158

158
Gianna’s POV
The office felt… empty.
Not in the literal sense-every cubicle was occupied, the hum of conversations and clicking keyboards filling the air-but something was missing. I couldn’t pinpoint it at first, brushing off the nagging sensation as a bad case of the Monday blues.
By the time lunch rolled around, though, it hit me. Matteo.
He hadn’t stopped by my office all morning. No casual comments, no sly smiles, no unsolicited but strangely helpful interventions. Nothing.
And for reasons I didn’t care to examine, I noticed.
I shouldn’t have, honestly. The man had been a thorn in my side for weeks, with his relentless determination to worm his way past my defenses. I couldn’t fire him as much as I’d thought about the idea countless times. Alaric brought him in. God knew how dangerous Matteo himself was even with his charming exterior. I should’ve been relieved to have some space, to be able to focus without his looming presence.
But I wasn’t.
Instead, I found myself glancing outside my office and toward his office more times than I’d like to admit, my gaze catching on his closed door. Matteo never shut his door unless he was in a meeting. And yet, there it was-a literal barrier between us that felt far more significant than it should have.
“Gianna?”
I blinked, realizing Emily was standing by my desk, waving a hand in front of my face. Shit. I hadn’t even noticed that she had come in.
“Sorry, what?” I asked, trying to mask my distraction.
She raised an eyebrow. “I said, are you coming to lunch? We’re all heading to that new sushi place on Fifth.” This was how it was in the office. Before I took over, I worked with them and was friendly with all of them, so when I took over, I insisted things be the same way. I wasn’t surprised, or offended that she came to ask if I’d follow them.
“Uh, no, I think I’ll stay here. I have a lot to catch up on.”
Emily tilted her head, scrutinizing me like she didn’t believe a word of it. “You’ve been weird all morning. Is something going on?”
“Nope. Just busy.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. “Suit yourself. Don’t work too hard.”
I forced a smile as she walked away, waiting until she was out of sight before I slumped back in my chair.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of half-hearted productivity. Normally, Matteo would’ve found some excuse to interrupt by now-dropping off a coffee I hadn’t asked for, sliding into a meeting at the last second to back me up, or simply leaning against my desk with that infuriating smirk of his.
But today? Nothing.
By three o’clock, my patience-or whatever fragile thing I’d been clinging to-snapped. I grabbed a folder off my desk and marched to his office, knocking sharply before pushing the door open.
Matteo looked up from his laptop, his expression neutral but surprised.
“Ms Lorenzo,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
The professionalism in his tone threw me off. It wasn’t cold, exactly, but it lacked the warmth I’d come to expect-the teasing edge, the subtle flirtation.
“I, uh…” I faltered, realizing I hadn’t actually thought this through.
Matteo raised an eyebrow, waiting.
“I just wanted to go over the Farlow account,” I lied, holding up the folder like it was evidence.
“Sure,” he said, gesturing for me to sit.
I hesitated, half-expecting him to make some comment about how serious I was being, how I could’ve just emailed him instead of storming into his office. But he didn’t.
The silence stretched as I sat down, opening the folder and flipping through the pages even though I already knew the numbers by heart. Matteo watched me, his expression unreadable.
“So,” I started, “the client is pushing back on the projected timeline. They think six weeks is too long.”
He nodded, his gaze steady. “Did you explain why it’s necessary?”
“Yes. I sent them a breakdown of the deliverables and the dependencies.”
“And?”
“They still think it’s too long,” I admitted, frustration creeping into my voice.
Matteo leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “Then we need to reframe the conversation. Focus on the value we’re bringing, not just the timeline.”
I nodded, scribbling a note even though I didn’t need to. The conversation felt stilted, mechanical-nothing like the easy rhythm we’d fallen into over the past few weeks.
“Is that all?” Matteo asked after a beat, his tone polite but distant.
I froze, caught off guard by the dismissal.
“Yes,” I said finally, closing the folder. “That’s all.”
I spent the rest of the day replaying that conversation in my head, dissecting every word, every pause, every subtle shift in Matteo’s demeanor.
Was he upset with me? Had I done something to drive him away? Or was this just his way of… letting go?
The last thought sent a pang of something uncomfortably close to regret through me.
By the time I got home, I was a mess.
I dropped my bag on the kitchen counter and kicked off my heels, pacing the length of my condo as I tried to make sense of the gnawing unease in my chest.
I shouldn’t care. Matteo’s attention had been exhausting. I’d spent weeks trying to keep him at arm’s length, insisting that our relationship remain strictly professional.
So why did his sudden withdrawal feel like a punch to the gut?
I stopped pacing, leaning against the counter as the truth hit me like a freight train.
Because I’d grown used to him.
His presence, his support, his infuriating charm-it had all become a part of my day. I hadn’t realized I depended on until it was gone.
And now that it was, the void it left was impossible to ignore.
*The next day*
I arrived at the office early, determined to put the whole thing out of my mind. I had a job to do, and I wasn’t about to let Matteo-or my increasingly complicated feelings for him-get in the way.
But as the hours passed, I felt like I was running mad. Matteo was polite but distant, keeping our interactions strictly professional. No teasing, no unexpected acts of kindness, no subtle glances that lingered a second too long.
It was maddening.
By lunchtime, I couldn’t take it anymore. I left my office, heading to the cafeteria where I was sure he was.
“Matteo,” I said, catching him in the hallway.
He turned, his expression unreadable. “Ms Lorenzo. What’s up?”
I hesitated, suddenly unsure of what I wanted to say.
“Are we… okay?” I asked finally, my voice quieter than I intended.
His eyebrows lifted, the surprise flickering across his face before he masked it. “Why wouldn’t we be?”
“I don’t know. You’ve been… different,” I said, gesturing vaguely. “Distant.”
Matteo studied me for a moment, his gaze sharp but unreadable.
“I thought that’s what you wanted,” he said finally, his tone even.
The words hit harder than I expected.
“I-” I started, then stopped, unsure how to respond.
He waited, giving me the space to continue, but when I didn’t, he nodded and turned to leave.
“Matteo, wait,” I blurted, grabbing his arm.
He stopped, looking back at me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
“I don’t know what I want,” I admitted, the words spilling out before I could stop them.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then Matteo’s expression softened, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
“Well,” he said, his voice low but steady, “when you figure it out, let me know.”
And with that, he walked away, leaving me standing there, my heart racing and my thoughts in disarray.