"Come on," he says, patting the mattress beside him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "Sit."
Panic shoots through me instantly.
On one side, I have my dad telling me, "Don’t even go to that boy’s house."
On the other side, I have Gio telling me, "Sit on my bed." Peak contrast.
Why is this even a thing? I’m straight. This isn’t a big deal. This is just Gio being Gio.
Arrogant. Carefree. Half-naked in my head for way too long. I hesitate, staring at the space beside him. Then, trying to keep my face as neutral as possible, I stand up and cross the room.
And I sit down. Not too close. But not too far either. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye.
I don’t look back.
"See?" he says casually, like nothing in the world changed. "Much better."
I nod, stiff. Like hell I’m going to admit I can’t breathe. "So," I say, trying to sound calm while my body is still adjusting to the fact that I’m sitting on his bed next to him.
"Presentation. Let’s actually start, yeah?"
He doesn’t answer. Instead, Gio reaches under the bed and pulls out a box. Not a file, not a folder.
An actual box. He drops it between us on the mattress, the lid half open, papers and random crap spilling out.
"What the hell is that?" I ask.
He shrugs. "Stuff."
"Stuff," I repeat blankly.
He leans back on one hand, totally relaxed. "You do the actual work. I’ll read it all before we present, like last time. I’ll sound charming, we’ll win. Boom."
My mouth opens, then closes again.
"Wait—what? That’s your plan?"
He tilts his head toward me, smirking. "Worked before."
I stare at him, searching for a single sign he might be joking. There isn’t one. "So you’re just letting me do everything?"
"I’m letting you shine," he says, grinning.
"Don’t be ungrateful."
"And this is what? Your big contribution to the family legacy? Dump a box and sit back?"
His smirk fades a little.
"That’s as far as I go for this company."
Oh.
So it isn’t just me forced into this circus. Both of us are here against our will.
Me, who wants to become a teacher, and him doing whatever the hell it is he does. We’re both trapped. Just in different flavors.
Two idiots shoved into a business deal neither of us asked for. Two sons drafted into a war our parents started.
