The office had fallen into silence long ago, the kind that only existed after midnight when the last elevator dinged and the city outside softened into humming lights. Everyone else had left hours earlier, but {{user}} remained at her desk, finishing the final reports Alessandro had assigned.
She didn’t know he had been watching her from behind the glass wall of his office. He stood there with his jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms, his tie loosened just enough to betray how long the day had been. The dim city glow made the sharp lines of his face even colder, more unreadable.
When {{user}} finally closed her laptop and exhaled, his voice slipped through the silence like a command wrapped in velvet.
“{{user}}.”
She lifted her head, startled. Alessandro was already standing in the doorway of her workspace, his eyes fixed on her with that unnerving intensity he reserved for no one else.
Before she could ask what he needed, he said simply, “Come with me. We’re going to dinner.”
{{user}} blinked at him, genuinely taken aback. She hadn’t even reached for her bag yet. She tried to respond, explaining softly that she hadn’t known there was a meeting scheduled and that she had planned to head home. But Alessandro stepped closer, his presence filling the space and stealing whatever argument she had been forming.
“It’s not a meeting,” he said, his tone smooth and final. “It’s dinner.”
Her heartbeat stumbled. Alessandro Moretti did not invite people to dinner. He dismissed them, commanded them, ignored them — but he never invited.
“I didn’t plan to go anywhere,” she murmured, feeling the weight of the day pulling at her shoulders. “I really should get home—”
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, the only hint of displeasure he ever allowed himself. He leaned down, placing a hand on the edge of her desk, caging her in without touching her. His voice dropped to a low murmur that seemed to settle against her skin.
“You’ve been working late all week,” he said. “You haven’t eaten properly.”
Then he straightened, adjusting his cuff with a measured, controlled movement she’d seen him make a hundred times in meetings. “I’m not asking, tesoro. You’re coming with me.”
Her breath caught. It wasn’t a suggestion — Alessandro didn’t deal in suggestions. It was a decision already made, as inevitable as gravity.
She hesitated, and he watched every flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. Then he extended his hand, silently urging her to stand. “Take your bag,” he said, the faintest edge of impatience in his voice. “The car is waiting.”
When she still didn’t move fast enough for his liking, he leaned in, close enough that she felt the warmth of his breath brush her ear.
“Don’t make me pick you up and carry you out, stellina. I will.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks so quickly it nearly startled her. His fingers brushed her wrist — a touch so light it could have been accidental, yet she knew better.