Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Rachel
I'd waited for two hours already. I touched the bag in my hands—mascarpone was delicate; it'd collapse if left too long, and any warmth would ruin the texture completely.
After another half hour, I couldn't sit still anymore. I pulled out my phone and called Matteo.
No answer. I hesitated, then opened Luca's contact.
"Luca, sorry to bother you. Did Matteo's schedule change today? No rush if you're busy."
Less than two minutes later, my phone buzzed.
"Luca?"
"Rachel, I'm sorry. This shouldn't have dragged on this long."
My fingers tightened around the phone. "He's not coming, is he?"
"The boss changed his plans this morning. He's already on his way to Europe. He told me to let you know—I had too much going on and forgot."
His words hit like something slamming into my chest, knocking the breath out of me.
"So..." I opened my mouth, throat tight. "Did he say anything else?"
"Well..." Luca hesitated. "Cassius needs you to look after him while he's gone. Food's on the top shelf of the fridge, one scoop a day. If any documents come through that need handling, organize them and send them to George."
"That's it?"
Two seconds of silence on the other end.
"That's all." Luca sounded helpless.
I let out a bitter laugh. Dressed up carefully, arrived early, even stupidly learned to make something he'd mentioned in passing. And he was already on a plane to Europe while I had to chase down my own notification.
"Got it."
"I'm sorry, Rachel." Luca paused. "This one's on me. Don't take it hard—that's just how the boss is. You'll get used to it."
"Yeah. Thanks, Luca."
I hung up fast, afraid he'd catch the tears threatening to spill. I pulled out the tiramisu. The edges were weeping, the cream deflated and ugly.
I dug in with a spoon and took a small bite. Sickeningly sweet, even the liqueur tasted off. But I kept eating, forcing it down bite by bite.
Rachel, you're pathetic.
The next day, I was a mess. I opened my laptop and emails popped up one after another, but I stared at the screen like there was fog between me and the words—couldn't absorb a thing.
Meeting minutes that normally took ten minutes, I revised three times and still sent the attachment to the wrong person.
When George called on the internal line, I grabbed the receiver, and my first instinct was to check my phone, wondering if it might be Matteo.
"Rachel, are you listening?"
"Sorry. I'll resend it right away."
I grabbed my mug and took a sip of coffee. It was cold, leaving nothing but bitterness in my mouth.
"Can we talk?"
I jumped, turned around. Charles. He wore a perfectly tailored light gray suit, hair immaculate, face carrying just the right amount of apologetic smile—nothing like the bastard who'd tried to force himself on me that night.
He came around to my desk, holding out a coffee. I looked at him suspiciously—I figured after that night, we shouldn't have any more to do with each other.
"We don't have anything to—"
"Rachel!" He cut me off quickly. "I know. I did some shitty things. I shouldn't have forced you, shouldn't have joined in at the charity gala... Rachel, I'm truly sorry."
His eyes, usually carrying a trace of sleaze, actually showed something close to genuine remorse. "I was under so much pressure back then, drank too much, lost my head. I promise you, it'll never happen again."
He leaned forward slightly. I couldn't name what I felt. Disgust? Not as strong anymore. Forgiveness? Nowhere close.
"It's over, Charles." I picked up a file. "I accept your apology. But I need to work now."
"Thank you, Rachel." He relaxed, smile loosening. He glanced at the mountain of files on my desk. "Settling in okay here? Matteo... he's not easy to get along with."
"Fine," I answered flatly. "It's just work."
"Rachel, for anyone close to Matteo, nothing is ever 'just work.'" He leaned down and lowered his voice. "Matteo's ruthless in business, and at home... same deal. You'd better watch your back. Protect yourself."
He straightened and gave me a mild smile. "Remember to drink the coffee. Had my assistant pick out a low-caf latte just for you."
I pushed the incident aside quickly and got back to work. Until that day, walking into the office, I saw a massive bouquet of red roses on my desk. Black ribbon tied neatly, water droplets still clinging to the petals.
"Rachel, who's this from? Someone's pulling out all the stops..."
I picked up the flowers and looked them over. No card. Could this be from Matteo? He hadn't abandoned me after all? My ears started burning at the thought.
"Rachel, your face is red. Did we actually guess right?"
"No. Stop making things up."
"Well, the flowers didn't walk here by themselves."
Everyone laughed. I didn't respond, just moved the bouquet to the side. But it sat there too conspicuously, drawing every passing eye. After some thought, I asked the front desk to hold them for me temporarily.
