Page 37 of Matteo

He glances at his watch. It’s a black-faced sports watch and it gleams against the worn leather bracelets on his wrist. “I see you made it right on time.”

Is he having a dig at me already? “I'm always punctual.”

“Good to know. Follow me.”

I follow him across the open plan office and become acutely aware of the glances, the way people stop and then quickly continue, as I walk past.

Everything is glass and sleek black surfaces, giving the lab a futuristic feel. The keyboards make minimal noise, and men, mostly in quarter-zips and expensive watches sit facing the glare of giant screens.

So this is what the command center of a billion- or trillion-dollar empire looks like.

“I didn't know I was going to be in the basement,” I say, following him.

“Would it have made a difference?”

“No.”

“Is it a problem?” He glances over his shoulder at me.

“No.” Yes.

But I'll get over it. I know I'm not trapped, or under interrogation, but this workspace will still take some adjusting to.

“Are you sure?” Matteo asks, “Because you look worried.”

“I'll be fine,” I say, cheerily. I so badly want to believe that there's still a glimmer of the nice Matteo hiding behind that stern face.

“Actually,” he turns around and we almost crash into one another. We don't touch, but for a tiny suspended second I smell his dark and dangerous scent, and I almost brush my hand against his black T. I catch a glint of the chain around his neck as I stumble back.

“Let me give you a quick tour of everything,” he says, turning course.

I follow him like a sheep to slaughter. So many pairs of eyes are on us. All young guys. Not a woman in sight. All looking at me like I'm some prized circus animal.

“As you can see, it’s open plan, mostly. Here’s the kitchen,” he says, dipping into a compact kitchen with sleek countertops, a refrigerator, a microwave, and rows of neatly stocked cabinets. Then he quickly walks back out and waves a hand before him at the rows of desks.

People start staring at us again. “This is all of our tech people.”

It looks like about thirty young guys.

“They're a mix of engineers, infrastructure specialists, analysts and tech architects, lot of IT support specialists,” he continues, talking fast, as if he’s rushing to get this over with. “You get the picture.”

“Interesting,” I say, sounding irritatingly breathless.

“They're all Ivy League grads.”

“You've seen my resume?” I ask, wondering if he's having a pointed dig at me.

“I did. My father finally emailed it to me this morning. It’s not bad for someone who has no college degree or much experience.”

I flinch at his words. He's not even bothering to hide his resentment towards me. All the fairytale delusions I had of how things might work out between us once we both got used to the idea of working together, just died a quick death.

“If you're so angry with your father for hiring me, you should take it up with him,” I snap in a low voice as we walk away from the open plan area and head towards his office.

“That's Alex in there.” He points to a big glass pod next to his office inside which sits an older guy. His dark hair is peppered with a lot of white, and he has a beard. He's on the phone and doesn't see us.

“He's my right-hand man. He's the Senior Director of Infrastructure and Cybersecurity Operations and he reports to me. He's in charge of Sonny and Joel, who are the lead systems engineers. You met Sonny earlier.” He points to two glass pods next to Alex's office. Sonny is typing away and is oblivious that we're watching him. In the pod next to him is a young-ish guy who’s smiling at me.

“That's Joel. The office joker and flirt,” Matteo warns.