How would he know we've also been talking to Bellandi Operations?
He wouldn't. We've kept it very under wraps.
I focus back on what he's saying.
"I'm not rejecting the deal on principle," I say. "I'm rejecting it because you're here and I don't know if I can do my job if you're in the room."
"I can remove myself from the negotiations," he says immediately. "I can step back. I can tell them— I don't know. I'll think of something."
He says it like it's the easiest thing in the world. Like he's willing to throw away his role, his leverage, for me.
And for a second, I believe him.
I shake my head.
His hand comes up, and after a moment of hesitation, he cups my cheek. I let him, just for a second, before I pull away.
I’m trying to be strong here, and his touching me isn’t helping.
"Elsa," he murmurs, "don't throw away something good for nothing."
I look at him, really look at him. At the exhaustion in his eyes, at the plea in his voice, at the raw vulnerability he’s trying so hard to hide.
And I see that he’s not just trying to save a deal.
He'strying to save this.
Whatever this is between us.
It's a stupid, reckless, impossible thing. But it's there.
"Look, Antonio, even if I believe you," I say, my voice shaking slightly, my composure held together by a thread, “even if you didn’t know who I was, it doesn’t change anything.”
“Why not?” he asks, and he looks genuinely confused. Like he can’t see the gaping hole I’m standing in front of. “If I didn’t know, then it wasn’t a setup. It was just… two people who wanted each other.”
“I am the due diligence lead on this acquisition, Antonio,” I say, the words feeling like poison in my mouth. “I am the one who has to give the final recommendation. The one who can make or break this deal.”
He looks at me, the pieces finally clicking into place.
I see it in the way the tension goes out of him, a sudden, sagging weight that makes him look tired.
"Ah," he says, and it's not a victory, not a celebration, not a "gotcha." It's a slow, dawning understanding of what a fucking disaster this is.
"How can I be objective? How can I be the ethical voice when I'm compromised, Antonio?" I say. "How can I look them in the eye and tell them this is a good idea when even I don't know if I'm thinking clearly? When I'm thinking about you instead of what's best for the company? And how would they trust my recommendation if they found out? If they knewI slept with the buyer? It doesn't matter why I did it. It just matters that I did."
He opens his mouth, then closes it.
He has no answer for that.
Neither do I.
"It's not just a conflict of interest," I say, and my voice is so quiet it's almost a whisper. "It's a career-ending mistake. A fireable offense. And who would hire me after that? This is a small world, Antonio. People talk. And people remember."
I look away, toward the dark screen on the wall, the silent witness to this whole, sordid mess.
"And I can't," I say, and the words are so painful I can barely get them out. "I can't throw away my career for a man I spent one night with."
My composure finally cracks, a single tear escaping and tracing a path down my cheek.
