Chapter 14
Tessa
Everyone in Club Tre looks like they just stepped off the fashion week runway. In fact… I’m almost certain that the tall, slim man standing in the corner is an Accetta model. He was wearing a hat and a mesh top just yesterday, but I recognize him by his platinum blond hair.
I thought I might be overdressed when I put on my black floor-length bodycon dress at the hotel, but I’ve never been so happy to be wrong. My outfit makes me feel confident and sexy—two qualities I desperately need to fit in with the atmosphere of this nightclub.
“Look at this place, Tess. It’s like we’re in a movie right now!” Esme shouts over the music, grabbing my hand as we make our way to the bar.
It does look cinematic. The lighting is low and moody, with waves of scarlet and royal blue washing over the dance floor.
A DJ stands on an elevated platform centered in the back of the room, and the strobe lights that bounce off the black marble floors are synced perfectly with the heavy beats of the music.
It’s crowded, but not overly packed like the usual clubs in NYC.
Just enough people to appear in-demand, but not quite enough to cheapen the rich glamour.
Esme appraises me. “We’re going to have so much fun tonight! You look incredible. Maybe you can have a last fling before Brescia.”
A fling is the last thing I need right now. One thing I do need? To stop thinking about Giovanni Cattaneo.
A shiver courses through me as air from one of the ceiling vents above the bar blows against my open back. Having looked up the drink options ahead of time, I know exactly what I want to order.
“Ciao! Can I please have an Aperol Spritz?” I ask the bartender.
The bartender nods and makes my drink while I rummage in my silver crossbody bag for my cardholder. After a moment of digging, I retrieve it, but someone’s hand slides a card to the bartender in front of me first, speaking fast Italian.
When I turn around, I find an attractive guy with a buzz cut standing a few inches below my eye level. His outfit—tailored cotton chinos and a navy slim fit button-down—looks expensive.
He smiles at me and switches to English with a perfect American accent. “It’s on me. I love your dress.”
I grin back at him and eye his bright red drink. “Thanks. What’re you drinking?”
He shrugs. “An Americano. Fitting for us.”
“Where are you from originally? Your Italian is amazing.”
“I grew up in California, but moved here after school for work five years ago. I’m in treasury management for Sangue Luna. You?”
“I’m from New York. Just a designer here for fashion week with Lamont.”
His eyes widen. “Impressive. Lamont is making money right now.”
I nod absentmindedly as the bartender places my spritz on a napkin. I take a small sip, and a sharp burst of orange hits my tongue, followed by the crackle of the fizzy bubbles. “Mmm. This is good.”
“Glad you’re enjoying it,” he says, his eyes lingering on my lips. “I’m Cameron.”
I hold out my hand. “Tessa.”
Cameron shakes my hand and flashes me a wide smile. “Do you want to dance, Tessa?”
His fingers feel wet from the condensation on his glass. There’s no spark, but regardless of chemistry, I should at least say I danced with a handsome stranger one time in this fancy Milano club instead of holding up the wallpaper.
“Sure. But I have to warn you—I’m a terrible dancer. An insult to the dance community, really. Big fan of standing and bopping side-to-side.”
He laughs. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
Cameron puts his cold hand on the small of my back and guides me toward the dance floor. The deep bass picks up, and people start dancing faster. When he starts swaying to the music, I awkwardly lean along, letting him move me.
He leans in closer to my ear, speaking loudly over the bass. “So, how was fashion week for you?”
I beam at the question. “It was really great. I had a design that walked!”
“Congrats! Who do you all have in treasury management over at Lamont?”
The sudden topic change throws me off for a minute. “Oh, um, I know about as much about treasury management as I do about dance. Which, judging from this…” I glance down at my form, stiff as a board. A corpse would look more lively at this point. “Isn’t much. If anything, I know less than—”
I cut myself off. Because smirking at me from a high top across the bar is none other than my future pretend boyfriend, wearing a structured black blazer and dark wash trousers. Giovanni raises an eyebrow and nods toward my dance partner, as if to communicate, “Him? Really?”
Whatever that look is, it’s not my problem until tomorrow, so I train my gaze back on the guy with his hands on my waist. Blissfully unaware of the human migraine in the corner, Cameron attempts to spin me, which goes as well as expected: with my body nearly hitting the floor.
When I right myself, I catch Giovanni’s furrowed brows from his perch, unrelenting with his eye contact.
