The Offer
1662 Words
***Ivy Carters POV***
The word no sat heavily in my chest the entire time he looked at me.
Not because I wanted to reject the offer.
Because my instincts were screaming that something about this man was dangerous in ways I still didn’t understand.
And the worst part?
He wasn’t even trying to hide it.
The office stayed quiet around us, the kind of silence that made every tiny sound feel too loud. The distant hum of the city below. The soft ticking of the expensive watch around Matteo’s wrist. The faint tapping of my nails against the folder still sitting in my lap.
I forced myself to look back down at the salary page again.
Still ridiculous.
Still life-changing.
Still enough money to solve almost every problem currently ruining my mental stability.
Which honestly felt suspicious by itself.
“There’s no way this is an assistant salary,” I muttered.
Matteo didn’t move from where he stood beside the window. “It is.”
“No offense, but are you secretly recruiting people for the government? Because this feels illegal.”
That almost-smile appeared again.
Quick.
Gone before I could fully process it.
“I pay people according to the level of responsibility I expect from them.”
Something about that sentence settled strangely in my stomach.
Responsibility.
The way he said it made the job sound heavier than scheduling meetings and answering emails.
I closed the folder slowly before looking back at him.
“And exactly what kind of responsibilities are we talking about?”
“Whatever I need.”
Immediate red flag.
“Wow,” I breathed out. “That sounded incredibly threatening.”
“You find everything threatening.”
“You say things like a man with buried secrets.”
A quiet silence followed that.
But unlike before, this one felt different.
Sharper.
His expression didn’t change, yet something behind his eyes did.
Like I’d accidentally brushed too close to something real.
Then, calmly, Matteo walked back toward the desk.
“You’re curious,” he observed.
“That’s usually what happens when billionaires offer strangers suspicious amounts of money.”
“You’re not a stranger anymore.”
The words hit me strangely.
Too direct.
Too personal for someone I’d technically only met yesterday.
And somehow, the realization of that made everything feel even more insane.
I crossed my arms carefully. “You know, most people ease into terrifying behavior.”
Matteo sat down slowly, his attention never leaving me.
“Most people lie during interviews too.”
I frowned. “I didn’t lie.”
“Exactly.”
There it was again.
That look.
Like he’d already decided something about me long before I entered this office today.
It made me restless.
Because I couldn’t figure him out.
Every time I thought I understood the kind of man Matteo De Luca was, he said something that shifted the entire image again.
Cold.
Calm.
Observant.
But beneath all that control was something else.
Something darker.
Not loud danger.
Worse.
Quiet danger.
The kind you didn’t notice until it was already standing directly behind you.
“You keep staring at me like you’re solving a math equation,” I said finally.
His gaze stayed steady.
“You notice everything.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” he agreed softly. “It isn’t.”
God.
Why did every conversation with him feel like psychological warfare?
I stood up before I could think too much about it, suddenly needing movement just to breathe properly again.
The office was even bigger up close. A long bookshelf stretched across the wall beside me, filled with business books, foreign novels, and old-looking leather files that probably contained rich people secrets.
A decanter of whiskey sat untouched near the window.
Minimalistic.
Organized.
Controlled.
Just like him.
No family photos.
No personal decorations.
Nothing soft.
The entire room felt emotionally unavailable.
“You don’t seem like someone who trusts people easily,” I said absentmindedly while glancing around.
Behind me, silence lingered for a second too long.
Then—
“I don’t.”
I turned slightly toward him.
Still calm.
Still unreadable.
But now there was something colder beneath his expression.
Not directed at me.
At the memory itself.
Interesting.
“And yet you’re offering me a job after one interview and several insults,” I pointed out carefully.
“You’re still thinking about that.”
“You brought a stranger into your office alone after she called you rude and emotionally constipated.”
The corner of his jaw shifted slightly.
“You talk too much.”
“And you avoid questions professionally.”
His eyes narrowed almost invisibly.
Not angry.
Focused.
Like he was becoming more aware of me the longer this conversation lasted.
And for some reason—
that realization made my pulse feel strange.
I looked away first.
Again.
Because absolutely not.
My attention drifted toward the windows instead. From up here, Manhattan looked almost unreal. Tiny yellow taxis moved below like pieces on a board game while people rushed through sidewalks completely unaware that somewhere above them, I was currently debating whether accepting employment from a terrifying billionaire was the beginning of my villain origin story.
