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He operates under immense pressure. A fast-paced, results-driven environment is where he thrives, but it must be so lonely. Most people fear him, or judge him, or expect something from him. No wonder he shows the world a mask of coldness.
It’s a necessity for him. Distance. Yes, he’s short with people, rude even, but I wonder how much of it is a personality and how much is a survival mechanism that has grown over time into his second nature.
I turn my head to watch him. The perfect profile, with his square jaw and chiseled cheekbones, and just the beginning of a five o’clock shadow on his flawless, tanned skin. I see it all in a slightly different light. A ghost of inner beauty I would never guess he possessed.
“And I’m severely allergic to beestings.”
Wait. What? “A dangerous hobby then.”
“The other option would be to give in to fear and miss out on something great. Let’s talk media.”
He snaps me out of my reverence so quickly, I almost trip rushing to the table again.
Gio sits to the side of me this time, leaning back in the chair, looking almost relaxed. I don’t really have a reason to look at him differently, but I do. The rolled-up sleeves, one ankle over his knee, casual gaze.
A glimpse of the considered man I got at the gala, with this job, today watching the currently empty hives, forces me to reevaluate my attitude. Perhaps I can give him a chance.
So he seems superficial in his personal life with all the models and the phone practically attached to his hand. Who am I to judge on the latter, after all? But I have to acknowledge that he built a great company and doesn’t impose his ideas on people, judging by today’s meeting.
We talk about the media plan. He asks only a few questions, mostly about his role, and I get the feeling this is his least favorite part of the job. He likes to be behind the scenes. If he spoke to people with the passion he just showed me when talking about bees, the media would love him.
We conclude the meeting and I stand up, for some reason expecting there to be more casual chat, but Gio immediately focuses on his tablet.
“I’ll have Lydia text you the flight details. You can see yourself out.”
Dismissed. I guess the rare glimpse of humanity was just a fluke.
“Sorry, if you don’t mind, I need to use the bathroom.” I shove my notebook into my bag.
He looks up from his screen with an expression of annoyance. “It’s to the left at the end of the hall. Good job today.” He dips his head back to continue his work.
Truly dismissed. The interesting man from earlier is gone. Really a fluke.
I take my things and hurry to use the bathroom. I have to spend a week with him, and then hopefully someone else takes over and I can go back to avoiding him.
Though a week together, working, might be a very difficult endeavor. With the arms that distract me. The scent that robs me of rational thought. The deep brown eyes that fluster me.
All of it was easy to ignore—okay, feasible, not easy—before that glimpse of an interesting man flashed in front of me. Before he remembered to shut it away.
Hopefully, he’ll be rude enough to keep this relationship professional. Well, that’s an oxymoron if I heard one.
As I walk from the bathroom, taking a peek at an impressive kitchen, I wish I had asked him for a tour. The idea of his probable response, with that tensed jaw and expression of a suffering animal, brings giggles to my lips.
“Thank you, Lydia, and please have someone pick up Ms. Ward on Sunday.” Gio speaks on his phone with his assistant. He’s looking at the garden, his back to me.
The broad expanse of his shoulders, stretching out his shirt, begs to be touched. Okay, in my mind. I wonder if he makes love with the same intensity as he works. With that frown on his face.
Jesus, Mila. I roll my eyes at myself, and then I regret stopping to listen. Well, technically I stopped to admire, but I do hear his next words, and any idea of a man I painted in my mind is wiped away.
“Oh, Lydia, please set up a date for me upon my return, or even this Saturday.” A casual request, as if he was reserving a table at a restaurant. He has his assistant schedule his dates?
“Oh, not with her.” I don’t know who Lydia suggested, but Gio shudders at the mention. What the hell?
He nods a few times, listening. “Sure, let’s see if she is available.”
He turns and I scurry away, grabbing my things in the weird closet and running out the door.
He saw me. He caught me eavesdropping. But what I overheard is way more… pathetic? Weird? Sad?
