CHAPTER 3

The air in the boardroom changed the moment Matteo lifted his gaze.

Clara felt it before she understood it. A tightening along her spine, a quiet pressure settling behind her ribs. Her body reacted faster than her mind, freezing mid-step just inside the doorway. 

For half a second, the room existed only in fragments. The polished table, the low murmur of voices fading into nothing. Then there was him.

Matteo Devereaux sat near the head of the table, with a dark immaculate suit. His posture was relaxed in a way that felt intentional. One hand rested loosely on the table, the other tucked into his pocket. He didn’t look surprised to see her.

That was the first blow. His expression barely shifted. No widening of the eyes, no flicker of recognition anyone else could catch. Just a slow, deliberate stillness, as if he were cataloguing her presence the way one assessed a variable.

Clara’s stomach dropped. For one horrifying moment, she wondered if she’d imagined the kiss at the bar. The accusation in his voice. 

But the memory flared sharp and undeniable, her skin remembering the weight of his gaze, the way his jaw had tightened when she’d walked away.

When their eyes locked, something unreadable passed between them, too quick to name and too heavy to ignore.

Clara forced herself to breathe. 

‘Don’t react.’ She thought to herself.

She smoothed her expression into neutrality and stepped fully into the room, closing the distance to the table with measured strides. If Matteo noticed the faint stiffness in her shoulders, he gave no indication.

Her boss, Mr Davis, cleared his throat.

“Clara,” he called, gesturing toward an empty seat. “Have a seat. We’re just about to begin.”

She nodded once and moved toward the chair opposite Matteo, acutely aware of the way the room watched her. She sat. The chair felt colder than it should have.

Her gaze dropped to the notepad in front of her, though she didn’t read it. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, loud enough that she wondered if anyone else could hear it.

‘This is about the picture’, she thought. ‘It has to be.’

The timing was too perfect. The whispers in the office. The sudden urgency. Matteo’s presence. He told them.

The idea settled like a stone in her chest. Not anger, yet, but a sharp, humiliating dread. She imagined her boss pulling her aside, the polite disappointment, the reminder about professionalism. About optics.

Her fingers curled beneath the table.

Across from her, Matteo shifted his weight slightly, crossing one ankle over the other. The movement was casual, almost bored. His attention drifted briefly to the glass wall, then back to the table, as if she were just another name on an agenda.

Her boss clasped his hands together, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I’ll keep this brief.”

Clara lifted her head, her eyes forward.

“As you’re aware,” he continued, “Ardent Solutions has been in talks with a major international firm over the past few months. I’m pleased to announce that those talks concluded successfully last night.”

Clara’s breath caught. Her boss gestured toward Matteo with an open palm. 

“Allow me to introduce Matteo Devereaux, CEO of Devereaux Holdings.”

The name landed with weight. A few people murmured softly. Someone shifted in their seat. Clara felt it ripple through the room, the recognition in a quiet awe.

Her stomach twisted. Devereaux Holdings.

Multibillion-dollar. Global reach. A name that didn’t just open doors, it owned them.

“And as of last night,” Mr Davis went on, “we finalised a long-term partnership with his company. This contract represents one of the largest accounts Ardent Solutions has ever secured.”

Clara’s thoughts stuttered. ‘Last night?’

Her gaze flicked, unbidden, to Matteo. His expression remained composed, eyes forward, jaw relaxed. If the coincidence amused him, he didn’t show it.

Mr Davis continued, voice steady with pride. “After careful review, and at the direct request of Devereaux Holdings, we’ve selected the lead PR representative for this account.”

Clara felt the room lean inward. She straightened instinctively, her heart pounding.

“Clara Bennett.”

The words echoed. For a moment, she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.

Her chest tightened, breath shallow, as faces turned toward her. Surprise flickered across a few expressions. Approval crossed others. Tara wasn’t there to see it, but Clara imagined her reaction vividly.

She kept her face still. Inside, everything fractured.

‘Me?’

Her boss smiled at her. “Congratulations. Your portfolio and recent performance made you the ideal candidate.”

