CHAPTER 6: Face to Face

Mia took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the file as she stepped forward. Her heart pounded a relentless rhythm against her ribs, the weight of anticipation pressing down on her chest like an iron vice. The hallway leading to the conference room had never felt so long, each step echoing in her ears, amplifying the anxious storm brewing inside her.

She could feel the weight of her own thoughts, spiraling through worst-case scenarios. What if I forget my key points? What if I stutter? What if Valentino dismisses me before I even finish my first sentence?

Her grip tightened around the file. No. Focus.

She inhaled deeply, willing herself to exude the same level of confidence as the other executives who strolled these halls like they owned the world. She straightened her blouse, smoothing the fabric over her waist as though it could also iron out the nervous energy thrumming through her veins.

The closer she got to the conference room, the louder the murmur of conversation became. Deep voices. Low, controlled tones. These were men who made million-dollar decisions before their morning coffee. She wasn’t just stepping into a meeting—she was stepping into the lion’s den.

And Marco Valentino was the lion.

Through the slightly ajar glass doors, she caught her first glimpse of him.

Even seated, he commanded attention.

The air inside the room felt thick, weighted by his presence. He didn’t need to assert himself with grand gestures or raised voices. His power was in his stillness, in the way he sat with an effortless grace, fingers interlocked on the table as though he had all the time in the world.

His suit—navy, custom-tailored—hugged his frame with precision, exuding quiet luxury. His dark hair, slicked back, gleamed under the overhead lighting, and his sharp cheekbones made him look like a man who had been carved out of marble.

Mia’s stomach flipped.

A sharp, unexpected jolt—like missing a step on the stairs or plunging into deep water without warning.

For a moment, she forgot to breathe.

She had seen this man before. He was here! In New Orleans!

Not in photographs or corporate reports. Not in sleek business magazines or dry investment briefings.

But in a dimly lit room, under the glow of a flickering neon sign, on a night that still haunted her dreams way back in Chicago.

A night that was burned into her memory like an unhealed wound.

Her chest tightened. No. It couldn’t be.

It was impossible.

And yet, something in the way he looked at her—like he was trying to place a memory just beyond reach—sent an icy chill down her spine.

He doesn’t recognize me, she reassured herself, forcing her pulse to slow. He can’t.

But the way he watched her said otherwise.

It wasn’t just a glance.

It was an assessment.

A slow, deliberate study, as if he were peeling back layers she hadn’t realized she was wearing.

His dark eyes, rich as black coffee, locked onto hers with an intensity that made her knees weak. They held none of the bored indifference of a businessman sitting through another meeting. No, Marco Valentino wasn’t just looking at her.

He was seeing her.

His gaze traveled over her in a way that felt dangerously intimate, lingering on the delicate slope of her neck, the slight rise and fall of her chest, before returning to her lips.

Lingering.

Like he was remembering something.

Mia’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the file in her hands.

Get a grip.

She forced herself to move, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she stepped inside.

The moment she entered, silence fell over the room.

Every conversation ceased.

All eyes turned to her.

She had been in high-pressure meetings before, but this was different.

This wasn’t just business—this was a test.

And Marco Valentino was the one grading her.

Her boss, Mr. Gravitas, stood near the head of the long mahogany table, arms crossed, his usual unreadable expression locked firmly in place. The senior executives, seasoned men and women, sat with their laptops open, waiting.

But Mia barely noticed them.

Because Marco hadn’t looked away.

If anything, his stare had grown even heavier.

The kind that made her skin prickle, made her hyperaware of the way her blouse clung to her skin, of the faint, nervous pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.

She felt exposed under that gaze—like he could see past her professional mask, straight into the thoughts she had no business thinking.

Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

She needed to break the tension.

She needed to breathe.

She finally met his eyes.

Dark. Intense. Watching her with an unreadable expression.

It wasn’t just curiosity. It was something else.

Recognition?

Amusement?

Desire?

No. She was imagining it.

She had to be.

The flicker of something in his gaze lingered, but before she could place it, Mr. Gravitas cleared his throat.

“Miss Cruz,” he said, his voice brisk, cutting through the heavy air between her and Marco. “Marco Valentino has arrived.”

