Romano's Reckless Girl

CHAPTER 3

Maddie had claimed Isabella’s couch like she paid rent. Laptop open, three tabs glowing, highlighter between her teeth, and a pint of Chunky Monkey melting on the coffee table.

“Okay. We have movement.” Maddie snapped the laptop shut.

Isabella was standing in front of the full-length mirror in sweatpants and a messy bun, curling iron in hand. “What kind of movement? Like, ‘Luka breathes air’ movement?”

“Better.” Maddie grinned. “Tara from HR. She owes me from that time I covered her shift during finals week. Luka Romano comes into the office every Tuesday and Thursday. 8:30AM sharp. Main lobby entrance. Walks in on foot. No car service. He likes to ‘see the city before the day starts.’”

Isabella lowered the curling iron. “That’s it? That’s the intel?”

“It’s a start!” Maddie hopped up and went straight to Isabella’s closet. “Which means tomorrow at 8:15AM you are in that lobby looking like you own the building and he’s just renting space in it.”

“I look like I own nothing,” Isabella said, gesturing to her sweats.

“Exactly. Problem.” Maddie started pulling things out. “We need murder-red lipstick. The black blazer. The heels that make you 5’10”. We need ‘I didn’t come here to flirt, I came here to change your life’ energy.”

Isabella took the blazer. Her stomach flipped. “What if he takes one look at me and has security throw me out?”

“Then we try again.” Maddie came over and grabbed both her shoulders. “Listen to me. You are smart, you are gorgeous, and you are the most stubborn person I know. That is a dangerous combination. In a good way. Now go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

Isabella didn’t go to bed. She stood in front of the mirror until 3AM practicing saying “I’m a journalist” without sounding like she was apologizing for it.

The lobby was obscene. Marble floors so shiny Isabella could see her reflection. Glass walls. A reception desk that probably cost more than her car.

She sat on the bench for 45 minutes. Legs crossed. Portfolio balanced on her knees. Press ID in her blazer pocket, burning. Every time the doors opened, her heart did something stupid.

8:30AM. The doors opened.

Luka.

Black suit. White shirt, no tie. Looking illegally gorgeous. Coffee in one hand, phone in the other. Alone.

He stepped in, looked up, and stopped.

His eyes found her immediately. Then dropped. To her feet. To his shoes on her feet.

Isabella was on her feet before she could think. “Luka?”

He ended the call. His expression was unreadable. “Isabella. What are you doing here.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.

“I was hoping to talk,” she said, and hated how small her voice sounded. “Just for a minute. Please.”

He sighed. Glanced at his watch. When he looked back at her, something in his face softened, just a fraction.

“Two minutes,” he said. “Walk with me.”

Yes. Yes yes yes.

She fell into step beside him. The lobby was chaos around them but for those 20 feet it was just the sound of their shoes on marble.

“Thank you,” she said quickly. “I know you’re busy. I just wanted to say thank you for the other night. In the parking lot. You were really—”

He stopped at the bank of elevators. Turned to face her fully for the first time.

“You okay?” he asked. “You need money for the tow? Because I can—”

“No.” She cut him off, then immediately regretted it. “No, I’m fine. The car’s fine. I just... I wanted to ask if you’d do an interview.”

The word landed between them like a glass shattering.

His face changed. Not angry. Just... closed.

“An interview.”

Isabella scrambled. Pulled her press ID from her pocket too fast, like if she showed it to him quick enough he wouldn’t notice.

“I’m a Journalist with Manhattan Daily. I write profiles on business leaders and I thought, given what happened, that maybe—”

He didn’t take the ID. He looked at it. Then looked at her.

And she watched something behind his eyes go out.

“Right,” he said quietly. “The parking lot.”

“The shoes.”

“It’s not like that,” she said, and she could hear how desperate she sounded. “I just thought, since we talked, since you—”

“Since I gave you a ride and a pair of shoes?” The elevator dinged behind him.

“I don’t do interviews, Isabella.” He stepped into the elevator. Held the door open with one hand.

“And don’t come here again.”

The doors closed.

His EA was there ten seconds later. A woman in a gray suit with a headset. “Ma’am. You need to leave the building.”

Outside, the October air was too bright and too cold.

Isabella stood on the sidewalk still holding the press ID in her hand.

