Chapter 9

Matteo’s POV

The office clock struck nine sharp, and like every damn morning, I expected my assistant to already be in her seat, files sorted, coffee on standby, and attitude slightly under control.

I scanned the floor through the glass wall of my office, watching employees move like ants in perfectly timed rhythm, all except one.

Sarah Hart’s desk was empty, and that alone was enough to make the vein in my temple twitch and my jaw tighten with pure, simmering annoyance.

For someone so eager to prove she could handle this job, she sure had a twisted way of showing it.

I leaned back in my chair, pinched the bridge of my nose, and reminded myself for the hundredth time that I didn’t hire her out of pity or personal interest.

I hired her because she was efficient, sharp when she wanted to be, and better than the half-asleep interns I had to deal with last quarter.

But lateness?

Unforgivable.

At exactly 9:13 a.m., the elevator doors slid open with a ding, and in walked the walking contradiction that was Sarah Hart, her hair half-done and her face set in a mask of forced calm.

She moved too carefully, her right hand tucked close to her body, her bag hanging awkwardly off her shoulder like she didn’t want it to brush against her.

I watched her approach her desk like someone entering a courtroom, not a workplace, and that only irritated me more.

I didn’t wait.

I stood up, walked out of my office, and made sure the entire floor could hear me when I spoke.

“Miss Hart,” I said, voice like a crack of thunder, cold and clean. “Did your alarm clock die, or did you simply forget that you work for me?”

Heads turned.

She froze, mid-step, before slowly turning to face me, eyes wide but voice steady as she replied, “I’m sorry, Mr. Russo. It won’t happen again.”

I hated how calm she sounded.

I hated that part of me wanted to notice the gauze peeking from under her sleeve, but I didn’t let myself care.

“I expect punctuality,” I said, stepping closer, arms folded across my chest. “Not excuses, not apologies, and certainly not morning strolls through the office like you’re on vacation.”

Her lips pressed together, a flicker of something in her eyes, but she nodded anyway, swallowing her pride the way most people did when facing me in public.

“Yes, sir,” she murmured.

“Yes, sir,” I repeated mockingly, then tilted my head slightly, lowering my voice. “You show up late again, and I’ll have HR review your contract by noon.”

She flinched barely but it was enough for me to know I hit a nerve, which I convinced myself I liked.

Without another word, I turned and walked back into my office, letting the glass door close with a quiet but final hiss behind me.

The floor returned to its usual hum, but that moment stayed suspended in the air, awkward and heavy.

Sarah didn’t speak again all morning.

She worked quietly, typing with one hand when she thought no one noticed, hiding the bandaged palm behind file folders and coffee mugs like it wouldn’t catch my attention.

But I saw it.

Of course, I saw it.

She’d hurt herself somehow, probably being careless, and instead of taking a day off like any sane person, she dragged herself in here to suffer in silence.

And I refused to care.

Because if I started caring, even a little, I wouldn’t know how to stop.

Later, just before lunch, I glanced out and saw someone I didn’t recognize standing near Sarah’s desk a tall guy from marketing, probably, with a goofy smile and a confidence that didn’t match his department.

He leaned against her desk, arms folded, speaking in a low voice meant to be casual but still audible enough for me to catch fragments through the open door.

“…Don’t let him get to you,” he said, voice kind. “He’s like that with everyone strict, cold, a little intense, but not a bad guy.”

Sarah gave him a faint smile, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, her bandaged hand twitching slightly as she moved.

“He seems to hate me more than others,” she said softly.

He laughed. “Trust me, that’s just the Russo brand. He scowls, threatens, and fires people in his head at least five times before noon. It’s not personal it’s just him.”

She chuckled, just barely. “Nice to know I’m not the only one.”

“You’re not,” he said with a grin. “And if you ever want to survive this place with your sanity intact, it helps to have a friend.”

Sarah looked up at him, surprised but cautiously hopeful. “You mean… you?”

He nodded. “Yeah. If you’re cool with that.”

There was a pause one of those soft, hesitant silences where someone debates letting another person in, even just a little.

Then Sarah nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” he said, standing straighter. “I’m Ryan, by the way. Marketing. Fourth floor. Lover of bad coffee and worse office printers.”

She smiled again wider this time. “Sarah. Assistant to the King of Corporate Doom.”

They laughed together, a quiet, warm sound that made me clench my jaw as I turned back to my computer.

I tried to focus on the numbers on my screen, but every line blurred behind the sound of their laughter.

Sarah.

And that damn Ryan.

I told myself I didn’t care. That it didn’t matter. That she was free to flirt, make friends, or whisper about me behind my back all she wanted as long as she filed the investor reports on time.

But the way her voice softened when she spoke to him? The way he leaned in a little too close, like he already thought he was part of her world?

It grated.

I was halfway through an email when the elevator dinged.

The sound barely registered until I heard her voice.

“Wow,” Isabelle purred, loud enough for the entire floor to hear. “I must’ve taken the wrong elevator, because this isn’t the spa.”

I stood slowly, walking to the edge of the glass wall, arms folded as I watched the show unfold.

