Chapter 5 Five

I walked out of the elevator, Mia beside me chattering away, but my mind was too far gone to even register what she was saying. My thoughts kept drifting back to yesterday.

Back to him.

To his stupid, smug face. His arrogant, cocky tone. His complete refusal to acknowledge what had happened between us. And the worst part? The part that made me want to scream into a pillow? I had let it get to me.

"Hey," Mia nudged me, pulling me out of my head. "What's with all this constant drifting away?"

I blinked. "Huh?"

She leaned in, a teasing smile dancing on her lips. "Don't tell me you're still thinking about your kiss with your boss."

I nearly choked on my lukewarm coffee.

"Seriously?" I croaked, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Can we not?"

She giggled. "Why? You've been in a daze all morning. I swear, if I didn't know better, I'd think you're falling for the devil in the tailored suit."

I glared at her. "I'd rather date a cactus."

We parted ways a few steps later, waving at Mia my mutual friend and fashion assistant before I made my way down the hallway toward my office.

And then I paused.

Right outside his door.

It was closed, silent, and still.

Was he in already? Or was he out somewhere screwing someone on a perfectly bright Wednesday morning? The latter wouldn't surprise me. I sighed and turned toward my office, where an avalanche of work waited on my desk like it had been personally sent from hell.

His schedule was still a mess from yesterday. I had to edit, rearrange, and forward it to several departments before lunchtime. I hated how even while not being present, he somehow made my day harder just by existing.

Minutes turned into hours.

I got to work, head buried in emails, fingers flying across the keyboard. But my eyes kept drifting toward the telephone on my desk. No calls. No messages.

Nothing from him.

Which was weird.

He always had something to say something snarky, something rude, something frustrating. And now that he was silent? I didn't know if I was relieved... or pissed.

Was he planning to fire me?

Or worse was he ignoring me?

By 10:42 a.m., I was done waiting.

Grabbing a handful of files that needed his signature, I stormed toward his office, irritation bubbling up like a shaken soda bottle. I stopped at the door, hand on the handle, heart pounding with a mix of nerves and simmering anger.

And that's when I heard them.

Two employees were chatting in the hallway behind me, just loud enough to catch a few words that froze me in place.

"...didn't you hear? Mr. Russo won't be in the office today."

I frowned and leaned back, just enough to hear more.

"He has a lunch reservation at that five-star rooftop restaurant downtown. Private table and everything. Guess he's pulling out the charm for his girlfriend."

My stomach dropped.

The air seemed to vanish from the hallway. For a moment, I thought I'd misheard. Girlfriend?

"Wait, Matteo has a girlfriend?" the second voice asked.

"Oh yeah," the first replied with a knowing laugh. "Some wealthy heiress. She's been around for a while on and off, but he always goes back to her. Gorgeous, rich, the whole deal."

I stepped back, blinking. My heart had no business racing the way it was. It was none of my business. It wasn't like we were anything.

But somehow, it stung.

A lot.

I returned to my desk in a haze, throwing the files down with more force than necessary. I tried to focus, but the image of him kissing that blonde woman yesterday morning came rushing back like a slap.

So she was the girlfriend.

Of course, she was. I mean, look at her she was every man's dream. Sophisticated. Confident. A walking ad for diamonds and heartbreak. The kind of woman Matteo Russo deserved.

And I? I was just the girl who kissed her boss in a club while drunk on tequila and emotional damage.

I picked up my pen, stared at my screen, and cursed under my breath.

"Of course he has a girlfriend," I muttered. "Of course he's got a whole-ass rooftop reservation like it's some Nicholas Sparks novel."

I didn't know what bothered me more the fact that he had someone, or the fact that he didn't even have the decency to cancel his meetings himself.

What kind of boss disappeared without telling his assistant?

I opened my email.

No updates from him. No forwarded messages. No notes. Nothing.

Just me, a pile of work, and a growing storm brewing inside my chest.

The day dragged.

Lunchtime came and went. I ate a sad salad at my desk while everyone else laughed in the break room. I didn't feel like talking to anyone. Especially not Mia. I couldn't handle the teasing or the I-told-you-so glint in her eyes.

By 3 p.m., I was exhausted.

Not physically, but emotionally drained by the weight of something I didn't even want to name. Something that felt a lot like disappointment. Like betrayal. Even if I had no right to feel it.

