Chapter 2 - The Midnight Ride
The back of the black sedan was dead silent as it cut through the wet, neon-lit streets of Manhattan. The rain had begun to slick the asphalt, casting long, smeared reflections of streetlamps across the tinted windows.
I sat near the far door, staring out at the blurred lights of the city, my arms crossed over my silk bodice. Luca sat beside me, his long legs stretched out, his tie loosened slightly at the collar. He hadn't said a word since we left the Beaumont Hotel, but the air inside the cabin felt thick enough to chew.
"You're angry," I finally said, breaking the silence.
"I'm observant," Luca corrected without turning his head.
"Because I danced with Ethan?"
"Because you enjoyed the attention of a man who wouldn't know your value if it bit him on the wrist." Luca turned his head then, his dark eyes fixing on mine in the dim interior light. "He didn't look at you for three years while you sat outside my office managing my schedule, filtering my calls, and keeping my life from imploding. The second I put you in a dress and a room full of vultures, he acts like he discovered a masterpiece."
I felt a sudden, sharp flutter in my chest—part irritation, part something entirely more dangerous. "And whose fault is that, Luca? For three years, to you and everyone else in that building, I was invisible. I was just the machinery behind the desk. Tonight was the first time anyone in that ballroom actually saw me as a person."
Luca’s expression shifted, the hard angles of his face softening just a fraction. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "You were never invisible to me, Sophia."
"You hid me behind a closed door and a pile of quarterly reports."
"To protect you."
"To protect yourself," I corrected sharply. "You didn't want distractions. You wanted efficiency. There is a vast difference."
The car turned sharply onto Fifth Avenue, the tires hissing against the wet pavement. Luca reached out, his long fingers brushing against the back of my hand where it rested on the leather seat. I didn't pull away, but I didn't return the touch either.
"Tonight was supposed to be a transaction," Luca said quietly, his thumb tracing my knuckles with a slow, hypnotic rhythm. "You agreed to four hours of your time in exchange for ending the board’s matchmaking campaign."
"And you broke the rules first by glaring at every man who looked in my direction."
"I am a Moretti, Sophia. We don't share."
"We aren't actually together," I reminded him, though my pulse was beginning to race against my better judgment. "This is a temporary arrangement. Tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, I go back to being your executive secretary, and you go back to treating me like an employee who occasionally speaks out of turn."
Luca’s hand tightened over mine, pulling me slightly closer across the leather console. His face was inches from mine now, the faint scent of cedar and expensive scotch wrapping around me like smoke.
"Do you really think," he whispered, his breath warm against my cheek, "that after tonight, I can ever look at you across a desk and pretend you work for me?"
Before I could formulate an answer, the car jerked to a smooth stop outside my apartment building in Brooklyn. The driver killed the engine, maintaining a discreet silence behind the partition.
Luca didn't let go of my hand. Instead, he pushed open his door and stepped out into the misty night, circling the vehicle to open mine before the driver could reach the handle. He offered his hand—not as a boss, and not as a fake boyfriend, but with a quiet, undeniable gravity.
I placed my hand in his, letting him help me out onto the damp sidewalk.
The rain had slowed to a fine mist, glistening under the amber glow of the brownstone's porch light.
"Thank you for the evening, Mr. Moretti," I said, trying and failing to keep the steady, professional edge in my voice.
Luca stepped closer, his tall frame blocking the cold wind from the street. He reached up, his knuckles gently brushing a stray lock of dark hair behind my ear. His touch lingered against my jawline, warm and deliberate.
"Good night, Sophia," he murmured, his thumb tracing my lower lip. "Get some sleep. We have a ten o'clock budget review, and I expect you to be early."
"I'm always early."
May you like
"I know."
He dropped his hand, stepping back just enough to let me turn toward the iron gate. But as I climbed the brownstone steps, I could feel his eyes burning into my back every step of the way.
