadable.
“Let’s keep this professional,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.
The rest of the dinner passed in relative silence, the earlier ease between us replaced by a tension that neither of us acknowledged.
When the check came, I reached for it automatically, but she beat me to it.
“I’ll split it,” she said, pulling out her card.
I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to-”
“I insist,” she said, cutting me off.
I leaned back, holding up my hands in mock surrender. “Fine. Have it your way.”
She paid her half without another word, her movements efficient and precise, as if she were eager to get the evening over with.
After we paid the bill, we walked out of the restaurant, heading back to the hotel. The both of us were quiet, and though I wanted to talk to her, I hated to be a bother and she looked like she wanted all of her space at the moment.
I sighed deeply, wondering what exactly I was doing wrong that had her pushing me away every time I thought I was beginning to make progress. I knew she felt the same way I felt for her, and I knew her reasons for wanting to keep this professional, but still…it wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot, would it?
“Thanks for dinner,” she said, her tone polite but still distant.
“Anytime,” I replied, watching as she hailed a cab. “I thought we were both walking back?”
“I’m too tired to do that,” she answered without looking at me. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the meeting.” She climbed into the cab and it drove off fast in the direction of the hotel.
I watched it vanish out of my line of sight and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d crossed an invisible line that she wasn’t ready for me to approach.