And then, just when I thought the day couldn't get worse...

He walked in.

I was mid-email, fingers paused on the keys, when his voice echoed from the hallway like the entrance of a villain in an old movie.

"Miss Hart," he drawled smoothly, stepping into the office space like he owned the building. Which, technically, he did.

I looked up slowly, arching a brow. "Oh. Hello sir."

He smirked. "Any updates?"

None sir, I replied without looking at his eyes.

He stopped in front of my desk, clearly amused. "You look tense."

"You didn't show up," I snapped. "No emails. No texts. No instructions. Just vanished while I had to clean up your chaotic schedule and dodge questions from the marketing team."

"I had personal matters to attend to."

I stood, crossing my arms. "Ah, yes. Rooftop lunch with the heiress. Very personal."

His eyes narrowed, and this time, there was no playful glint behind them just steel. "Careful, Miss Hart. You're stepping out of line."

"Try existing in this building," I shot back, chin lifted. "People talk. Loudly."

He stepped closer, his voice low but stripped of all charm. "And do you make a habit of listening to gossip that has nothing to do with your job?"

"Do you make a habit of disappearing during critical meetings without telling your assistant?"

"Do I pay you to question how I spend my time?" he snapped, voice cutting through the air like a blade.

The words hit me like a slap, but I refused to flinch. Not in front of him.

"Maybe not," I said slowly, "but you do pay me to keep your schedule from falling apart. Which is impossible when you vanish into thin air to wine and dine your heiress girlfriend."

He gave a cold laugh one without a shred of humor.

"Do yourself a favor, Miss Hart," he said, stepping even closer, "and learn the difference between professionalism and personal insecurity. You're my assistant, not my keeper. So stop acting like one."

My hands balled into fists at my sides.

"I'm just trying to do my damn job."

"Then do it," he said sharply. "And stay out of things that don't concern you."

I blinked, anger rising like a storm inside me. "You're unbelievable."

"And you're exhausting," he shot back. "Always with that attitude, like you have something to prove."

I wanted to scream. "Because you make this job impossible!"

"Or maybe it's just not meant for someone who gets distracted by who I kiss and where I eat," he said coolly.

I stared at him, jaw clenched, breathing hard.

His expression didn't change. That same unreadable, smug mask sat perfectly on his face.

And then he turned to walk away.

But I wasn't finished not even close.

"Next time," I said, loud enough to stop him, "maybe try acting like a real boss instead of a walking complication in a three-piece suit."

He paused.

Then turned around slowly, eyes burning now not with amusement, but something darker.

"I don't owe you an explanation for my life," he said coldly. "And if you're so bothered by how I run things here, maybe you're in the wrong damn building."

My breath caught in my throat.

"And let me be very clear," he continued, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper as he stepped close again. "My private life is not your concern. So the next time I hear you sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, you'll regret it."

The room dropped into silence, the kind that thickened the air until it choked you. And then he took another step, so close I could see the cold calculation in his eyes.

"You listen to me and listen well," he said, voice dropping into a dangerously low growl. "You are nothing more than an assistant. A paper-pushing, errand-running, easily replaceable piece of shit who got lucky because someone forwarded your pathetic résumé."

I froze, breath catching in my throat.

"And if you ever speak to me like that again," he continued, "I'll fire you so fast you won't have time to pack up your desk."

I blinked at him, stunned.

"You think because of one drunken kiss you matter?" he sneered, every word designed to cut. "You don't. Not to me. Not in this office. You're a line on payroll and nothing more."

My hands were shaking, but I held my ground, biting the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood.

He stared at me for another beat, waiting for me to break.

But I wouldn't.

Not for him.

Not today.

And then he turned, dismissing me completely.

Cold. Cruel. Ruthless.

Like I meant absolutely nothing.

And this time, when he walked away, it felt final.

Like a door slamming shut inside me.

I sat back down, swallowing the lump in my throat, heart pounding with rage, shame, and something worse hurt.

Because as much as I wanted to believe he was just my boss somehow, his words still managed to break something inside me.

I was furious, humiliated, and burning from the inside out. I wanted to scream, to throw something, to say I don't care but the truth sat bitter on my tongue.

Because I did care.

Too much.

And that was the problem.