“So,” I said slowly, “what happened to your old assistant?”
The second the question left my mouth—
the atmosphere changed.
Subtly.
But enough for me to feel it.
Matteo leaned back in his chair slowly.
“She resigned.”
“That quickly?”
“She worked for me for four years.”
“Oh.”
I paused.
“Did she quit because of your personality?”
Silence.
Then unexpectedly—
“Probably.”
I blinked.
That answer caught me off guard enough to make me laugh.
An actual laugh.
Not nervous.
Not forced.
Real.
And for the first time since entering the office, Matteo looked genuinely caught off guard by something too.
Tiny.
Brief.
But there.
His eyes stayed on me while the sound faded from the room.
And suddenly—
everything felt oddly still.
The city noise below disappeared into the background. Even my thoughts seemed to pause for a second under the weight of his attention.
It wasn’t normal eye contact.
That was the problem.
Normal eye contact didn’t make people feel like they were standing too close to the edge of something dangerous.
I cleared my throat first, breaking whatever weird moment that had been.
“So if I say yes,” I said carefully, “what happens now?”
“You start Monday.”
“That’s very fast.”
“You need the money.”
There he went again.
Answering things too directly.
Like he saw through every layer of sarcasm I used to protect myself.
I hated how accurate he was.
My fingers tightened slightly around the folder.
“You make it sound like you already know I’ll accept.”
“You will.”
That confidence irritated me immediately.
“You’re extremely arrogant.”
“You noticed.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
The room fell quiet again.
But this time it wasn’t tense.
It was heavier than that.
Like something unspoken had settled between us without permission.
And the worst part?
I didn’t know if I wanted to run from it or move closer.
Which was deeply concerning for my emotional stability.
I looked back down at the contract one last time.
This job could change everything.
No more panic over bills.
No more pretending overdue notices didn’t exist.
No more surviving month to month while feeling like life was slowly chewing me alive.
I should’ve been relieved.
Instead, I felt strangely nervous.
Not about the work.
About him.
Because nothing about Matteo De Luca felt simple.
And instinctively—
I knew accepting this job meant stepping into something much bigger than I could currently see.
My phone buzzed suddenly inside my bag, nearly making me jump.
The sharp sound broke the tension instantly.
Matteo’s eyes flicked briefly toward the bag.
I pulled my phone out quickly.
Chloe.
Of course.
I almost smiled before opening the message.
DID HE KILL YOU YET???
I physically snorted.
Matteo noticed immediately.
“What?”
I looked up. “My friend thinks you might secretly be a murderer.”
A pause.
Then—
“She’s smart.”
I stared at him.
“…That is NOT a normal response.”
And for the first time since I met him—
Matteo De Luca laughed.
Low.
Quiet.
Brief enough that I almost thought I imagined it.
But it was real.
And somehow, hearing that sound did something strange to the atmosphere around us.
Something warmer.
More dangerous.
Because suddenly he didn’t feel untouchable anymore.
He felt human.
Which honestly terrified me more.
Before I could recover from the fact that this man apparently possessed emotions after all—
a sharp knock interrupted the room.
Immediately, Matteo’s expression changed.
Not dramatically.
But enough.
The warmth vanished so fast it almost felt like it had never existed.
“Come in.”
The door opened.
One of the men from yesterday stepped inside, tall, suited, intimidating.
Leon.
I remembered Rachel mentioning his name earlier.
But unlike yesterday—
the second he entered, the atmosphere shifted completely.
Professional.
Cold.
Tense.
Leon stopped near the desk before speaking quietly.
“There’s a situation downstairs.”
Matteo’s expression didn’t move.
“What kind of situation?”
Leon hesitated briefly.
Then his eyes flicked toward me.
That tiny movement alone made my stomach tighten.
“Russo men,” he answered carefully.
The silence that followed felt wrong instantly.
Not awkward.
Dangerous.
And for the very first time since walking into De Luca Holdings—
I watched something genuinely dark settle behind Matteo De Luca’s eyes.
Then he stood.
Slowly.
Calmly.
Terrifyingly calm.
And when he looked at me again—
I suddenly understood one very important thing.
Whatever world Matteo De Luca truly belonged to—
I had just accidentally stepped into it.
- Writer