His tone was professional, efficient. But it did nothing to settle the electric charge humming between her and the man across the room.

“You’ll be presenting first,” her boss continued. “Be ready.”

Mia swallowed hard, gripping the file tighter.

She forced herself to nod, pushing down the absurd heat rising in her chest.

This was work.

A deal.

Nothing more.

But as she took her seat and felt Marco Valentino’s eyes still on her, unwavering and unrelenting, she knew one thing for certain.

This was far from ordinary.

And whatever had just passed between them…

It wasn’t over.

No turning back now.

Mia exhaled slowly, steadying herself as she flipped open the file.

The room remained silent, the weight of expectation pressing down on her shoulders. Every executive seated at the long mahogany table waited, some with faint intrigue, others with blank, professional expressions. But the only gaze that mattered—the only one she felt—was Marco Valentino’s.

He sat at the far end of the table, legs crossed, his fingers resting against his chin in a pose of casual authority. But his eyes… his eyes were anything but casual.

They held her captive.

Dark. Intense. Unreadable.

Mia licked her lips—an unconscious, nervous habit.

A mistake.

Because the moment she did, something in Marco’s expression shifted. His gaze flickered, dropping ever so slightly before returning to her eyes. A slow, deliberate movement.

Like he had noticed.

Like he enjoyed noticing.

Heat spread through her, unwanted and distracting.

Focus.

She straightened her shoulders, glancing down at the document in her hands before beginning.

“We appreciate the opportunity to partner with Valentino Holdings on such a meaningful project,” she said, her voice smooth, professional. “The orphanage initiative is not only a philanthropic investment but a long-term commitment to the community. Our company’s expertise in corporate social responsibility ensures that this project is sustainable, impactful, and executed with precision.”

Her words were well-rehearsed, precise, but she could still feel him watching her.

Testing her.

Stay composed.

She clicked the small remote in her hand, and the screen behind her flickered to life, displaying a detailed presentation slide. “Our proposal includes a strategic approach to funding allocation, infrastructure planning, and long-term mentorship programs. We have compiled a breakdown of—”

“Tell me,” Marco interrupted, his voice smooth, deep, commanding.

Mia’s heart skipped.

His voice alone sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. It was the kind of voice that belonged in dark corners and whispered promises, not in boardrooms and negotiations.

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. “Yes, Mr. Valentino?”

“What makes your company’s approach different?” he asked, leaning back slightly. The movement was lazy, controlled, but his eyes still held that sharp, assessing gleam. “Every firm claims to be the best at corporate social responsibility. What makes yours better?”

The challenge was clear.

Mia took a slow breath, careful not to let her frustration show.

“The difference, Mr. Valentino,” she replied smoothly, “is that we don’t just fund projects. We build legacies.”

Something flickered in his gaze. Interest.

She had his attention.

Mia stepped closer, pointing to the figures on the slide behind her. “Our organization doesn’t just invest in structures; we invest in futures. We ensure that projects like these don’t just open their doors—they thrive for decades. We provide post-implementation monitoring, training for caregivers, and a sustainable model that guarantees long-term success.”

The room remained silent.

She had made her point.

But Marco didn’t respond immediately.

Instead, he studied her.

Longer.

Deeper.

Like he was peeling back layers of her words, her composure—trying to see what lay beneath.

Mia felt the heat of it.

Her pulse quickened, but she held his gaze, refusing to waver.

Then—just barely—his lips curved.

Not a full smile.

Not even amusement.

Just the slightest, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth.

But she noticed it.

And it sent a thrill through her she should not be feeling.

Finally, he nodded, slow and deliberate.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

And somehow, the way he said that single word made it feel like he was talking about her—not the proposal.

Mia forced herself to break eye contact, turning back toward the screen.

She continued, detailing the financial projections, the proposed timeline, and the expected outcomes. But the energy in the room had changed.

No one else seemed to notice.

But she did.

She felt it like a current, humming beneath the surface.

A charged, unspoken tension between her and the man who watched her like she was the most intriguing thing in the room.

And she had no idea if that was a good thing…

Or a very, very dangerous one.