Page 58 of Matteo

“I won’t need to stroke your wrists then?” he asks.

His comment shakes me. It’s almost like he’s daring me to give an answer. “From what I remember you liked stroking them.”

His Adam’s apple moves, and I want to believe that he wasn’t expecting this. “From what I remember, you liked it.”

I pray that my cheeks won’t turn red, but I feel a tinge of heat crawling along my skin.

“You did like it,” he murmurs, lips curling into an infuriating smile.

Thankfully, we’re on the ground floor now and the elevator doors slide open. I rush out, heart pounding. My nerve endings are tangled into knots. It’s ridiculous how easily this man gets under my skin. One teasing comment, one smug smile, one glance from him and my cheeks heat. Something flutters low in my belly.

I need distance. Air. Anything but to be standing close to him. I don’t know where we’re heading, and I’m starting to think this isn’t a good idea, because my boss, my temporary boss, my hot, sexy, smoldering man-who-doesn’t-look-like-a-boss, kind of just flirted with me.

And I liked it.

Although, I don’t think I’ll ever see Matteo as my boss.

I see him as my equal.

And that’s the problem.

We head into what looks like a wine bar. He must sense my hesitation because he explains. “It’s the nearest place to work.”

We get a table by the window. It’s one of those bars that are all sleek glass and steel; grey walls and big windows, but now in the evening, little tealights on every table give a cosy ambiance.

A waitress rushes over as soon as we’ve sat down, and she seems to only have eyes for him. I grab a menu and peruse it while he orders a beer and a burger without even looking at the menu. I have a feeling he’s a regular here.

My stomach rumbles again. I’m sure the waitress heard it. “I’ll have tap water and a chicken and bacon sandwich, please.”

We stare at one another when she leaves. And now here we are, sitting across the table from one another, not in a meeting, or in a professional environment, but in a wine bar, of all places, the air between us turns prickly. My insides tingle with anticipation as I stare at his messy hair, and his eyes which are darker now.

“I was at the hospital,” he says, and at first I’m relieved that we’re making conversation, but then the words sink in.

“The hospital?” I gasp, putting my hand on my chest. “Why? What happened?”

He hesitates, and I’m starting to think this guy is so private, he never answers my questions. What is the point of this? I could have taken my rumbling stomach home and—

“My father,” he says, abruptly. “His condition’s worsened.”

I bolt upright. “What do you mean worsened?”

“He has kidney failure. Was diagnosed less than a year ago, but his condition has deteriorated.”

Kidney failure?

“I’m … I’m sorry Matteo. That’s awful.” The interactions between me and Paul flash through my mind and I begin to see it. At the presentation, he didn’t look himself. Then last week we had a meeting but he suddenly went home.

“He’ll … he’ll get better, won’t he?” I’m struggling with the enormity of this news, and also beginning to understand why Matteo didn’t quite seem himself today. “Surely there’s something they can do?”

He swipes a hand over his face, and now that I’m looking at him closely, I see worry written all over it. “He’s not fine. He collapsed again, a little while ago. He hadn’t been taking the doctors’ advice. He wasn’t taking his meds or watching his diet. Now he needs a kidney transplant.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “I’m so sorry.” This keeps getting worse. I can’t begin to imagine the pressure on Matteo.

He lifts a shoulder, like it’s no big deal. “He’s not one for following the rules, or instructions. He thinks he’s infallible and now he’s finding out that he isn’t. But it’s too late. He needs a kidney.”

I sit back, my chest tightening. I’ve seen Matteo shaken for the first time, and I knew he was carrying something heavy, but his reaction still surprises me. Seeing him with his father, it's obvious they don't get along. Half the time they can barely be in the same room without arguing.

And yet this is still his father.