He would’ve talked to me. But not to the reporter.

Her phone buzzed.

Maddie: `how’d it go??`

Isabella: `time to do this the hard way.`

They met up at their lunch place.

Maddie already had a plate of fries and a look of deep concern when Isabella slid into the booth.

“Well?” Maddie asked, pushing the ketchup toward her. “Did you melt the ice king with your charm?”

Isabella stole three fries at once. “He listened. For like, sixty seconds. Until I said the word journalist.”

Maddie winced. “Oh.”

“Yeah. ‘I don’t do interviews, Isabella. And don’t come here again.’” She did a terrible impression of his low, flat voice.

“That sucks. I’m sorry.” Maddie reached across and squeezed her hand. “Really.”

Isabella straightened. Pushed the fries away. “It’s fine. I’m not done. I’m never done.”

“That’s my girl.”

“What’s plan B?”

“I don’t know yet,” Isabella admitted. “But I’ll find it. And then plan C. And D. Until one of them works.”

“I’m with you,” Maddie said. “Whatever it takes. We’re not losing.”

******

The portfolio Tara sent said: Black coffee. No sugar. The Roast. Three blocks from HQ. 7:30AM daily.

Isabella bought a coffee and sat in the corner for three hours.

By 9:30, the barista, a woman named June with pink hair, refilled her cup. “You waiting for someone, hon?”

Isabella forced a smile. “Just enjoying the coffee.”

*Thursday. 6:00AM.*

June: “You again? You want the usual?”

“I don’t have a usual.”

“You do now.”

At 8:45, Luka’s assistant walked in. Blonde, sharp suit. She saw Isabella immediately. Pulled out her phone. Typed something. Looked at Isabella again. Left.

No Luka.

*Friday. 6:00AM.*

Isabella wore sunglasses inside. June slid her a coffee anyway. “Sweetie, can I give you some advice?”

“Sure.”

“He’s been doing delivery all week. Ever since...ever since he saw you here last Tuesday.”

Isabella stared at the coffee. $24 in total. Zero conversations.

She left a $10 tip and didn’t come back.

####Fail #2 - The Pitch Spam*

*Monday. 11:14AM. Her Apartment.*

Isabella wrote the first pitch. Deleted it.

Wrote the second. Deleted it.

The third one she sent.

To: editors@manhattandaily.com, features@citymag.com, business@nychronicle.com

CC: press@romanocorp.com

Subject: Exclusive Profile: The Man Behind Romano

`Mr. Romano is one of the most private CEOs in New York. But who is he when the cameras are off? I propose a 2,000 word profile...`

She hit send on all three. Then CC’d Romano PR “for transparency.”

12 minutes later.

DING.

From: RomanoPR@romanocorp.com

To: All

Subject: RE: Exclusive Profile Request

`Ms. Isabella ___ is not affiliated with Romano Corp. Mr. Romano is not granting interviews at this time. Please do not engage with this request or any future requests from this individual.`

Her phone buzzed immediately.

#newsroom

Vanessa: `👀 ambitious!`

Vanessa: `also maybe don’t email our sources directly next time?`

Vanessa: `just a tip :)`

Vanessa: `some of us have been trying to get Romano for YEARS`

Isabella slammed her laptop shut. Her hands were shaking.

He didn’t just say no. He blacklisted her to the entire city.

#### Fail #3 - The Charity 5K*

*Saturday. 7:00AM. Central Park West.*

Romano Corp: Run For The Parks. Sponsored by Romano Industries. His name was on every banner, every water bottle, every volunteer t-shirt.

Isabella bought $120 sneakers she absolutely could not afford. She did stretches in the parking lot that looked like she’d learned them from YouTube.

Luka walked to the small stage. Navy windbreaker. No speech notes.

“Thank you all for coming out today,” he said into the mic. “Parks matter. Communities matter. Thank you.”

45 seconds.

He stepped down. Got into a black SUV. Gone.

Isabella ran anyway.

Mile 1: Okay.

Mile 2: Limping.

Mile 3: Crying and limping.

She crossed the finish line to one volunteer holding out water and a dad clapping for his kid.

She went home and threw the sneakers in the trash.

*******

Isabella took a sip of wine, flipping through the Luka's schedule..... don't ask how she got it.

