Romano's Reckless Girl

CHAPTER 5

*8:22AM. Isabella’s Apartment Building.*

Isabella was still grinning like an i***t when she limped into her building lobby.

Her ankle throbbed. Her hoodie still smelled faintly like Luka’s coat and rain and expensive cologne. She didn’t care.

`2PM. My office. 20 minutes.`

He gave her the interview. After everything.

She jabbed the elevator button with her crutch, bouncing on her good leg. “This is the best day of my life,” she whispered to no one.

“Isabella.”

The voice cut through her like ice water.

She froze. Slowly turned.

Drew.

Standing there in a pressed shirt and guilt, holding a bouquet of lilies like he hadn’t shattered her heart into pieces in 4k less than a month ago.

Her smile dropped. Just like that.

“What are you doing here,” she said flatly.

"I've been trying to reach you."

"I know."

"You blocked me."

"I know."

"Can we talk?"

"No."

“Come on.” He grabbed her wrist and spun her around. His grip was tight. “Talk to me Isabella"

Isabella looked down at the hand wrapped around her wrist.

Once upon a time...

That same hand had held hers while they planned their wedding.

That same hand had slipped a ring onto her finger.

Now it felt...

filthy.

She peeled each finger off her wrist, one at a time.

Calm.

Deliberate.

"Take your hand off me."

Drew’s eyes flicked down to her crutches, then to her damp clothes, then behind her. “I saw the car. Black. Tinted. Who was it, babe? You move on that fast?”

Isabella rolled her eyes and turned back to the elevator. Ding. “Don’t call me that.”

“Is that why you’re limping? Did your new rich boyfriend—”

SLAP.

The sound echoed in the lobby.

Drew’s head snapped to the side. Isabella was breathing hard, palm stinging.

He touched his cheek, stunned. “What the hell—”

“What the hell?” She laughed, sharp and ugly. “That’s what you’re asking me? You cheated on me on camera, Drew. You f*****g betrayed me. Us. And now you have the nerve to ask me about another man?”

"I made a mistake."

"One mistake."

"People make mistakes, Bella."

"I panicked."

"The contract would've changed everything."

"I was doing it for us"

Isabella laughs.

Not because it's funny.

Because she's amazed at the audacity.

He stepped closer. Reached for her.

Isabella's shoulders relaxed.

Her eyes softened.

She took one slow step toward him.

Drew's face lit up.

"I knew you'd understand."

His shoulders relaxed. He opened his arms. “Baby, I knew you’d—”

She drove her good knee straight up.

Drew crumpled with a choked noise, clutching himself on the lobby floor.

"Listen carefully, Drew."

She crouched until they were eye level.

"This is the last time you'll ever touch me."

His face had gone completely white.

"The next time you show up at my apartment..."

She smiled.

"...I'll let the police explain the word trespassing."

She stepped over him and into the elevator, still smiling.

The doors closed on his groaning

Silence.

Isabella leaned against the wall...

...

...

Then burst into laughter.

"Unbelievable."

She shook her head.

"The i***t nearly ruined my good mood."

Maddie was already on her couch, eating Isabella’s cereal. Of course she was.

She shot up the second Isabella limped in. “YOU GOT HIM?? TELL ME EVERYTHING—”

She stopped. Stared at the crutches. At the ice pack Isabella was already balancing.

“Oh. Oh hell no. What happened?”

Isabella collapsed onto the couch, grinning.

I slipped."

"You WHAT?"

"He carried me."

"He WHAT?"

"We had pancakes."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"Pancakes?"

"That is the part you're stuck on?"

"He carried you through the rain and then bought you breakfast!"

"It wasn't a date!"

Maddie laughed so hard she nearly fell off the couch. Isabella groaned, covering her smile with a throw pillow.

"So..." Maddie folded her arms. Shifting closer to Isabella

"You've been smiling for exactly thirty-two seconds."

"I have not."

"You absolutely have."

"I just got the interview"

"Oh, honey." Maddie leaned closer. "That smile has nothing to do with the interview."

"It does."

"It has everything to do with six-foot-three Blue Eyes."

"I hate you."

"I know."

“Baby, he gave you the interview and bought you breakfast. That’s a double win!"

“I know!” Isabella squealed, then winced as she shifted her ankle. “And then Drew was downstairs—”

Maddie shot to her feet.

"Where is he?"

"Hopefully crying."

"Seriously."

"Lobby."

Maddie reached for her handbag.

"I'm going downstairs."

