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“No, you just startled me, that’s all. And besides, you need to give me a little time to adjust. Meeting you is kind of like meeting a celebrity in my world,” I confess, steadying myself on my feet for the first time since last night.
He sits back on his heels, gazing down at me with a combination of amusement and pity. “Wow, that’s kind of sad. How does it feel to be a part of a world like that?”
I want to be insulted, but the way his piercing blue eyes grip my chest has me lost for words. Even if I wanted to be mad, I wouldn’t be able to articulate my displeasure. His eyes are so intense and beautiful that I’m arrested by them. He really is a gorgeous man, which is something I noticed in the photos I’d seen when I was first introduced to Joe Filizetti. I tried not to notice or be biased, but goddamn it, right now I’m finding it hard to focus on much else.
But I’m here for a job now, at least a job where I don’t feel like my life isquiteas at risk as it was before.
It’s ironic that I was worried about my safety with my initial job posting and ended up almost experiencing the worst possible outcome of my fears. Now I’m staying in a notorious mafia boss’s home for an indeterminate period to clear his name and help him get further in his business endeavors. I doubt any of the guys at the office would believe me unless Matteo was there to prove it.
What a world. I could literally be going through one of the most harrowing journalistic experiences that the industry has ever seen, and I wouldn’t be believed unless the subject himself said so. If I could get that kind of proof, I bet that guys like Eric and Jordan would shit their pants with jealousy. I’d probably lose my job over it.
Damn, this is all a lot to take in.
I’ve been sleeping in Matteo’s office, which is nice enough, so I can’t imagine what the rest of the house looks like. I remember vaguely being carried inside in the dark and put down into a pile of blankets on the floor while he worked, but I don’t recall the details of the house at all. Based on what the office looks like, I can detect that he both has impeccable style and also doesn’t style his home himself. I’m sure he has his hand in the works of it all, but no average man could pull together a room like this.
Of all the men who are going to lose their shit when I get this story to them, John is going to be the most speechless. I can’t wait to see the look on his fat fucking face when his jowls hit the floor in disbelief. The best story he’s ever written was when he covered a stabbing during a Black Friday sale in a Nordstrom. The only reason it got so much coverage is because the stabbing victim was the mayor’s daughter, and the gravy train quit rolling on that story within a few weeks.
This story will break local journalism fora while.
“You ready to see your room?” Matteo asks, leading me out of the office as I step cautiously into the hallway.
The floors are a sleek, mirror-like marble that would be impossible to walk on in just socks. Does Matteo always wear shoes in his house? I look down to see that he’s wearing expensive sneakers that have never been worn outside, possibly even on the pavement.
I guess I have my answer. Should I include that in the piece?
“Your room will be on the second floor. Be careful as you go up the stairs, a lot of people misread the distance between steps,” he says, taking me up the stairs and leading me with his hand on my lower back.
My whole face heats up at his touch. Why am I responding like this? Why can’t I be professional for five seconds while I get my bearings?! All I need to do is settle into my new space, and thenmaybeI can allow my fantasies to take over.
For now? Hell no. If he detects that kind of weakness in me, I’m fucked. Whether it affects the quality of the story of not is irrelevant. I’d never be able to take myself seriously as a journalist if I allowed my subject to get into my head like that. And it’s not like he’s that much smarter than me or anything, so why does he intimidate me so much?
Sometimes when he and I were talking in the office, I could feel his eyes on me in a way that I haven’t felt in years, at least not since college. The men at my job look at me in a similar way, but without the intrigue or curiosity. They’re just pigs. Matteo could be too for all I know, but the way he makes me feel is so new and has so much depth that I’m not even sure what to think anymore. The men at work act like they want to fuck me all the time, but they’re all assholes. I would rather die alone than even have dinner with any of them. They’re crass, unfunny, and inappropriate. I’ve overheard the things that they say about me, and it’s made me sick to my stomach on multiple occasions.
“So, up here is the guest bedroom. It’s not much to look at right now, but I’ll have it furnished any way you want it,” Matteo says as he leads me up to the top of the stairs.
Feeling his hand on the small of my back sends chills up and down my body – not the kind that make someone nervous or fearful, but the kind that introduce the feeling of intrigue and danger that you don’t encounter much in your day-to-day life. Even my interactions with killers and high-profile criminals didn’t give me this restlessness. Is it really just because I find Matteo attractive? Am I that shallow?
He opens the door to the room, and I’m blown away by how beautiful it is as the morning light streams through onto the light hardwood floors. Everything is so angular and structured meticulously, and I’m under the impression once again that this man has had considerable help designing his home. I can’t even imagine how much money it would cost to hire someone else to decorate your home for you. It’s possible I’ve been underestimating just how much money Matteo has.
“What do you think of it?” he asks, leering at me from the doorway as I step in cautiously.
I’m speechless at first. This room is the kind of place you would pay three hundred dollars a night for on vacation with your fiancé. Everything feels so clean and pristine as the smell from the clean blankets and sheets fills the air. How does he keep this room so fresh on such short notice? It seems as if it’s been cleaned extremely recently.
Maybe there was another woman here.
I try not to let the thought twist my guts too much. Besides, if Matteo had a woman here, there’s no doubt she would sleep with him inhisbed.
The piece of me that I hate the most, the jealous portion of my flaws, reaches out to me and begins to wrap itself around me in an unnerving and over-familiar embrace. I hate feeling this way, especially over somebody who I just met. It feels so childish and unnecessarily taxing on my emotions and self-esteem.
“I’m not sure. I feel like I’ll ruin everything just by touching it. This feels like a showroom at IKEA if everything there cost three-thousand dollars,” I reply, stepping toward the bed to feel the pressure of the mattress.
“Well, if you don’t like it, maybe you can come stay in my room instead. It’s bigger and I have blackout curtains. You know, so nobody can see us when we’re up all night,” he replies, leaning in the doorway with a disarming smile.
I freeze in my tracks. The audacity of this man! How can he be so pushy and blunt with me when I’ve hardly just come out of a drug-induced nap coma? I quite literally could have been sold into sex slavery if he hadn’t saved me, but that doesn’t give him the right to make jokes like that. He should really be more sensitive.
The problem is that, deep down, it really doesn’t bother me. In fact, I kind of like the way he talks about me with such a playful and mysterious energy. It makes me feel like, even if he had another woman here, he’s still giving me the chance to show him that I’m worth it. I never thought that being a part of a man’s sex roster would be fun, but I kind of enjoy the competition if there is any.
But for now, I have to keep my composure. Allowing Matteo to seduce me would create a clear, undeniable bias toward him that my male colleagues would pick up on immediately. If they could curate a rumor about me fucking the man who I wrote my breakthrough article about, I’d be ruined. They’re ruthless, and they hate to see me succeed.
