Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Matteo what the hell are you thinking? I rolled over and pulled the blanket over my head.
Forget it. I'd resign first thing in the morning. With that thought, I fell into a restless sleep.
The next day, I rushed straight to HR the moment I got to the office.
"Rachel, what are you doing here?" Martha from admin stopped me.
"Coming to work."
"No, honey, your desk got moved last night."
I didn't follow. "What?"
She pointed toward the elevators. "You need to go to the forty-eighth floor. The boss's office."
I froze. "Is there a mistake?"
"No mistake. Email went out at midnight, system permissions all changed. You're not Charles's anymore."
My heart jumped. Everyone in the company knew what the forty-eighth floor meant.
Regular employees needed advance appointments just to deliver a file.
The whole floor stayed quiet as a courthouse.
Only executives, legal counsel, investment bankers went in and out, plus those security guys who could pin you with one look.
Me, a lowly assistant, transferred overnight—it was like someone had slapped a neon sign on my forehead.
I steeled myself and swiped back into the elevator.
When the doors opened, it was nothing like the thirty-second floor.
Everyone kept their voices down, footsteps light, even phones seemed afraid to ring too loud.
My new desk was at the very back, directly facing a dark double door. No ostentatious nameplate, just sleek, almost brutally simple metal letters.
Matteo Vitale, CEO.
Of course I'd seen that name before—on the first page of the employee handbook, on the company website, in the annual report, on that scrolling executive intro screen in the lobby. Last night in the dark and chaos, my head full of escape, I'd somehow failed to connect that face with the name.
Charles's uncle. The man who actually ran the Vitale Group. The man who'd seen me half-naked last night and driven me home—and now I was his assistant?
Movement came from the elevator. Several people emerged first—suits, earpieces, synchronized steps. Then I saw him.
Today, he looked completely different from last night. Charcoal suit, white shirt, black tie, cuffs immaculate, shoulders ruler-straight, walking in front while everyone else automatically fell half a step behind.
He stopped when he passed my desk.
I shot up. "Mr. Vi—Mr. Vitale."
"Morning." He nodded slightly and pushed through to his office. I stood frozen for two seconds before slowly sitting back down.
I survived a frantic morning. At lunch, I went to the break room for water, still holding a freshly printed meeting schedule. When I pushed the door open, someone was already inside.
A man leaned against the coffee machine, sandy hair combed to perfection, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. The pocket square in his suit was flamboyantly present. Even the way he reached for his cup looked like a luxury watch commercial.
He saw me and raised an eyebrow. "New face. No, old face, new floor."
I nodded politely. "Sorry, just getting water."
"George Bianchi."
I paused, then remembered who he was—legal counsel, the company's most expensive one. His hourly rate supposedly matched half my monthly rent.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bianchi."
"Likewise." He looked me up and down. "Boss picked one who looks clean this time."
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing." He shrugged, picked up his coffee, and headed out. At the door, he stopped and winked at me. "Good luck surviving your first week."
I couldn't figure out what he meant. Was Matteo an even more difficult boss?
But things were what they were. I pushed down my confusion and focused on adapting quickly.
After all, I wasn't booking restaurants, canceling dates, or placating models anymore.
Now I reviewed contracts, coordinated meetings, drowning in clauses and phone calls daily.
A week passed. I'd gotten the hang of things. This morning, the charity foundation called—two major donors at next week's children's hospital fundraiser needed seat changes. I'd just handled that when someone tapped my desk, reminding me Matteo needed the merger summary in ten minutes.
I didn't remember to eat until two. I'd just torn open an energy bar when the elevator opened, and that scarred man who always shadowed Matteo—Luca Romano—walked out with two coffees. He set one on my desk.
"For you."
"Thanks."
Luca said he handled security, but I had a feeling it was more than that. I didn't dig deeper, though. Without his quiet guidance these past days, Matteo probably would've fired me already.
"You're white as a sheet. If you don't drink something, you'll pass out, and the guy in there will blame me for not watching you."
I was about to shoot him a look when the intercom buzzed. I picked up immediately.
