Seventeen
Ciro
By one, the executive floor always quiets as my brothers head out to lunch. I close the file in front of me and glance at the time. Jasmine drops off Chiara’s salad and my kung pao chicken lunch.
She should be up in a minute.
I don’t stay behind my desk. Waiting there would turn this into something it isn’t. Instead, I step into the corridor and position myself near the elevator bank, close enough to intercept but not so close that it looks deliberate.
Jasmine notices immediately.
“You’re hovering,” she says, without looking up from her screen.
“I’m not.”
She finally lifts her gaze. “You are.”
The elevator chimes before I answer. When the doors open, Chiara steps out alone.
The darker hair alters her more than I expected it would. It sharpens her expression, pulls something more guarded to the surface. The lenses change her eyes in a way that makes them harder to read, and I realize with a flicker of irritation that I prefer being able to read her.
She spots me first. A small acknowledgment passes between us before she smooths it away.
“Good afternoon,” she says, her tone composed enough for anyone within earshot.
I incline my head. “Chiara.”
Then I gesture toward Jasmine’s desk.
“This is Jasmine. She keeps this floor running and the rest of us functional.”
Jasmine stands and extends her hand. “Welcome to the circus.”
Chiara smiles, unforced. “I’ve survived worse.”
There’s a quick exchange between them that doesn’t require commentary. Jasmine has already decided she approves.
“I’ll let you get to lunch,” Jasmine says, settling back into her chair. “Before Dante remembers he needs something signed.”
“He always remembers,” I reply.
Chiara’s mouth curves slightly at that, and I find myself watching her more closely than I should.
I open my office door and step aside to let her pass. The scent of sesame and ginger rises from the small table near the windows where I had lunch delivered earlier. I chose opposite chairs deliberately. Close enough to feel her presence. Far enough to keep this from becoming reckless.
She takes her seat and looks at the containers.
“What’s this?”
“Only the best Chinese chicken salad in the Bay Area.”
The silence stretches just long enough to register. I’m aware of the glass walls, the movement outside the door, the fact that this building carries my name on the lease.
“It looks fantastic,” she says.
“It is.” I sit down and open my lunch. The heat of the chili peppers clear my sinuses. I love it.
She smiles brightly. Something so little does so much.
She tastes the salad and closes her eyes briefly, the smallest visible surrender to pleasure. I notice everything about her. The reaction is unguarded, and it does something to me I don’t entirely like.
“How’s the fourth floor?” I ask, forcing the conversation back into structure.
“Productive. Heather hasn’t said anything since this morning, and I’ve been focusing on the departmental profit and loss statements. I think it’s a test.”
“That sounds like Heather.” I take a bite, and the heat doesn’t hit immediately, but when it does, I think every pore on my body exhales. “I don’t think it’s a test, but I guess it could be. Why do you think that?”
“Some of the discrepancies.”
I grin at her. She loves this.
She tilts her head slightly. “You’re surprised.”
“Not surprised,” I say. “I thought you’d tolerate it. I didn’t expect you to enjoy it.”
“There’s a reclassification issue in marketing,” she says immediately. “It’s small, but it’s consistent.”
I watch her as she explains it. She isn’t performing for me or trying to impress me. She’s engaged.
“You’ve been there half a day,” I say.
“I work fast.”
I hadn’t wanted her to feel parked in a corner of the company for her own safety. I didn’t anticipate the possibility that she would carve out her own space inside it.
“I’m glad you like it,” I say finally. “I didn’t want you to feel placed.”
“I don’t,” she replies. “I feel useful.”
A knock interrupts before I can respond. Dante steps inside without waiting, jacket still on, phone in hand. His gaze moves from me to her and back again, assessing without comment.
“Interrupting?” he asks.
“Lunch,” I say.
He nods toward her. “How is your first day going?”
“Better than I expected. The team’s sharp. The numbers are clean, mostly.”
“Mostly?” Dante repeats.
“Nothing dramatic. Just things that need attention.”
He studies her a moment longer before giving a brief nod. “Good. We like attention.”
He turns back to me. “Tom wants to meet tomorrow at ten at the Marino Holdings offices in South San Francisco.”
“I’ll be there.”
Dante nods and turns and leaves the two of us.
“Don’t mind him,” I say. “He’s very focused, but you handled his question well.”
“I just told him what I found.” She glances at the clock. “I should head back down.”
I nod. I don’t touch her. Not here. Not with cameras in the hallway and staff outside the door.
“I’ll be tied up most of the afternoon,” I say. “And I have drinks with my brothers later.”
“I’ll be back at the house around six,” she tells me. “Katie’s making risotto.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It’s mushrooms.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
I allow myself a faint smile. “Make sure you save me some.”
I walk her to the door and open it for her, keeping my hands to myself even though the impulse to pull her back inside and lock the door crosses my mind with unwelcome clarity.
She steps into the corridor without looking back. Jasmine pretends not to notice anything.
When the elevator doors close behind her, I remain where I am for a second longer than necessary before returning to my desk.