Under His Gaze
1172 Words
***Ivy Carters POV***
-----The Interview-----
One of the older interviewers cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Well then,” he said quickly, adjusting the papers in front of him. “Miss Carter, why do you believe you’d be a good fit for this position?”
Right.
The interview.
I forced myself to drag my attention away from him before he somehow irritated me into unemployment.
“I’m organized,” I answered carefully. “I work well under pressure, I learn quickly, and I’m good at handling difficult situations.”
Something about that last part almost made me laugh.
Because apparently my first difficult situation was sitting directly across from me in a black suit.
The older man nodded approvingly. “And previous work experience?”
“I worked as an administrative assistant during college,” I replied. “Mostly scheduling, client communication, paperwork—”
“Your previous employer wrote that you argued with customers.”
My head snapped toward him immediately.
He still hadn’t looked away from my resume.
I blinked slowly.
“Oh my God,” I muttered under my breath.
One of the interviewers coughed to hide what looked suspiciously like a laugh.
“It says here,” Matteo continued calmly, “that you have a tendency to speak before thinking.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
“You read that like it’s a criminal record.”
“It can be.”
The room went quiet again.
Honestly, at this point, I was starting to think silence lived here full-time.
I crossed my arms slightly. “For the record, the customer called me incompetent first.”
One of the older men looked alarmed. “Miss Carter—”
“What?” I defended immediately. “I’m just explaining the context.”
To my complete horror—
the corner of Matteo’s mouth twitched again.
Not fully.
Just enough to annoy me.
“You argue often?” he asked.
“You insult people often?”
One of the interviewers physically looked between us like he was watching tennis.
Matteo finally leaned back slightly in his chair, studying me now instead of the papers.
And somehow that felt worse.
More personal.
More dangerous.
“I don’t insult people,” he said calmly.
I almost choked.
“Oh, right. My mistake. Bulldozing into strangers and throwing money at them is probably your version of kindness.”
Rachel, who stood quietly near the door, looked seconds away from passing out.
One of the older men cleared his throat aggressively.
“Perhaps we should continue the interview.”
“Yes,” I agreed instantly. “Before your boss fires me telepathically.”
Matteo’s eyes stayed on mine for a second longer before he finally looked away.
And weirdly enough—
that almost felt like winning.
The interview somehow continued after that.
I answered questions about scheduling, management software, communication skills, and multitasking while trying very hard not to notice him occasionally watching me between discussions.
Which was difficult.
Because every single time I accidentally looked at him—
he was already looking at me.
It was unsettling.
Like being studied by something patient.
By the end of the interview, my nerves were hanging by a thread.
The older interviewer smiled politely. “Thank you for coming in, Miss Carter.”
That was it?
Already?
I stood carefully, smoothing my blazer.
“Thank you for seeing me.”
I turned toward the door quickly because honestly?
I needed fresh air.
And distance.
Preferably several countries between me and that man
“Miss Carter.”
I stopped immediately.
Of course it was him.
Slowly, I turned back around.
Matteo closed the file in front of him before speaking.
“You’ll hear from us soon.”
His voice was calm.
Controlled.
But there was something strange underneath it now.
Something unreadable.
I nodded once. “Hopefully under less violent circumstances.”
One of the older men looked deeply confused.
He, however—
actually looked amused.
Tiny, barely there but definitely amused and somehow that was worse than him being cold.
I walked out before he could say anything else.
The second the conference room doors closed behind me, I exhaled so hard it almost counted as a medical emergency.
Rachel hurried after me immediately.
“Oh my God,” she whisper-yelled.
I blinked at her. “What?”
She grabbed my arm dramatically and dragged me farther down the hallway before speaking again.
“What was THAT?”
“The interview?”
“You argued with Matteo De Luca!”
Ohh so he is the Matteo De Luca i said in my thoughts
“I noticed.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Rachel looked genuinely stressed now. “People here barely make eye contact with him.”
I frowned. “Why?”
She opened her mouth.
Then immediately closed it again.
“That’s… complicated.”
That answer irritated me instantly.
Complicated how?
Was he secretly a vampire?
A murderer?
A tax evader?
Actually no, rich people survived tax fraud every day.
Rachel glanced nervously back toward the conference room before lowering her voice.
“Matteo doesn’t usually speak during interviews.”
I stared at her.
“What do you mean he doesn’t speak?”
“I mean he literally sits there in silence half the time and scares applicants into sweating through their clothes.”
“That’s psychotic.”
Rachel snorted unexpectedly before quickly covering it with a cough.
“I’m serious, Ivy.”
“So am I.”
She shook her head slowly like she still couldn’t process what had just happened.
“You argued with him twice.”
“Technically,” I corrected, “he started it.”
Rachel looked unconvinced.
A few employees passed us carrying files and coffee cups while the office slowly returned to normal around us.
But somehow, I still felt unsettled.
Like something had shifted the second Matteo De Luca looked at me.
And the worst part?
I couldn’t stop thinking about him either.
Not his attitude.
Not his stupid expensive suits.
Not even the fact that he walked around terrifying grown adults without trying.
No.
It was his eyes.
Those calm, unreadable light-brown eyes that looked at people like he already knew exactly who they were before they even spoke.
It was irritating.
Annoyingly irritating.
Rachel looked at me carefully. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lied immediately.
She didn’t believe me.
Honestly?
Neither did I.
A movement behind the glass office windows caught my attention suddenly.
My eyes lifted automatically toward the upper floor overlooking the hallway.
And there he was.
Matteo.
Standing behind the glass with one hand in his pocket.
Watching.
Not the office.
Not the employees.
Me.
My breath caught slightly.
The distance between us should’ve made it impossible to feel anything.
But somehow—
I still felt the weight of his stare.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he slowly pulled his sunglasses back on.
And walked away.
My heart did something deeply embarrassing inside my chest.
Meanwhile, my brain screamed:
Absolutely not.
- Writer
