MILAN

Sienna

Jet lag feels a little less brutal when you’re staring out a window overlooking Milan.

Still, I was tired. Tired from the flight, tired from the last-minute call that flipped my whole schedule, and definitely tired of men like Massimo Esposito.

Rich. Untouchable. Powerful in that sharp, silent kind of way. The kind of man who didn’t ask for things—he expected them handed over.

And now, for reasons I still didn’t fully understand, I was being “loaned out” to his company for an entire month. A journalism fellowship-slash-corporate PR collab. I was told it would “look great on my resume.” I didn’t care about that. I just wanted to do my job, keep my head down, and survive this little European detour.

I adjusted my blazer as the elevator climbed to the top floor. The building was all black glass and silver edges. Like it knew it was expensive and didn’t care who else noticed.

The doors slid open with a soft chime, and I stepped out onto a floor that was eerily quiet. Someone led me through a hallway—silent assistant, the usual—until we stopped in front of tall black doors.

“He’s ready for you,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Of course he is.

The doors opened, and there he was.

Massimo Esposito stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, hands in his pockets, suit dark and perfectly tailored. He didn’t turn right away. Just stood there for a second, like the city outside was more interesting than whoever had just entered his office.

When he finally did turn to face me, I understood the hype. He was handsome, sure—but not in the usual clean-cut billionaire way. There was something colder in his expression. Like he was always watching but never reacting. Sharp cheekbones. Eyes a cool, unreadable gray.

He looked at me like he was trying to figure out what kind of problem I might be.

“You’re Sienna Blake,” he said, voice low, steady.

“You’re Massimo Esposito,” I replied, because yeah—two could play that game.

There was a flicker of something. Amusement? Interest? Hard to say. It disappeared almost instantly.

“Come in.”

He walked toward a seating area, and I followed, pretending I wasn’t hyper-aware of how quiet my heels sounded on the polished floors.

We sat. Well—he sat like he owned the whole damn world. I sat like I was trying not to fidget.

“Your editor sent you,” he said, not a question.

“Technically, yes. But I’m here on assignment. I’m not your employee.”

His eyebrow twitched. “For the next month, you’re under my roof. Let’s agree not to split hairs.”

God, his voice. Calm, but heavy with the kind of authority that made people move faster. I could already see how people around him folded.

I wasn’t going to be one of them.

“You’re not big on small talk, are you?” I asked.

“No.”

“Good. Neither am I.”

Another pause. He looked at me for a long moment. Not checking me out, not exactly. Just… assessing.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said.

I gave a half-shrug. “People usually say that right before they underestimate me.”

That got a small twitch of his lips. Not quite a smile, but something close.

“Tell me what you’re expecting from this month,” he said.

I opened my notebook, though I wasn’t planning to take notes yet. “I was told I’d be observing. Reporting. Shadowing your team.”

“My team is irrelevant. You’ll be shadowing me.”

I blinked. “That wasn’t in the brief.”

“I don’t care what was in the brief.”

And there it was. That quiet command. Like he’d already made the decision and was just waiting for me to catch up.

My heart kicked a little harder in my chest. Not from fear. From… interest, maybe.

“Fine,” I said. “But I don’t fetch coffee.”

He gave me a look. “Neither do I.”

Okay, fair.

Another silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t awkward. It was… charged. Like we were both waiting to see what the other would do next.

“Have you been to Milan before?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then stay out of the tourist traps. If you’re going to waste time here, at least waste it well.”

“Noted.”

His eyes lingered on mine for a second longer than necessary. “You’ll meet me here tomorrow. Eight a.m.”

I nodded, stood. “Understood.”

I didn’t wait for him to walk me out. I walked myself to the door and left without looking back.

But as I stepped into the elevator and the doors slid shut, I realized my hands were shaking—just a little.

Massimo Esposito wasn’t what I expected either.

And I had the feeling that surviving this month might take more than I thought.