Papers were everywhere. Biographies. Printouts of old Romano Corp press releases. A half-empty bottle of red wine on the coffee table.

“I’m 0 for 3,” she said to the ceiling. “Coffee. Pitches. 5K. Nothing.”

Maddie was on the couch, scrolling, wine in hand. “You’re not 0 for 3. You’re 0 for 3 attempts. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” Isabella flopped down. “Maybe I should just give up. He clearly hates me.”

“Don’t you dare.” Maddie sat up. “Hold on.” She squinted at her phone. “Oh. Oh my god.”

“What?”

“An interview. With his grandfather. From like, eight years ago.” Maddie read from the screen: “Luka goes to the mountains every year on October 14th. It’s his mother’s death anniversary. He says it’s the only place he feels close to her. No cameras. No people. Just him and the trees.”

Isabella sat up. “When?”

“October 14th.” Maddie looked at her. “That’s tomorrow.”

Isabella felt sick. “That’s private. That’s sacred. I can’t—”

“You don’t have to go,” Maddie said quietly.

Isabella was quiet for a long time. Then: “Has Drew called?”

Maddie blinked at the subject change. “What?”

“Drew. My ex-fiancé. Has he called?”

“Girl. He’s called like twenty times. Texted. Emailed. I blocked him for you on Instagram.”

“I blocked him everywhere,” Isabella said. “Threatened a restraining order. He stopped.”

Maddie set her wine down. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Isabella picked at a loose thread on the couch. “I’m not wasting any more tears on a cheat. It’s his loss. If I get this interview, get promoted, and maybe... maybe bag Luka, I’ll ruin him. He’s been dying to get a connection with the Romano's since I met him. If I’m with Luka, Drew and his discount barbie can go to hell. Her family’s money is nothing compared to his. He’ll be on the losing end and that’s all that matters.”

Maddie stared at her. Then burst out laughing. “You’re insane. I love you. Go ruin him.”

*Monday. 5:17AM. 2 Hours Upstate.*

The hike was in the dark. Isabella used her phone flashlight and prayed she wouldn’t die before she got to him.

She found him at the overlook.

No phone. No security. Just him. Dark coat. Holding a small wooden box. The wind was already picking up.

A branch snapped under her foot.

Luka turned.

Three seconds of silence. Then the first drops of rain.

“You,” he said.

“Luka. I’m sorry, I know this is—”

“Don’t.” His voice was quiet. Final. “Don’t say my name. Not here.”

Isabella stepped closer, stupid and desperate. “I just need twenty minutes. That’s all—”

“Leave.”

“I know this is a personal moment,” she blurted. “I’m not here to—”

“I said leave, Isabella.”

She should’ve listened. She didn’t. “People deserve to know who you are when no one’s watching—”

“You think this is a story?” He turned to her fully now, and his face was furious. “You think you get to follow me here? On this day?”

Thunder cracked. The sky opened.

She turned to go, slipped on the wet rock, and went down hard. Pain shot up her ankle.

She lay there, soaked.He’s going to leave me here. And I deserve it.

She pushed herself up. Angry. Humiliated.

“Fine!” she shouted at his back. “Fine! I’m sorry I’m here!”

She limped away. Off the trail. Deeper into the trees. She didn’t know where she was going, only that it was away from him.

30 minutes.

She was lost.

Rain pouring. Phone: No Service.

Howls in the distance. Branches cracking.

She slipped again. Fell into a shallow ditch. Twisted her ankle.

Pain. Cold. Fear.

She started sobbing. Ugly, loud sobs that echoed.

“This is it,” she whispered to the trees. “This is retribution. For intruding. I’m going to die on a billionaire’s mom’s death anniversary trying to get an interview.”

Wind. Rain.

Then, far off, through the rain:

“Belle!?”

Her head snapped up.

“Luka?”

Footsteps. Fast.

He appeared above the ditch. Drenched. Hair plastered to his forehead. Furious. Terrified.

“What the hell are you doing down there.”

She tried to explain through tears but it came out as gibberish.

He reached down. His hands were warm even in the rain. Carefully, he helped her out. His eyes went to her ankle. Swollen. Purple.

“Can you walk?”

She shook her head.

He didn’t say anything. He just turned around.

“Get on.”