Chapter Twenty-Two
Erin
The rest of the week is shrouded in uncomfortable silence only interrupted here and there by Matteo’s antagonistic grunts when I ask a question or point something out to him.
He wants to sulk? Fine by me.
I have been working for him for three weeks now, but it has still not gotten me closer to Manticore. Every lead fizzles out, every thread leads to another dead end and frustration is starting to gnaw at me. And apparently, I’m not the only one, judging from the constant foul mood my boss is in.
He tried to talk to me a few times after my rebellion to ask what was going on but I shut him down with a bright smile, pretending everything was fine. He still showed up at my door every morning, though, waiting to drive me to work, until I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Matteo,” I said, “I know you think you’re helping, but you’re not.
I need space, time to breathe, time to think.
You’re everywhere, and it’s…suffocating.
It feels like I can’t move without you watching, and I’m drowning.
” That sounded safe, logical. What I wasn’t telling him was that sitting so close to him in his car, inhaling his cologne, only reminded me that he wasn’t mine to want and it was slowly tearing me apart.
He backed down after this, but he still brings me a cup of coffee and a bagel every morning to the office even though I don’t take them.
I pretend I’ve eaten before coming to work.
At Sunday brunch, I pretend everything is fine.
Lately, pretending is all I do around him because I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he still gets under my skin.
Sunday brunches are tense, but I refuse to let him get to me.
Now he’s prowling the Ops room like a caged animal, throwing me sideways glances when he thinks I’m not looking.
It should scare me, and maybe it does a little, but mostly it pisses me off.
Because here’s the truth I keep coming back to—he never wanted me.
He wanted my skills…my brain. That’s why he blackmailed me, why he keeps me tethered here like some kind of asset he owns.
I try to keep things clinical and professional, working quietly with my earbuds in to avoid talking to him.
Avoiding him has become my coping mechanism.
But the more distance I put between us, the more he seems to push.
At first I noticed little things, like him hovering in the doorway, staring at me like a wolf, like he is about to jump at my throat to rip it out with his bare teeth.
Even though I try to ignore him, my skin still prickles with awareness every time he is near.
“He’s been moodier than usual,” Allan murmured one day when Matteo prowled the office floor without looking at anyone. “What did you do to him?”
“Nothing. I exist,” I muttered, returning to my desk, not laughing with them.
Then Matteo wasn’t only hovering in the Ops room anymore. He started showing up in the employee lunchroom where I have lunch with Dave and Allan every noon, mingling with the other employees working in the building.
The first time Matteo strode into the room I brushed it off as him being bored of his high-end lunch in La Corte .
I froze, people stared. He strolled in with a look that made every single person stop mid-sentence.
He wordlessly took the seat across from me on the other side of the room, casually typing away on his phone.
Allan noticed first. “Okay, is he monitoring you? Or is this some new intimidation tactic?”
Dave leaned in with a smirk, whispering, “I think he’s into you.”
I nearly choked on my sandwich. Then spluttered, “Wh-what? No way. He’s just keeping watch over his investment.” Of course it is what he was doing…keeping an eye over his asset. I told myself that’s what it was, nothing more. And I was not about to mistake possessiveness for affection. Never again.
The next day, he showed up again. And he kept doing it every damn day.
But lately…it has gotten worse.
Now he wants updates, and he wants them face-to-face, although we have secured shared logs where I report every detail of my findings.
Like today. “Skye,” he says, not looking up from his screen. “Show me what you’ve found.”
I hesitate, then swivel my monitor toward him. “Here, I think I’ve found a trail. It’s buried in the traffic noise, but it keeps reappearing. It’s the same pattern, always redirected through the same endpoint. I’m trying to locate it, but it keeps jumping from one location to another.”
He doesn’t move at first, staring across at the screen. Then he stands and steps behind me.
I tense. The room suddenly feels too small, the atmosphere too heavy. He leans in slowly, hands bracing on the desk on either side of me, caging me in from behind.
The scent of his cologne wraps around me like a trap. I freeze, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, waiting for him to say something, anything.
But he doesn’t. His heat burns into my back, his breath fanning over my hair, and I can feel my nerves fraying.
“It’s here,” I say nervously, gesturing with the mouse. “That signature. It’s masked, but it’s persistent.”
He grunts. I can’t tell if it’s in agreement or annoyance. Then, slowly, he straightens and steps away.
“Dig deeper,” he murmurs roughly.
And just like that, he returns to his desk, leaving me frozen in my chair, the heat of his nearness still clinging to my skin.
Every day, it gets harder to breathe in here, I don’t know how long I can do this.
* * * *
I step into The Atrium after a long day at work.
Before the door clicks shut behind me, a hand reaches out to hold it open.
I turn around with a smile ready on my lips.
It falters when I see the person who stepped in after me—the woman from the apartment at the far end of my floor.
Dressed in a tailored gray pantsuit that hugs her in all the right places and elongates her slender, tall form, her sleek hair hanging down her back like a curtain of silk, she looks like she belongs on the cover of a fashion magazine.
She sees me and smiles warmly.
“Hi,” she says, offering a hand. “I’m Jade. I believe we’re neighbors.”
“Erin,” I reply, shaking it, trying to keep my smile warm. “Yeah, I’ve seen you around.”
There’s a beat of silence as we both glance toward the elevator.
“You work for Matteo, right?” she asks lightly.
Matteo, not Mr. Di Rossi .
I nod. “I do. Data science.”
She lights up. “How exciting! I’m on his team too, hospitality division.”
She doesn’t say it outright and I don’t push, but I know she must be a hostess at the club.
Jade is sweet, though, endearing even, I realize while we talk outside the elevator.
Not the ice-queen I would have expected.
Her laugh is soft, her manners open and warm.
And something about the way she talks about Matteo, the subtle warmth in her voice, something fond, admiring, but also sad, makes it clear that she likes him. Maybe more than that.
And judging from the way she looks in that suit, and the way she probably looks even better out of it, of course he’s sleeping with her. The thought crashes through me before I can stop it.
Why wouldn’t he? He is handsome, rich, and powerful. She is stunning, poised, and disarmingly sweet. Together, they look like the perfect match.
‘I never go there to indulge in the services the club offers, ’ he said.
Obviously, he doesn’t need to go there because he meets her here.
I feel my mind spiral. I’ve been so stupid to think that he would be interested in someone like me.
Here I am, smiling like a fool while his lover rides the elevator with me and tells me about her shift.
I press the button for our floor, my smile locked in place like a shield while shards of ice pierce my heart.