When Elena came to collect them, she winked. "Not keeping them out? They're pretty. Would brighten up your desk."
"Just put them away." I kept my voice low. "Too showy."
Elena shrugged and left with the flowers.
At lunch, I'd just found a corner seat with my tray when Charles rushed through the door. From halfway across the cafeteria, he called out, "Rachel, did you get the flowers?"
The cafeteria—full of clinking dishes and chatter moments before—hit pause. Nearby tables looked up. My fork froze, knuckles going white, ears ringing, my whole face burning.
Charles seemed completely oblivious to the shift in atmosphere. He hurried to my table, voice tinged with anticipation. "I wanted to write a card but thought it might be too formal. Did you—"
"Charles." I looked up, cutting him off, voice low. "Sit down."
He blinked, then pulled out the chair across from me. The stares around us didn't leave—they intensified. I could practically hear someone nearby saying under their breath, "So it was him."
Humiliation piled up, layer after layer, killing my appetite. I set down my fork and looked at Charles, speaking each word carefully. "I don't like this."
His smile froze. I tried to keep my tone from getting sharp. "Whatever your reason—apology or something else—I don't like this kind of public display."
"I just—"
"I know." I cut him off again. "But your gesture didn't make things easier for me, did it?"
I looked at him, then let my gaze sweep across the whispering onlookers.
"See? That's the trouble your flowers brought me."
Charles rubbed his forehead. "I didn't think it through. I'm sorry for the trouble. Won't happen again."
"I hope not."
Charles stood and left quickly, his retreating figure showing rare embarrassment. I didn't have the energy to care about his disappointment, because bigger trouble was coming.
"So the flowers were from Charles. Elena said she ended up returning them."
"Playing hard to get. She's nothing special looks-wise. Must be good in bed to have all the Vitale men obsessed with her."
"I heard from Samantha that she slept her way up to the CEO's office door before. Now Matteo's barely left for Europe, and she's playing games with Charles. Obviously playing both sides, fishing for a bigger catch!"
"What a complete slut..."
I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The bathroom went silent instantly. The women saw me, panic flashing briefly across their faces before being replaced by brazen contempt. They slowly gathered their makeup, and as the blonde passed me, she deliberately slammed her shoulder into mine.
The bad news didn't stop there. At lunch, I headed toward the table where my few friendly coworkers sat. The moment I approached, the atmosphere froze.
"Is this seat taken?"
Nora, sitting on the outside, immediately put her bag on the empty chair beside her. "Yes."
Claire stirred her soup slowly, adding lightly as if I might not understand, "Shouldn't someone from the forty-eighth floor have better places to eat?"
I was about to leave when Amy raised her hand. "Rachel, you—"
Before she could finish, Rebecca grabbed her arm. "Amy, let's go. Didn't you say you wanted to get salad downstairs? Why are you still sitting here?"
Amy stumbled as she was pulled away, glancing back at me with an awkward expression. "I—"
Before Amy could struggle, Rebecca had already dragged her off. I ended up sitting alone in the corner. I'd barely eaten two bites when a new email popped up on my phone.
From: Samantha.
CC: Legal-George Bianchi; Admin-Daniel Miller; Finance-Evelyn Ross
Subject: Format Errors, Please Resubmit.
I opened the attachment. The entire document was covered in red markup—margins off by two millimeters, numbering inconsistent, date lines misaligned, even individual commas circled.
At the bottom, one line from her:
"If you can't handle the basics, don't rush to climb. Right?"
I stared at the screen, stomach twisting.
"Samantha, my cross-department collaboration request has been sitting for three days. When exactly will it get approved?" I stood at Samantha's desk, tone less than pleasant.
She flipped through a folder, voice dismissive. "Hasn't come up yet."
"This is standard procedure. Just needs a stamp."
Samantha pushed the file aside and finally looked up. "What's your hurry? Next."
She ignored me completely, tossed my file to the side, twirling her pen as she started looking at something else.
My anger hit the breaking point, but I couldn't make trouble for Matteo.
I swallowed it down, dropped a "Hope it's soon," and headed for the storage lockers to collect my things before leaving.
I could see people clustered there from a distance.
When they saw me coming, they scattered immediately, faces barely suppressing their gleeful anticipation. My heart sank. I hurried over.
Someone had scrawled "SLUT" across my locker door in bright red lipstick.
The letters were crooked, like a wound deliberately torn open. I stood there trembling, couldn't even get my key in the lock after several tries.
