Terms And Conditions
1655 Words
***Ivy Carters POV***
The next morning, I woke up with regret already sitting on my chest.
Not normal regret.
The aggressive kind.
The kind that made you question every decision that had led you to this exact point in life.
I stared at my ceiling for a long moment before groaning into my pillow dramatically.
“This is how horror movies start.”
From somewhere across the apartment, Chloe yelled, “If you die, can I keep your clothes?”
I lifted my head slowly.
“You’re actually evil.”
“No,” she corrected. “I’m realistic.”
I rolled out of bed with the emotional strength of a Victorian child fighting tuberculosis.
Everything hurt, my legs hurt, my back hurt even my bank account somehow hurt.
And unfortunately, none of that changed the fact that I still needed this job.
By eight-thirty, I stood in front of my mirror fixing the collar of my blouse for the fifth time.
“You look cute,” Chloe announced from my bedroom doorway.
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “Why did you say that like it’s dangerous?”
“Because you’re going back to scary billionaire man.”
“I’m going back for employment.”
“Mhm.”
I pointed my hairbrush at her aggressively. “You are not allowed to romanticize this.”
“I’m not romanticizing anything,” she said innocently. “I just think if a billionaire starts staring at you through dramatic office windows, you should at least moisturize properly.”
I threw the nearest pillow at her.
She dodged it immediately.
“VIOLENCE,” she gasped.
“LEAVE.”
She laughed while grabbing her coffee cup.
“Just don’t accidentally fall in love today.”
“I would rather fight a bear.”
“See? That’s exactly what romance protagonists say before disaster.”
I ignored her and grabbed my bag before heading for the door.
But just as I reached it—
“Wait.”
I turned.
Chloe leaned against the kitchen counter watching me carefully now.
The teasing expression was gone.
“If anything feels weird,” she said quietly, “call me immediately.”
Something about her tone made my chest tighten slightly.
Because beneath all the jokes—
we both knew this situation was strange, very strange but i forced a small smile anyway.
“I’ll be fine.”
“I know,” she replied softly. “That’s what worries me.”
—
By the time I reached De Luca Holdings again, my anxiety had already evolved into a fully developed personality.
The building somehow looked even more intimidating today.
Tall glass windows.
Black luxury cars parked outside.
Employees moving in and out like they belonged in perfume commercials.
And there I was again.
Trying not to look like someone whose fridge currently contained nothing but water, expired yogurt, and emotional trauma.
I walked through the revolving doors carefully.
Immediately, the receptionist looked up and smiled, not politely this time.
Knowingly.
Oh no.
“Good morning, Miss Carter.”
Why did she sound like she knew secrets?
“Uh… morning.”
“You’re expected upstairs.”
Expected that word alone stressed me out.
“Great,” I muttered weakly.
The elevator ride felt worse today.
Mostly because my brain wouldn’t shut up.
What if the job was terrible?
What if this was some weird corporate scam?
What if Matteo De Luca secretly harvested organs?
Honestly, nothing about that man would surprise me anymore.
The elevator doors opened onto the twenty-third floor with a soft ding.
Rachel appeared almost immediately.
And unfortunately—
she looked way too excited to see me.
“There you are,” she smiled warmly.
Why was everyone acting like I’d joined a cult?
“Hi,” I replied carefully.
Rachel stepped beside me as we walked through the hallway.
“You came back.”
“That sounds threatening.”
She laughed softly.
“No, I just meant… some people don’t.”
I blinked.
“…What does that mean?”
Rachel immediately looked away.
“Nothing.”
That absolutely did not feel like nothing.
We passed rows of glass offices while employees typed away at computers and answered calls quietly.
But something felt different today.
People looked at me.
Not casually.
Curiously.
Like they were trying to figure something out.
One woman outright stopped walking after noticing me.
Okay.
What the hell was happening?
“You’re doing that thing again,” Rachel said suddenly.
“What thing?”
“Overthinking.”
“I’m sorry, but everyone here keeps looking at me like I accidentally joined the mafia.”
Rachel choked on absolutely nothing.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Before I could question her further, she stopped outside a large black door.
My stomach dropped immediately.
No.
Absolutely not.
“This is his office,” Rachel informed me gently.
I stared at the door in betrayal.
“…His?”
“Mr. De Luca’s.”