Her gaze slid back to Matteo despite herself. This time, his eyes met hers.

Something cold sparked there, not anger, or triumph, but a measured intensity that made her skin prickle. The corner of his mouth lifted just slightly, not a smile so much as an acknowledgement.

The room blurred at the edges. Thick documents slid across the table toward her.  She glanced down at them, scanning the bold print, the clauses she only half-processed. A salary adjustment section caught her eye.

Her breath stalled. The increase was significant. But she didn’t react. Her pen hovered above the page.

‘This is his doing,’ the thought surfaced, uninvited.

Her boss spoke again, outlining timelines, expectations, and deliverables. His voice faded into background noise as Clara stared at the paper, the ink swimming slightly. She signed.

The pen moved smoothly, her hand steady despite the storm inside her.

When the meeting concluded, her boss rose, gathering his folder.

“Clara,” he said, already moving toward the door. “A word.”

She could feel relief and dread collide inside her. She stood quickly, following him into the corridor. The door closed behind them, sealing off the boardroom and the weight of Matteo’s presence.

She exhaled shakily. “Sir, I…”

He raised his hand gently. “Before you say anything, let me stop you.”

She hesitated.

“You’re worried you’re overextended,” he continued, walking as he spoke. “I know. But this decision wasn’t made lightly.”

She kept pace beside him. “With all due respect, I already have ongoing projects. I don’t think I’m the best…”

“They asked for you,” he cut in, stopping near his office door. He turned to face her fully. “Specifically.”

Her stomach sank.

“They reviewed your work. Your growth over the last year. Your crisis management skills.” His gaze sharpened. “They want you.”

The word echoed uncomfortably. She searched his face for doubt and found none.

“The other projects will be reassigned,” he added. “Focus on this.”

Clara nodded slowly, resignation settling in. She turned back toward the boardroom, each step heavier.

As she walked, self-consciousness crept in. The adrenaline ebbed, leaving room for insecurity to bloom. 

She became painfully aware of the crease in her blouse, the faint burn along her wrist from rushing her hair straightener that morning. Her bob sat slightly uneven at the nape, a casualty of haste.

‘Pull yourself together.’

She returned just in time to see another senior staff member begin briefing Matteo and his team, pointing to slides on a screen. Clara didn’t linger. She slipped away quietly, heading toward her office.

The moment she rounded the corner, her composure cracked.

She muttered under her breath, kicking lightly at the carpet, frustration spilling out in a silent tantrum. A couple of heads turned. She froze, straightened, and smoothed her expression back into place.

Her office door closed behind her with a soft click. Tara looked up instantly.

“Okay,” she said, eyes wide. “What happened?”

Clara dropped into her chair. “I think my life is about to implode.”

Tara blinked. “That sounds dramatic.”

“I was just assigned as PR for Devereaux Holdings.”

Tara’s jaw dropped. “Shut up.”

“I can’t.”

“That’s huge,” Tara breathed. “That’s money. Power. Prestige. Also…” her grin turned wicked “...have you seen him?”

Clara rubbed her temples. “You don’t understand.”

Tara leaned back, still smiling. “I understand that you just landed the opportunity of a lifetime.”

Before Clara could explain, Tara’s expression shifted. She tilted her head toward the glass wall.

“Oh.”

Clara stiffened.

“I think he’s coming this way,” Tara whispered. Then, eyes widening, “Oh. He’s already here.”

Clara lifted her head slowly. Matteo stood just outside her office, his gaze flicking briefly to Tara before settling on Clara. The silence stretched.

He stepped inside. The space felt smaller instantly. His attention returned to Clara, unreadable as ever. 

“You have your first assignment.”

Her jaw tightened. “I’m not scheduled to resume today.”

There was a pause, then his gaze sharpened slightly. 

“Given the current scandal,” he replied evenly, “delaying wouldn’t reflect well on your portfolio.”

The implication landed hard. He turned and left without waiting for a response.

Clara stared after him, pulse racing. This wasn't a collaboration. It was punishment.