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She sighed as she turned around.
“You have a problem with that?” she asked, staring Matt Russo down, despite her surprise that he was commenting on her date.
“Do you think that’s two last names or two first?” Only Matt Russo could make a joke in such a deadpan voice—and without cracking a smile—that she wasn’t even sure if he was trying to be funny.
“Careful, Matt. Someone might mistake that for humor and your reputation as a grumpy bastard would be shattered forever.”
Matt’s only response was the slightest narrowing of his eyes before his expression flattened out to his typical look—stoic, solemn.
Typically, their conversations were restricted to work. And, for better or worse, most of those discussions became contentiousness, given the fact Matt viewed her as overly ambitious when it came to her goals for the Initiative, while, in her opinion, he was far too conservative, too slow to act.
During their last meeting, he’d told her she needed to scale back on her planned fundraisers for the upcoming year, claiming that too many philanthropic projects would “wear out” her contributors.
Wear them out.
Those were the words he’d actually used. As if the wealthy had a limited amount of endurance when it came to writing checks and spending money they wouldn’t even miss. She’d told him that when the needs of the less fortunate were smaller than the overflowing coffers of the wealthy, she’d slow down. But until then, her project goals would remain the same.
Tonight, he was breaking the pattern by touching on something more personal.
“You never bring dates to work functions, Ms. Moretti.”
Ah. And there it was. The connection. The son of a bitch stressed the word work like she was breaking some sort of rule or something…which she wasn’t. She also didn’t appreciate him talking to her like she was his subordinate. She didn’t work for him; she worked with him, a concept he struggled to grasp.
Plus, it bugged the hell out of her that he always called her Ms. Moretti rather than Liza. What the hell was that about? It made her feel like a naughty schoolgirl, and not in a sexy way.
“Not that it’s any of your concern, but I am perfectly capable of handling my duties.” She held up her notecards to prove her point. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to—”
“I’m surprised to see you with him,” Matt interjected.
Liza hesitated to reply for a moment, thrown for a loop.
Wait.
Was he pissed that she brought a date to a work function? Or was he pissed she’d brought a date, period?
“What does that mean?” she finally managed to ask.
“He’s not your type.”
And what the fuck did that mean?
As always, Mr. Aloof was impossible to read, so she had no idea if he was insulting her or Davis.
“Thank you so much for that unsolicited opinion,” she replied sarcastically.
And there it was.
The Matt Russo smirk.
The only reaction she ever managed to provoke from the man was that infuriating smirk.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Charles Dunning, president of the Initiative, announced from the stage. “If you will please take your seats, Liza Moretti, Executive Director of the Philadelphia Initiative and our wonderful hostess for this evening, has a special presentation for you.”
“Shit,” she murmured. That was her cue.
She shot Matt a dirty look, then skirted by him.
The orchestra had packed up and cleared the stage and a screen was being lowered. Once the presentation was over, the band would quickly set up and her responsibilities for the evening would wind down to schmoozing the bigwigs and answering questions, most of the heavy lifting done. In a couple more hours, the guests would be well on their way to intoxicated and shaking their asses on the dance floor, at which point she could finally begin to relax.