His eyes on me do what they always do as of late: ground me and irritate me simultaneously.
“I have to use the restroom,” I tell Cameron. “Be right back.”
He nods and makes his way to the bar for another drink.
As I walk toward the bathroom, ready to reapply some of my favorite lip gloss, I feel something warm and heavy on my shoulder.
If I didn’t know it was Giovanni by the cologne, I’d know it by the feel of his hand, the same one that soothed me in the elevator.
I shake his hand off my shoulder and spin around. “How did you get here?”
“A car,” Giovanni replies dryly.
“Not here to the club. Here to the hallway. You were just sitting over there.” I point toward the high-top in the corner.
“Keeping track of me, Tessa? Even when you’re dancing with another man. Interesting.”
I press my lips into a thin line. “Well, it’s hard not to see you. No matter where I go, you stay entirely still while your eyes follow me like the Mona Lisa.”
Giovanni grins. “The only way you’d know I was staring at you is if you were staring at me.”
Taking a step backward, I feel the cool of the marble wall against my open back. A light brown curl bounces in front of his forehead, and, in a move that is distressingly sexy, he reaches up to swoosh it back.
Giovanni steps toward me. “We should leave, right?”
I shake my head in disbelief at his audacity. “What? Why would you say that?”
“You’re bored.”
“I am not bored.”
“Tèssa.”
“I’ll have you know, Cameron is very interesting. He works for Sangue Luna.”
“Sangue Luna? The brand who got in trouble for exploiting laborers six years ago?”
I flush. “To be fair, he said he started working for the brand five years ago, so he… probably wasn’t a part of that.”
“He knew about their unethical practices and still applied for a job? Wow.”
“Well, he’s not in textiles or design. He works for the treasury management department.”
“He’s in finance?” He presses his lips together to stifle a laugh. “Can we leave now?”
I fold my arms across my chest. “I’m not your girlfriend until midnight.”
Giovanni squints at me. Then the corner of his mouth twitches. “I’ll let you get back to your dance partner, then.”
“Thank you,” I reply, then head to the bathroom to compose myself.
After a quick mirror pep-talk, I rejoin Cameron, who glances at Giovanni. “Do you know that guy? He’s really staring at you.”
“Don’t worry. He’s a coworker of mine. Just looking out for the crew here.”
Cameron nods. “That’s nice of him.”
“Yeah, he’s a super nice guy.”
Three songs’ worth of feeling Giovanni’s eyes on my back and two lengthy stories on the thrilling world of internal auditing from Cameron later, I ask him if he wants to take a break at the bar.
We head in that direction and grab two open stools.
He orders a glass of red wine, and I switch to a Negroni.
While we wait for the drinks, I bend down and adjust the ankle strap of my heel, which loosened a bit while dancing.
“Excuse me. Do you have the time?”
I snap up at the rich timbre of Giovanni’s voice and nearly smack my head into the counter. I’m about to tell him to go away before I realize he’s not asking me.
“It’s 11:58 p.m.” Cameron replies.
Giovanni sighs, but doesn’t move a muscle, standing directly next to us.
A pinch of confusion forms between Cameron’s brows. “Can I… do something for you?”
“Not really.” Giovanni’s tone comes out unbothered.
The bartender slides Cameron’s drink across the counter, and I watch him take a sip.
Giovanni nods at the bartender. “Do you have the time?”
The bartender glances at his watch. “It’s midni—”
“Great.” Giovanni leaves double the amount of money my drink costs on the counter and gently places a hand on my lower arm before turning toward Cameron. “Nice to meet you. We have to get going.”
“I’m so sorry about him,” I say apologetically to Cameron. My intention is to stay, but when Giovanni starts walking toward the exit, I find myself following him.
Much to my chagrin, I was bored. There are only so many times one can hear the words “operational efficiency” in an Italian nightclub before one wishes one was anywhere else.
Giovanni beams with satisfaction when he catches me trailing him. “It’s not nice dancing with other men when you’re taken, Tessa.”
“I’m not taken—”
“You are. Back to the hotel with you.” Giovanni’s eyes are alight with amusement. His warm hand softly presses against my back as he expertly guides me toward the door. A slow heat radiates up my skin at his touch.
I send small SOS signals with my eyes to Esme as we leave the club, but all she does is throw me a sly grin and a little wave, mouthing “Good luck.”