Just like that, I'd completely escaped Charles's world of midnight pickups. Matteo never texted me at night, never made me clean up his bedroom disasters, never called me to some restaurant to block drinks. All his requests came during work hours—clear, direct, almost restrained.
Which created a problem. I was finding it harder and harder to ignore Matteo.
Couldn't ignore the way he commanded a room when he spoke, or the lines on the back of his hand when he bent over documents, or how he looked when he frowned slightly during phone calls.
I kept telling myself—Rachel, wake up, that's your boss. But my heart wouldn't listen.
Tonight I worked late until almost nine, staring at a charity gala guest list. One name didn't match its donation tier. I'd checked the materials three times. My eyes were crossing.
At this hour, everyone on the forty-eighth floor had left. I didn't know who to ask. All I could do was clutch the file and pace outside Matteo's office door.
Should I really ask him? Would he think I was stupid? But this list was due tomorrow morning.
I hesitated so long my palm sweat dampened the file. Finally, I bit my lip and made up my mind—just ask. Whether he yelled or ignored me, it beat standing here panicking.
I closed my eyes and knocked. Silence stretched out. Disappointed, I turned to leave.
"Come in."
His low voice from inside sounded like heaven to my ears.
I carefully pushed open the door. The next second I went still—Matteo's shirt hung open at the collar, two buttons undone.
From my angle, I could see his collarbone and a small expanse of firm chest. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows.
He leaned with his left hand propping his jaw, right hand gripping a pen, writing rapidly in the margin of a contract.
The muscles of his forearm flexed subtly with each movement.
A blue vein traced clearly along his inner arm.
The desk lamp slanted light from his left, casting deep shadows across his face, making his already perfect features even more sculpted.
They say men are most attractive when they're working. Now I truly understand that.
"Rachel? Something wrong?" He looked up. That's when I realized I'd been standing in the doorway for a full five seconds without moving.
"Sorry, sir. I have a question." I quickly banished those thoughts from my head and placed the list by his hand. "This name here doesn't match. I..."
My voice dropped lower and lower until I hung my head, tugging at my sleeve. Honestly, I'd braced for his anger.
"You looked at the wrong family name."
I jerked my head up in shock. Matteo held the list, no frown, no irritation, his expression calm as he pointed to a line. "This lady got divorced last year. Changed her name back to her maiden name."
I stared at him dumbly. I hadn't expected him to actually answer such a minor question from a lowly assistant, and so seriously, without a trace of impatience.
"Rachel?" He called my name again. "Anything else?"
"No! Nothing! Thank you, sir!" I shook my head vigorously and reached for the file. But he pushed his still-steaming coffee forward an inch.
"Take a break. You've been working since morning without drinking much."
"But that's yours..."
"Drink it."
I rushed to grab the cup. Maybe I was too nervous—my elbow knocked the documents, and they scattered everywhere with a loud whoosh.
"Oh god!" I immediately crouched to gather them.
I'd crouched too fast. My knee buckled and I nearly face-planted. The next second, a hand locked firmly around my elbow.
We were maybe four inches apart. I could see more now—below his collarbone, his chest, his abs... Heat flooded my face. I quickly looked away.
"Are you hurt?"
"No, I'm fine, sorry..." I scrambled to steady myself. "I'll get these organized right away."
He released my arm and picked up the scattered documents himself, stacking them neatly on the desk.
"Go home."
"But there's still that agreement..."
"Tomorrow."
"Thank you."
I practically fled from his office. I don't remember how I got on the subway.
I kept replaying those two scenes in my head—him crouching in front of me, buttoning my shirt one button at a time; his hand locked around my elbow, pulling me back from the edge of falling. And his handsome face, those perfect muscles...
Rachel Kane, I slapped my own face, talking to my reflection in the train window—don't be an idiot.
He's Matteo Vitale. CEO of Vitale Group. The kind of man who gets analyzed in the business section every three months.
He's your boss. Your savior. Someone who lives in a completely different world from you.
He saved you, he's polite to you, he's given you professional respect at work—but maybe that's just how he is.
Controlled, considerate, commanding everything, giving everyone useful exactly the right amount of calculated care.
You can't mistake that bit of measured warmth for something special. And you definitely can't throw yourself into it.