154

154
Gianna’s POV
The final night of the trip arrived faster than I anticipated. It had been a whirlwind of back-to-back meetings, client dinners, and endless negotiations, leaving little time for myself. But as I sat in my hotel room, staring at my half-packed suitcase, I felt a twinge of something I couldn’t quite name. Relief? Sadness?
Maybe both.
A knock at my door pulled me from my thoughts. I frowned, glancing at the clock. It was late-too late for a work-related interruption.
“Who is it?” I called out.
“It’s Matteo,” came the reply.
Of course, it was.
I hesitated for a moment before standing and opening the door. He leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, his tie slightly loosened but still annoyingly put together.
“What do you need?” I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.
His lips twitched in what might have been a smirk. “Relax, Gianna. I’m not here to bother you with work. I wanted to check if you were free for a moment.”
“I was about to-” I gestured vaguely at my suitcase. “Never mind. What is it?”
He stepped back, gesturing down the hallway. “Just come with me. It won’t take long.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Matteo, if this is some last-minute work thing-”
“It’s not,” he interrupted, his expression softening. “Trust me.”
The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard, and before I could second-guess myself, I grabbed my room key and followed him.
He led me up a flight of stairs and out onto the rooftop of the hotel. The city stretched out before us, glittering with a thousand golden lights under the night sky, and a soft breeze carried the scent of some kind of flower. I couldn’t tell which one it was exactly, but it smelled nice nonetheless.
In the center of the rooftop was a small table set for two, a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket, and two glasses waiting to be filled.
I stopped in my tracks. “What… is this?”
Matteo turned to face me, his hands sliding into his pockets again. “It’s a thank-you. For everything you’ve done on this trip. For bringing me along, for dealing with impossible clients, and for putting up with me.”
My heart gave an unexpected lurch. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know,” he said, his gaze steady. “But I wanted to.”
I swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. It wasn’t the grand gesture itself that left me speechless-it was the thought behind it. Matteo, the man who had spent the past two weeks teasing, challenging, and frustrating me, had gone out of his way to do something… kind. For me. My heart was literally stuck in my throat at this point.
“Sit,” he said, pulling out a chair for me.
I hesitated but eventually lowered myself into the seat. He took the chair across from me, uncorking the wine with practiced ease and pouring us each a glass.
“To surviving this trip,” he said, raising his glass.
I huffed out a laugh, clinking mine against his. “Barely.”
We sipped in silence for a moment, the weight of the past two weeks settling between us.
“Gianna,” he said after a pause, his voice softer now. “I know I can be… a lot. And I know I’ve made things difficult for you at times.”
I tilted my head, studying him. “You? Difficult? Never.”
His lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I mean it. I push because I know you can handle it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t notice how much you do. For the me, for the clients-for everyone.”
The sincerity in his tone was disarming, and I found myself at a loss for words.
“I wanted you to know,” he continued, “that your hard work doesn’t go unnoticed. And it’s not taken for granted.”
I stared at him, my fingers tightening around the stem of my glass. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you deserve to hear it,” he said simply.
Something about his honesty felt like too much, too raw. I glanced away, focusing on the city lights in the distance. “You make it hard to hate you sometimes, you know that?”
His laugh was soft but genuine. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
As the evening went on, the initial awkwardness began to fade. Matteo, as it turned out, wasn’t half as insufferable when he wasn’t trying to one-up me in meetings or test my patience during presentations.
He told me a story about a disastrous work trip early in his career, one involving a missed flight, a lost laptop, and a very irate boss. I laughed harder than I had in days, the tension I’d been carrying with me slowly melting away.
“You’re not as perfect as you pretend to be,” I teased.
“Not even close,” he admitted, a trace of self-deprecation in his smile.
The vulnerability caught me off guard, and for a moment, I saw him in a new light-not as the polished, confident man who always seemed to have the upper hand, but as someone real. Flawed. Human.
“But you did a very good job these past two weeks. You did more than my expectations. I’m proud to have you in the company. I feel relaxed when I remember I have people like you in the company who wouldn’t let decades of hardwork go down the drain. Thank you, Matteo, for the past two weeks. You saved me a lot.” I shot him a soft smile and watched as his eyes widened slightly at my words.
“Thank you,” he whispered, blinking. I could tell just how much this meant to him.
By the time the wine bottle was empty, the air between us felt lighter, easier. But as we sat there, the conversation slowing, a familiar awkwardness began to creep back in.
“Thank you,” I said again, breaking the silence. “For this. For everything.”
His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I thought he might say something that would ruin the fragile balance we’d found. But instead, he simply nodded. “You’re welcome.”
As I stood to leave, he reached out, his hand brushing mine. “Gianna.”
I froze, my heart skipping a beat.
He hesitated, his gaze searching mine. “Don’t overthink this, okay? Sometimes, it’s just about appreciating someone for who they are.”
I swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. “Goodnight, Matteo.”
And with that, I walked away, his words lingering long in my mind.