She wore a pale pink dress with heels sharp enough to wound and her blonde hair styled in soft waves that framed her face with deceptive sweetness.

Her eyes landed on Sarah’s desk.

Then Ryan.

Then Sarah.

She smiled.

Predator-style.

“Darling,” she said, striding up to Sarah’s desk like she owned the floor. “How lovely to see you again. Oh, what happened to your hand?”

Sarah straightened slightly, clearly uncomfortable. “Nothing serious.”

Isabelle’s eyes gleamed. “You poor thing. You should take better care of yourself. These corporate boys don’t like weakness.”

Her gaze flicked to Ryan, cool and assessing. “And who’s this? Your emotional support intern?”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Ryan. Marketing. Just talking to a colleague.”

Isabelle’s smile didn’t falter, but her voice went sharp. “How sweet. Though I didn’t think Matteo hired assistants to sit around chatting like teenagers in a high school hallway.”

Sarah’s jaw tightened. “We were just wrapping up.”

“Good,” Isabelle said, glancing toward my office. “Because he’s not exactly known for patience.”

She leaned in a little too close to Sarah, her perfume thick and sweet. “Word of advice, sweetheart men like Matteo? They only respect strong women. Not ones who flinch when they’re scolded or cry over bandages.”

Sarah didn’t reply.

But I could see it in her eyes.

She was biting back something fierce.

And maybe just maybe I liked that.

Isabelle stepped back, giving Ryan a dismissive look. “Careful, handsome. She’s cute until she catches someone else’s attention. Then she’s everyone’s problem.”

Then she turned and walked straight into my office without knocking.

Like always.

Like she still had that right.

“Miss Laurent,” I said dryly. “You’ve perfected the art of dramatics. Ever considered Broadway?”

She smirked, brushing invisible dust from her hip as she sat down without invitation. “Please. You’d miss me if I disappeared for too long.”

I stared at her.

And outside the glass, I watched Sarah return to work head down, jaw tight, fingers trembling slightly as she reached for a pen with her left hand.

**

I wasn’t eavesdropping.

Let’s get that clear.

I just happened to be standing outside my office, reviewing contracts while sipping a second cup of coffee, when I heard her voice carry softly from the hallway near the break room.

Sarah.

She didn’t sound like herself her tone was gentler, lighter. Vulnerable.

I kept my back turned, pretending to scan the pages in my hand, but every word she spoke lured me in like a slow-burning fuse.

“Yeah, I cut my hand this morning. It’s nothing crazy, just clumsy,” she said quietly. “I tried to slice an avocado and nearly took my thumb off.”

There was a pause.

She laughed. It wasn’t the nervous chuckle she gave me after I scolded her. It was genuine. Warm.

“No, I’m fine. Just bandaged and annoyed… and yes, I was late. Matteo bit my head off about it.”

Another pause. Then came the shift.

The softness.

The kind of voice you don’t use unless you’re talking to someone you trust.

Or someone you care about.

“I know. I will. I’m being careful now, promise.”

A beat passed.

And then it happened.

“I love you too.”

The words were quiet, tender.

Final.

Like a bow tied neatly on the end of the conversation.

My fingers tightened around the contract in my hand before I could stop them.

I heard the rustle of her coat as she walked back toward her desk, completely unaware I’d heard a damn thing.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

I just stood there, coffee cooling in my hand, mind racing in a direction I had no business going.

She had someone.

Of course she did.

And for reasons I couldn’t explain not even to myself that realization sat in my chest like a rock I didn’t know I’d swallowed.

I walked back into my office, shut the door a little harder than necessary, and dropped the contract onto my desk like it had personally offended me.

She had a boyfriend.

Of course she did.

Not that it mattered.

It didn’t.

Why should it?

She was my assistant. A paper-pushing, calendar-wrangling employee who showed up late, worked half the day with one hand, and clearly couldn’t be trusted to keep her personal life separate from her job.

Still, the words echoed.

“I love you too.”

I could still hear the tone in her voice. Soft. Unforced. Like she’d said it a hundred times before. Like it was safe. Familiar.

She never spoke to me that way.

Not even close.

With me, it was clipped conversation. Polite obligation. A hint of defiance just under the surface when she thought I wouldn’t notice.

But with him?

Whoever he was he got that voice. That warmth.

That easy, unguarded version of her I’d never seen.

And for some reason, it pissed me off more than I could justify.

I sat down, stared at the untouched coffee, then shoved it to the side. It suddenly tasted bitter.

What kind of man was he, anyway?

Someone older? Someone boring? Some harmless suit she met in business school? Or worse someone in this building?

Ryan?

No. Couldn’t be. Too soon. Too obvious.

But still…

She smiled at him.

Laughed with him.

Said “I love you” to someone.

It shouldn’t matter.

Of course, it shouldn't.

But it did.

It mattered more than I wanted it to.

And the worst part?

I didn’t even know why.

My fingers drummed against the desk, my jaw locked tight, thoughts spiraling with questions that had no place in a professional mind. Who was he? How long had they been together? Why did it matter so damn much? She wasn’t mine. Never had been. So why did it suddenly feel like losing something?