Isabella grabbed her sleeve.

"Why?"

"To finish what you started."

Isabella burst into laughter.

"Relax. I introduced my knee to his future children."

Maddie blinked.

"...You didn't."

Isabella smiled innocently.

"I absolutely did."

Maddie wheezed before collapsing beside her on the couch, laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.

“We’re unhinged,” Maddie said.

“We’re healing,” Isabella corrected.

They spent the rest of the weekend like that. Research. Coffee. Ice packs.

She expected articles about inherited wealth.

Instead she found stories about factory workers whose jobs he'd saved during a recession.

Interviews where competitors—people who genuinely disliked him—still admitted he was brilliant.

For every article she reads...

she becomes more impressed.

Not because he's rich.

Because he's brilliant.

She realizes...

He didn't inherit success.

He built it.

She caught herself at 2AM on Sunday, staring at a photo of him in a suit. Jaw tight. Eyes cold. She caught herself smiling.

Her fingers hovered over the screen a second too long.

"Get a grip, Isabella."

She snapped the laptop shut.

This wasn't a crush.

It wasn't fate.

It definitely wasn't love.

Luka Romano was simply the perfect way to remind Drew what he'd lost.

That was all.

She just need Drew to see her standing beside someone he can never compete with. Drew wanted status. Then she'd show him what real status looked like.

If Luka Romano happened to become part of that lesson.

Then so be it.....

So why did she keep remembering the way he'd quietly said,

"Get on my back."

She groaned and buried her face in a pillow.

"You're actually so annoying," she muttered.

She rolled onto her back.

Closed her eyes.

Tomorrow wasn't about revenge.

Tomorrow wasn't about Drew.

Tomorrow wasn't even about the interview.

It was about proving—

To Luka.

To Dana.

To herself—

That she deserved to be in that office.

Sleep finally claimed her.

*Monday. 1:45PM. Romano Holdings, 42nd Floor.*

The lobby looked more like a museum than a corporate headquarters. Black marble reflected the afternoon light pouring through floor-to-ceiling glass walls. Employees moved with quiet efficiency, dressed in tailored suits and speaking in hushed voices, as though success itself had a volume limit.

Isabella tightened her grip on her portfolio.

Don't trip.

Don't stare.

And for the love of God, don't embarrass yourself.

Isabella adjusted her wine silk shirt, tugged her black skirt down. The slit showed just enough. Her ankle hurt but the heels made her feel 6 feet tall.

Her ponytail was perfect. Her makeup was light. She looked like she belonged here.

She didn’t.

“Miss Mendes? Mr. Romano will see you now.”

The secretary led her down a hallway that cost more than her rent.

His office door opened.

And there he was.

Luka Romano, behind a desk that was probably bigger than her apartment. Loosened tie. Sleeves rolled up. Frowning at his laptop like it personally offended him.

His office wasn't flashy.

It was controlled.

Clean black shelves lined one wall, holding only a handful of business books, industry awards and framed architectural sketches. A massive walnut desk faced the skyline, reflecting a city view that should’ve been distracting. It wasn’t. He was. The desk waa almost completely clear except for a laptop, a fountain pen and a single leather notebook.

There wasn't a single unnecessary item in sight.

Somehow...

That told Isabella more about Luka Romano than any interview ever could.A city view that should’ve been distracting. It wasn’t. He was.

He looked up. Those blue eyes hit her like a physical thing.

Isabella’s palms went damp. “Good afternoon, Mr. Romano.”

His gaze dropped. To her ankle. To the heels. He hesitated for a while. Like he was battling with the question he was about to ask.

“Can you walk in those?” His voice was flat.

Isabella blinked. “...What?”

“Your ankle. Is it comfortable?”

Oh. Concern. From him.

She recovered fast, smiling. “Barely feel it. Almost healed.”

He nodded once and gestured to the chair across from him. Closed his laptop.

Isabella sat, set down her recorder and notebook with shaking hands. 20 minutes. She could do 20 minutes.

“Let’s begin,” he said. “You have questions.”

She cleared her throat. “Mr. Romano, Romano Holdings is known for acquiring struggling companies rather than successful ones. Do you believe businesses fail because of bad products, or because of bad leadership?"

His eyebrow lifted. “That’s your first question?”

“It is.”

"Most people buy companies because they're already winning."

"I buy companies because everyone else has stopped believing in them. Assets are cheap when confidence disappears."

"Leadership is deciding whether the market is right... or merely afraid."

"What's your greatest strength as a CEO?"

