Strip You Naked-R+18

Chapter 2

Working with Matteo Orsini on a daily basis was akin to keeping watch over a slumbering volcano. Sure, they had shared a quiet, humanizing moment over Tupperware adobo during the midnight emergency two weeks ago, but inside the glass walls of the executive suite, Matteo remained a ruthless, demanding perfectionist. He was a man accustomed to seamless efficiency, and his patience for corporate friction was practically non-existent.

It was a drizzly Thursday afternoon, and Katarina was currently holding a stack of leather-bound portfolio folders, standing near the mahogany central counter while Matteo tore into the head of the marketing department.

"Is this supposed to be a strategy?" Matteo’s voice cut through the glass-paneled room like a snapped whip. He tossed a thick slide deck onto the center table with enough force to cause a sharp, echoed thud. "You spent three million pesos on a branding agency only to bring me generic, recycled concepts that look like they were pulled from an amateur blog? Do it again. By five. Or I’ll personally sign off on your department’s restructuring."

The poor marketing director turned pale, grabbed the folder, murmured a shaky, "Yes, Mr. Orsini," and practically sprinted out of the room.

Katarina watched the man flee, her outer lip tightening in subtle disapproval. She adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses, her posture stiffening.

Unbelievable, she thought, a quiet prickle of annoyance warming her chest. He doesn't have to roar at everyone just to make a point. Fear doesn't build loyalty; it just builds high turnover.

When the door clicked shut, Matteo dropped back into his leather armchair, resting his head against his knuckles. He looked visibly irritated, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched beneath his cheek.

"Miss Meneses," he growled without opening his eyes. "Tell me the Q4 budget reports are done. Give me one piece of competence today."

Katarina took two calm steps forward, placing the neatly tabbed folders onto his desk with deliberate precision.

"Here are the Q4 figures, sir. Checked, double-checked, and reconciled with the audit team," she said, her voice dropping into a tone that was polite on the surface, but unmistakably cool and distant.

Matteo opened his eyes, immediately picking up on the shift. He was a man finely tuned to atmospheric changes, and the air around Katarina had just plummeted by ten degrees. He paused, his sharp gray gaze rising to meet hers.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked softly, narrowing his eyes.

"Like what, Mr. Orsini?"

"Like you're calculating the precise dosage of arsenic needed to put me out of your misery."

Katarina didn't smile. She smoothed down the front of her navy blazer, maintaining a strict stance. "I am simply waiting for your signature on page three, sir."

Matteo leaned back, taking in her firm jawline and the subtle glare hidden behind her glass lenses. "Speak your mind, Katarina. You clearly have an opinion on how I just handled Mr. Santos."

Katarina hesitated for a fraction of a second. Normally, a secretary would nod, say nothing, and mind her own business. But after spending long nights organizing his chaotic schedule and watching him unnecessarily burn bridges out of sheer impatience, her practical nature won over her filter.

"If you genuinely want my feedback, Mr. Orsini," she began, her tone steady, "Mr. Santos worked seventy hours this week on that deck. The direction was flawed because the brief came from your previous email, which was vague. Yelling at him in front of three junior aides didn't fix the presentation. It only ensured that his next draft will be made out of terror rather than creativity."

The silence in the room became heavy. Nobody talked to Matteo Orsini like that. Not his board members, not his executive peers, and certainly not his staff.

Matteo stared at her, his dark brows drawing tight. A dangerous, brooding stillness settled over him. "I pay them to deliver results, Miss Meneses. Not to hold their hands."

“Respect yields results faster than fear, sir," Katarina shot back smoothly, refusing to back down an inch. "And high employee turnover costs money. Replacing a director costs thirty percent of their annual salary. If we are looking at this from a purely financial perspective, your temper is an unnecessary expense."

Matteo blinked. Of all the arguments she could have made, bringing up financial efficiency to critique his anger caught him completely off guard.

For a second, his moody mask cracked, a flick of dark astonishment passing over his features. Then, slowly, he let out a low breath through his nose, rubbing his temples. The anger seemed to bleed out of him, replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion that he rarely showed to anyone else.

“The board is threatening to veto the European acquisition if Q3 numbers dip even half a percent," Matteo confessed quietly, his voice losing its harsh edge, revealing the heavy burden resting on his broad shoulders. "They think I'm too young. Too reckless compared to my father. Santos' mistake was small, but today, I don't have room for small mistakes."

Katarina felt her irritation falter, replaced by an uncomfortable pang of empathy. She had seen the frantic late-night emails from the board. She knew he slept less than four hours a night.

She took a short step closer to the desk—not close enough to breach her boundary, but close enough to show she was listening.

“Then explain that to them," she said gently, her tone softening just enough for him to catch it. "You don't have to carry the weight of the entire company by acting like a tyrant, Mr. Orsini. You are smart enough to lead them without scaring them."

Matteo looked up at her. His gray eyes lingered on her face—taking in the subtle softness around her eyes, the quiet strength in her stance, and the simple truth that she was perhaps the only person in this massive skyscraper who wasn't afraid to tell him when he was wrong.

He picked up his fountain pen and quietly signed page three of the budget document without another argument.

“Tell Mr. Santos I'll extend his deadline to tomorrow afternoon," Matteo muttered, not meeting her eyes, though the tension in his shoulders had visibly relaxed. "And tell him... to send me the revised brief directly."

Katarina felt a small, triumphant warmth touch her chest, though she kept her expression perfectly composed.

“I will inform him immediately, sir," she said, picking up the signed folder. "And Mr. Orsini?"

Matteo looked up. "What?"

“Take ten minutes to drink some chamomile tea. I left a pot in your private pantry."

Before he could offer a witty reply or a sarcastic retort, Katarina turned on her heels and walked out of his office, closing the heavy mahogany door with a soft, satisfied click.

Sitting alone in his grand office, Matteo looked toward the steaming teacup waiting on the side table, a quiet, unbidden thought settling in his mind: Katarina Meneses was going to be the death of him—or the only reason he survived this company.