Why did my fight-or-flight instincts suddenly activate?
Rachel gave me an oddly sympathetic look.
Then knocked twice.
A deep voice answered from inside.
“Come in.”
And for some reason—
my heartbeat stumbled slightly.
Rachel opened the door.
The office was massive.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Manhattan below. Dark shelves lined one wall while expensive artwork decorated the room in a way that screamed rich people have secret tax brackets.
And there he was.
Matteo De Luca sat behind a black desk flipping through paperwork calmly like he hadn’t mentally ruined my entire week already.
Black suit and those light-brown eyes with an emotionally stressful face.
He looked up slowly when I entered.
And just like yesterday—
that strange silence settled between us immediately.
Rachel cleared her throat awkwardly.
“Miss Carter is here.”
Matteo’s gaze stayed on me.
“I can see that.”
Rude.
Rachel escaped the room almost immediately after that.
Traitor.
The second the door closed behind her, the office became unbearably quiet.
I crossed my arms carefully.
“So…”
Matteo leaned back slightly in his chair.
“You came.”
I frowned immediately.
“You literally asked me to.”
“And yet,” he replied calmly, “you still considered not coming.”
I froze for half a second.
“How would you know that?”
His expression didn’t change.
But something about his eyes did.
“You hesitate before decisions.”
That answer somehow irritated me more.
“You analyzed my personality after one conversation?”
“Yes.”
“Psychopath behavior.”
The corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
Again.
Why did he keep almost smiling at me?
It felt illegal.
I glanced around the office before looking back at him.
“So what exactly is this mysterious job?”
Matteo closed the file in front of him calmly.
“My assistant resigned yesterday.”
“Okay…”
“You’ll replace her.”
I laughed immediately.
A real laugh.
“Oh, you’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“That’s funny.”
“You’re qualified.”
“I insulted you three separate times.”
“You did.”
“And you still want me working for you?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of business strategy is that?”
For the first time since I walked in—
Matteo actually looked amused.
Small.
Barely noticeable.
But there.
“You’re honest,” he said simply.
“That sounds like something people say right before problems begin.”
“Probably.”
I stared at him suspiciously.
Because no.
None of this made sense.
Not the staring.
Not the tension.
Not the fact that this terrifying billionaire apparently wanted me working directly beside him despite our interactions being ninety percent arguments.
Something was wrong here.
“What exactly does this job involve?” I asked carefully.
“You’ll manage my schedule. Meetings. Calls. Travel arrangements.”
“That sounds normal.”
“It is.”
“You said that too confidently.”
His gaze held mine steadily.
“You ask many questions.”
“Because I enjoy surviving.”
A brief silence followed.
Then Matteo reached for a folder on his desk before sliding it toward me slowly.
“Salary details are inside.”
I hesitated before opening it.
And the second I saw the number—
my soul briefly left my body.
I looked up immediately.
“…Is this legal?”
“Yes.”
“Monthly?”
“Yes.”
I blinked again.
Because excuse me?
That amount of money looked fictional.
Rent.
Bills.
Food.
Actual groceries instead of depression snacks.
I could breathe with that salary.
I hated that my brain was already considering it.
Matteo watched me quietly the entire time.
Like he already knew exactly what I was thinking.
And honestly?
That annoyed me too.
“You’re manipulating me with financial stability,” I accused.
“You need the job.”
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it again.
Because unfortunately—
the billionaire menace was correct. I hated when he did that. The room stayed quiet for a moment before Matteo spoke again.
“You’re uncomfortable.”
“Obviously.”
“Why?”
I stared at him.
Was he serious?
“You’re intimidating.”
That answer seemed to surprise him slightly.
Interesting.
“You’re the only person here who speaks to me normally,” he said quietly.
“Well maybe everyone else is scared of you.”
“They are.”
The fact that he admitted that so casually sent a strange chill through me.
No hesitation, no denial, just fact.
And somehow—
that felt more dangerous than if he’d lied.
I swallowed slowly.
“Should I be scared of you too?”
Silence.
Matteo’s eyes stayed locked on mine for a long moment.
Too long.
Then finally—
“No.”
But something about the way he said it made my heartbeat feel unsteady again.
Because it didn’t sound like a reassurance.
It sounded like a promise.
- Writer