"Hiring people smarter than me."

Isabella held back a laugh that almost escaped her lips. He was so quick with words.

"Why don't you give interviews?"

"Why do journalists always ask that first?"

She blinks.

"Because readers are curious."

He leans back.

"No."

Silence.

"Because you're curious."

Isabella is thrown off for a while. Why was he so good with words?

"You're nervous."

She blinked.

"I'm not."

"You've tapped your pen seventeen times."

She looked down.

"Oh."

A tiny smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.

"You've just made it eighteen."

She immediately stopped.

"...Sorry."

"No need."

The air shifted.

“Your turn,” he said suddenly.

Isabella froze. “What?”

She blinks.

"I thought I was interviewing you."

"You are."

He folds his hands.

"Humor me."

“I ask now.” He steepled his fingers. “Why entertainment journalism, Isabella?"

"Because reputation is a currency."

Luka looked at her properly for the first time.

She continued,

"Companies spend billions protecting theirs. Celebrities build careers on theirs. Politicians win elections because of theirs."

"One article can change how millions of people see someone."

She shrugged lightly.

"That's not gossip."

"That's influence."

"And I wanted to understand how influence works."

"And what happens when the truth ruins someone's reputation?"

Isabella doesn't answer immediately. She considers it.

Then she says:

"If it's the truth..."

She held his gaze.

"Then the reputation wasn't ruined by the journalist."

"It was ruined by the person's choices."

Silence.

Luka's fingers stop tapping against the desk.

For the first time during the interview, he looks genuinely impressed.

Not because she answered quickly.

Because she answered without flinching.

He gives a small nod.

"Interesting."

Then, after a pause:

"You're not quite what I expected."

Then, stupidly, she asked: “Do you ever get lonely, Mr. Romano?”

The room went dead silent.

Great.

Fantastic.

You had one interview with the biggest businessman in the country and you've just offended him.

Wonderful job, Isabella.

Then—

Instead of getting angry—

He says quietly,

"You're good."

She blinks.

"What?"

"Most journalists never stop asking about the company."

"You asked about the man behind it."

Isabella blinked. “...Thank you?”

Her 20 minutes were up before she could breathe again.

“Time,” he said, tapping his watch.

“Wait, that can’t be—” She leaned forward. “We just started!”

He turned the laptop to show her the timer. 20:00. Exactly.

Isabella pouted. “I have more questions.”

“I’m sure you do.” He stood. “Send me the first draft. If it’s not terrible, I’ll consider another interview.”

Her heart jumped. “Really??”

She was clapping before she could stop herself. Bouncing in the chair exactly like she did in his car and the after their tire murder.

Luka watched her.She celebrated without calculation.

No polished smile.

No carefully crafted image.

Just genuine excitement.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd met someone who wore every emotion so honestly.

It was...

Disarming. The way the wine color made her skin glow. The way her eyes went bright and her dimples popped with the slightest movement of her plump lips...

He cleared his throat. Looked away. “Stop that.”

“I can’t help it!” She stood, grabbing her things. “Thank you. Seriously. Can I buy you lunch to say thanks? For the interview. And for... the other night.”

“No.”

"Coffee?"

"No."

"Five minutes?"

"Still no."

She sighed dramatically.

"You are a very difficult man to befriend."

"I've been told."

“Well, now I'm asking as a friend,” she pressed, stepping closer. Puppy eyes activated. “Not as a journalist. As a friend.”

Luka met her eyes. His jaw ticked. “I’m busy.”

“Okay!” She beamed, undeterred. “Then I’ll see you Saturday. 3PM. Here.”

“I didn’t agree—”

“Great! It’s a plan.” She flashed him her brightest smile and darted for the door before he could argue.

The door closed behind her.

Luka stared at the empty chair.

The office felt strangely quiet after she left.

Luka glanced toward the closed door before returning to his laptop.

The screen blurred. He clicked the same email four times before realizing he hadn't read a single line.

He hadn't read the same paragraph three times because he was distracted in years.

He exhaled through his nose.

This is exactly why you don't blur professional boundaries.

And yet...

Saturday.

Three o'clock.

His phone buzzed.

His assistant.

"Your three o'clock on Saturday is still available. Shall I book the investors' lunch?"

Luka's thumb hovered over the screen.

For one inexplicable second...

He saw shiny, brown eyes.

A wine silk shirt.

And a smile that clapped before it spoke.

He locked his phone.

"No."

He'd keep that hour open.

He refused to think about why.

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