Someone passed down the hall, slowed to glance, then walked on as if nothing happened. As if the person branded with that word wasn't real—just some object sitting here for anyone to judge.
Amy came over quietly, handed me wet wipes, voice low. "Wipe it off first. Don't let more people see."
I took the wipes, throat tight. "Was it her?"
"Rachel," her face full of worry, "don't do anything rash. I know you're hurt, but you can't win against her!"
"Amy, I can't just let this go."
"I know, but... Samantha's background is seriously connected," Amy glanced around nervously. "She came in through the very top. Even several executives defer to her. If you confront her now, you're the only one who'll suffer."
"I'm not afraid." I scrubbed viciously at the lipstick.
"But..."
"Amy, thank you for helping me when no one else would." I handed back the remaining wipes. "But I can't keep swallowing this."
I turned and walked away, straight to admin. I didn't care what family she came from or what the consequences of crossing her might be. Even a cornered rabbit bites, and I was never anyone's lamb for slaughter.
I shoved open the admin department door. Samantha sat at her desk, leisurely filing her nails. Seeing me storm over, she didn't even lift an eyelid.
"Something else?"
"Did you spread those rumors? Did you vandalize my locker?"
She finally put down her nail file and looked up, face carrying a trace of disdain.
"What rumors? About sleeping your way up, or playing both sides? As for 'slut'—did I get it wrong?"
"Samantha, don't push it. What the hell do you want?"
She scoffed. "I'm just helping you recognize your place, Rachel. You really think crawling into Matteo's bed means you belong here?"
"You think Matteo actually cares about you? Now that he's bored, you can't wait to start hooking Charles. Women like you who spread their legs to get ahead are a disgrace to this company!"
I raised my hand and slapped her hard across the face. Samantha's head snapped to the side. She clutched her rapidly swelling cheek, let out a shriek, and lunged at me like a maniac. "You bitch! How dare you hit me!"
I didn't back down, bracing to meet her.
"What the hell is going on?"
Charles appeared out of nowhere. He strode into the crowd and grabbed Samantha's wrist mid-swing.
"Charles! Look what this bitch did to my face!" Seeing Charles, Samantha instantly played the victim, shrieking.
"Samantha, did you forget Matteo's warning?"
Samantha's face went pale, but she kept arguing. "What did I say wrong? I'm—"
"I don't care who you are." Charles's tone was ice. "This is Vitale. Keep disrupting company operations, and I don't think Matteo will tolerate you for your father's sake."
Samantha bit back whatever she was going to say.
Charles released her hand, his cold gaze sweeping over the gawking employees. "As for the rest of you—spreading gossip, everyone loses their quarterly bonus. Let me hear it one more time, you're out."
They scattered like startled birds. Charles turned to me, voice softening. "Rachel, come with me."
He grabbed my wrist and pulled me away from the crowd into an empty break room, locking the door behind us. I leaned against a chair, gasping for breath, chest heaving, tears stubbornly pooling in my eyes.
"You okay?" Charles stepped closer, reaching for my shoulder. I dodged.
"Don't, Charles." I turned my head, trying to hide my state.
Charles dropped his hand, sighed, tone serious. "Rachel, you were too impulsive. You shouldn't have provoked Samantha."
"She provoked me first!" I shot back. "Those rumors—"
"I know. I know all of it." Charles sounded helpless and handed me water. "Don't stoop to her level. She's just a spoiled brat."
I didn't respond.
"You think she dares act this way at the company for no reason? Samantha's the only daughter of the Ashford family. Vitale has to give them respect on certain deals. Matteo's trip to Europe right now? It's actually to handle a massive transaction with the Ashfords."
My heart dropped.
"And Samantha..." Charles looked at me, expression complicated. "She's been in love with Matteo since childhood. She's always believed only she deserves to be the Vitale matriarch. You were personally moved to Matteo's side. In Samantha's eyes, you're the interloper who stole her place."
So that's it. I'd become collateral damage in someone else's romantic war. And the man who put me in this position was currently thousands of miles away, either unaware or unconcerned about what was happening here.
"Rachel..." Charles softened his voice. "I'll handle this. Focus on your work, ignore the rest. I won't let her bully you anymore."
I forced a smile. "Thanks, Charles."
That night, I didn't sleep. Samantha's cutting words circled in my head like a curse. Charles's explanation left me feeling hollow. Matteo had been gone nearly a week. Except for two mass emails through his secretary about European market development progress, he hadn't sent me anything personal.
I was like that potted plant on his desk he'd forgotten to water, left completely in the corner.