Chapter 5 - At eleven fifty-five, I stood outside the boardroom with Luca’s letter folded inside my notebook.
Director of Strategic Operations.
Even reading the title felt strange.
Not impossible.
Just larger than the life I had pictured for myself three years earlier.
Back then, I had wanted stability.
A decent salary.
A place where working hard mattered.
Then Luca Moretti hired me, and somewhere between restructuring calendars, crisis calls, investor meetings, and the occasional emergency involving imported marble, I had become good at something I hadn’t known existed.
Seeing problems before they arrived.
Understanding people who rarely said exactly what they meant.
Building order without needing credit for it.
Maybe the promotion wasn’t charity.
Maybe I had spent so long proving myself that I had forgotten I was allowed to believe the evidence.
The boardroom door opened.
Julian leaned out.
He was technically not supposed to attend.
This had never stopped him from doing anything in his life.
“You’re lurking.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“Why are you here?”
“Grandmother’s shares.”
He straightened his jacket.
“Also, I enjoy corporate tension when it isn’t mine.”
I smiled.
Then the smile faded.
“Julian.”
“Yes?”
“Did Luca ask you to talk to me?”
“No.”
“Rosa?”
“No.”
“Your mother?”
“No.”
“Then why do you look like you’re about to give advice?”
“Natural talent.”
I sighed.
He softened.
“For what it’s worth, he’s terrified.”
“Luca doesn’t get terrified.”
“He does. He just schedules it privately.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
Julian opened the door.
“Come on, Director.”
“I haven’t accepted.”
“You came to the meeting.”
“That means I’m considering.”
“In Moretti language, that’s practically enthusiasm.”
The board meeting lasted seventy-two minutes.
I knew because I counted every one of them.
Luca presented a restructuring plan that separated several legacy family assets from the company’s primary operations.
It reduced Stefano’s old property division.
Expanded Julian’s role in hospitality.
Created a new strategic group connecting operations, acquisitions, and risk management.
My department.
Potentially.
When my name appeared on the screen, no one looked surprised.
That surprised me.
Luca didn’t oversell me.
He didn’t describe me as indispensable.
He simply listed the projects I had led, the costs I had helped reduce, the systems I had built, and the recommendations from department heads I had never known were recommending me.
Facts.
My work.
Mine.
When the board voted, the appointment passed unanimously.
Afterward, people shook my hand.
One director said, “About time.”
Another asked when I planned to replace Luca completely.
Luca replied, “She already runs half the company.”
I gave him a warning look.
He almost smiled.
By one-thirty, the boardroom was empty.
Just Luca and me.
The city glittered beyond the windows.
No snow today.
Only pale winter sun.
He removed his suit jacket.
“You don’t have to decide immediately.”
“I already did.”
He stopped.
“I’m accepting.”
Something in his face eased.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“You earned it.”
“I know.”
The words felt wonderful.
Not arrogant.
Not defensive.
Simply true.
Luca nodded slowly.
“Good.”
“And I want a raise.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“The compensation package is already substantial.”
“I want a better one.”
“You haven’t even moved offices.”
“Negotiation starts before comfort sets in.”
He stared at me.
Then laughed.
Actually laughed.
The sound filled the empty boardroom.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll negotiate.”
“There’s another condition.”
“Of course.”
“I no longer report directly to you.”
The laughter faded.
But he understood immediately.
“You’d report to the COO.”
“Yes.”
“That was already my intention.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“You’re learning.”
“Slowly.”
The quiet changed.
Work conversation was ending.
The other conversation waited.
Luca looked toward the closed door.
“I told you there was something else.”
“Yes.”
He took a breath.
I had never seen him prepare for words before.
He usually treated language like a tool he controlled completely.
Now it seemed to resist him.
“I don’t know how to do this well.”
“That makes two of us.”
“No.”
His eyes met mine.
“You do honesty better than I do.”
“I told your grandmother we were dating when we weren’t.”
“You were following my terrible idea.”
“True.”
“I’ve had worse ideas.”
“I remember the Zurich merger.”
“That worked.”
“Eventually.”
Silence.
Then Luca reached into his pocket.
For one horrible second, I thought he was about to produce jewelry.
Instead, he placed something on the table.
My father’s letter.
Not the original.
A copy.
“I thought you should have this.”
I touched the paper.
“Thank you.”
“The original belongs to the family archive if you want it there. Or it belongs to you.”
“You’re asking?”
“Yes.”
Progress.
“I’ll think about it.”
He nodded.
Then he said, “Emma, Friday night wasn’t entirely a lie.”
“I know.”
“But I need to say something without hiding behind my family, Stefano, the company, your father, or Christmas.”
My pulse quickened.
He stepped closer.
Not too close.
“I’m in love with you.”
There it was.
No performance.
No audience.
No strategic purpose.
The simplest sentence I had ever heard from Luca Moretti.
I stared at him.
He continued before I could speak.
“I don’t know exactly when it happened.”
“That is disappointingly unspecific.”
“I’ve been busy.”
I laughed.
His mouth curved.
Then he became serious again.
“I think it started before I noticed. Somewhere between you arguing with me about cancelling vacations and reminding me that the receptionist’s son was graduating.”
“Mateo.”
“I know his name.”
“Now.”
“Because you made me go to the party.”
“You stayed twelve minutes.”
“Fourteen.”
“You checked your watch.”
“I had a call.”
“You always have a call.”
“I’m improving.”
He was.
That was the problem.
It was much easier to resist a man who refused to change.
Luca continued.
“I noticed when you took a week off last spring.”
“My mother had surgery.”
“I know.”
“You approved the leave.”
“I spent six days opening my own email.”
“That sounds traumatic.”
“It was barbaric.”
I laughed again.
His expression softened.
“I missed you.”
My chest tightened.
“Professionally?”
“No.”
No hesitation.
“I missed hearing you complain about my calendar. I missed you stealing the good coffee pods from the executive kitchen. I missed you reminding me that employees are human beings and not movable pieces.”
“I never said movable pieces.”
“You implied it.”
“Frequently.”
“And I realized I knew what your voice sounded like when you were tired.”
My smile faded.
“I knew when you were pretending to be fine.”
My throat tightened.
“And when you came back,” he said, “I was relieved in a way that had nothing to do with work.”
I looked toward the windows.
For years, Luca had been the center of my professional world.
That alone made this frightening.
But there was another truth.
One I had avoided because avoiding it had felt responsible.
“I missed you too,” I said.
Luca didn’t move.
“Not just the job.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“I told myself it was because you were impossible and I needed to make sure nobody accidentally scheduled you for two countries on the same day.”
“A reasonable concern.”
“It happened once.”
“Paris and Brussels are close.”
“They are in different countries, Luca.”
“Technicality.”
I smiled.
Then exhaled.
“But I need something from you.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t say anything.”
He stopped himself.
“Right.”
“Don’t promise anything before you know what I’m asking.”
A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face.
“I need this to be separate from work.”
“It will be.”
“I need to be able to disagree with you without wondering whether it changes something between us.”
“It won’t.”
“Luca.”
He caught himself again.
“I will work on not answering before you finish.”
“Thank you.”
I stepped closer.
“If we try this, we don’t pretend certainty.”
He frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means we don’t go from fake girlfriend to grand romantic destiny in three days.”
“That seems inefficient.”
“That sentence is exactly why I’m saying this.”
He sighed.
“What do you suggest?”
“A date.”
He stared at me.
“One?”
“One.”
“That seems insufficient.”
“One date at a time.”
He considered this with the gravity of a man analyzing an acquisition.
“Dinner?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“I have plans.”
“With whom?”
I stared at him.
His expression changed.
“Right.”
“Learning.”
“Slowly.”
“My mother is coming into the city.”
“I see.”
“You can take me to dinner Wednesday.”
“Seven?”
“Seven-thirty.”
“Seven-fifteen.”
“Seven-thirty.”
“Fine.”
“Somewhere normal.”
“What does normal mean?”
“No private dining room.”
“All right.”
“No restaurant you own.”
“That eliminates four places.”
“No restaurant where the chef knows you.”
“That eliminates—”
“Luca.”
“Fine.”
“No driver waiting outside.”
“How are we getting home?”
“Like civilians.”
He looked genuinely troubled by this concept.
I smiled.
“This may be harder for you than love.”
“I’m beginning to suspect that.”
Then his eyes dropped briefly toward my mouth.
My heartbeat changed.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
“Your no-kissing rule,” he said quietly.
“That was for the fake relationship.”
“And now?”
I pretended to consider.
“Now you’re supposed to ask.”
Something warm appeared in his expression.
“May I kiss you?”
“Yes.”
It wasn’t dramatic.
No sweeping movement.
No cinematic music.
He touched my face gently, giving me every opportunity to change my mind.
Then he kissed me.
Softly.
Carefully.
Like a man who had finally understood that choosing someone wasn’t the same thing as controlling the outcome.
When we separated, he looked almost startled.
I liked that.
“You can stop looking so pleased with yourself.”
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I’m experiencing quiet satisfaction.”
“That is billionaire language for pleased.”
He kissed me again.
Just once.
Then stepped back.
“Wednesday. Seven-thirty.”
“Good.”
“I’ll send a calendar invite.”
“Don’t you dare.”
Our first real date lasted four hours.
Luca chose a small Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village.
He did not own it.
The chef did not know him.
There was no private room.
He looked uncomfortable for approximately eleven minutes.
Then the waiter spilled water near his sleeve, the couple beside us argued cheerfully about a Broadway show, and someone at the bar laughed loud enough to turn half the restaurant’s heads.
Luca relaxed.
We talked.
May you like
Not about quarterly reports.
Not much.
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