Strip You Naked-R+18

Chapter 3

In the three months since Matteo had officially taken the helm of Orsini Enterprises, the entire executive floor operated in a state of perpetual high alert. The atmosphere was so thick with tension that even the junior staff held their breath whenever the private elevator doors opened. Matteo was, by all accounts, a masterclass in corporate warfare. Under his sharp, unyielding command, the company's Q3 revenue had surged by twenty-four percent, foreign market acquisitions were finalized ahead of schedule, and stock values reached a record high.

There was no denying the objective reality: Matteo Orsini was a brilliant, highly effective CEO.

He was also, as the lower-level staff quietly whispered over breakroom coffees, a devil in a bespoke suit.

He had zero tolerance for mediocrity, half-baked excuses, or unpolished reports. When a regional manager failed to explain a two-percent variance in operational costs during a Tuesday morning briefing, Matteo didn't yell. He simply closed his leather folder, looked at the man with cold, piercing gray eyes, and dismantled his entire five-year career in three calm, devastating sentences. By noon, the manager had submitted his resignation.

And through every single explosion, failed meeting, and panicking executive, Katarina stood firmly at the eye of the storm.

"Miss Meneses, please tell me he’s not reading the Tokyo proposal yet," Clara, the junior receptionist, practically whimpered, sliding a thick binder across Katarina’s desk with hands that were visibly shaking. "The research team forgot to update the inflation index on page twelve. If he sees it, he’s going to fire the whole department!"

Katarina looked up from her computer screen, her expression as calm and smooth as a polished pearl. She picked up the binder, pulled a fine-tipped red pen from her desk organizer, and flicked to page twelve.

"Calm down, Clara," Katarina said softly, her voice an island of tranquility amidst the ocean of office panic. "The research team updated the index in the digital appendix last night. They just forgot to sync it to the physical printout. I’ll swap the page and reprint it before his ten o'clock review."

Clara let out a dramatic, shuddering sigh of relief, clutching her chest. "Kat, you are an actual saint. I don't know how you absorb his temper every single day without breaking down. If he looked at me the way he looks at the rest of us, I’d throw my ID badge in the trash and run."

Katarina offered a slight, diplomatic smile as she neatly swapped the pages. "He is demanding because the stakes are high, Clara. That’s all."

"No, Kat," Clara whispered, leaning in closer. "He’s a tyrant. Brilliant, yes. Handsome enough to ruin a woman's life, definitely. But terrifying."

Katarina didn't comment further. Once Clara hurried back to her station, Katarina adjusted her glasses and stared at the heavy mahogany door of the inner suite.

Truth be told, beneath her unbothered exterior, Katarina was still deeply cautious. She was on guard every second she spent around her new boss. Working for Matteo felt like walking on thin ice over a very deep, unpredictable ocean. He was arrogant, harsh, and utterly ruthless when crossed.

Whenever a department head dropped the ball or an investor backed out, it was Katarina who caught the brunt of his dark, tempestuous moods. She was the buffer. The shock absorber. She was the one who walked into his office when documents were flying, placed a fresh, perfectly temperature-regulated double espresso on his desk, and quietly redirected his rage into actual solutions.

It was exhausting work, but Katarina treated it with strict, clinical professionalism. She needed this job. Her savings goal depended on her steady income, and she refused to let a cold, brooding CEO shake her financial stability.

At 11:30 AM, the glass doors to the main boardroom flew open.

A stream of senior vice presidents practically scrambled out into the hallway, looking like survivors of a natural disaster. Among them, the head of European Logistics wiped sweat from his forehead, muttering under his breath about looking for early retirement.

A second later, Matteo stepped out of the boardroom.

He had removed his suit jacket, wearing only his dark gray dress shirt, the top button undone, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His dark hair was slightly tousled from his habit of dragging his hand through it when frustrated. His jawline was set so hard it looked carved from granite, his stormy eyes scanning the open floor until they locked onto Katarina.

"Miss Meneses. My office. Now," he bit out, turning on his heel without waiting for an answer.

Katarina didn't hesitate. She grabbed her notepad, straightened her pencil skirt, and followed him inside, closing the heavy doors behind her, shutting out the anxious stares of her colleagues.

Inside, Matteo was pacing behind his executive desk like a caged panther. He gripped the edge of the dark wood, leaning his broad frame forward as he stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the city below.

"Incompetence," Matteo growled, his voice a dark rumble that vibrated through the room. "Pure, unadulterated incompetence. They had four months to prepare the European logistics integration, and they present me with data from last year!"

He slammed a leather folder onto the desk with a sharp, thunderous CRACK that would have made any other employee jump out of their skin.

Katarina didn't even blink. She stood three paces away, holding her notepad tightly against her ribs, her posture straight and composed.

"The logistics team was working off the outdated port authority data sent by our French liaison, Mr. Orsini," Katarina stated smoothly, her tone cool and entirely devoid of fear. "I flagged the discrepancy two hours ago and requested the updated maritime logs directly from Marseilles. They arrived in my inbox ten minutes ago."

Matteo stopped pacing. He turned his head slowly, his fierce gray eyes fixing on her.

“You already have the correct data?" he asked, his tone still sharp, though a faint flicker of surprise crossed his harsh features.

"I have already cross-referenced the figures, adjusted the risk analysis on page four, and printed out three revised copies for your afternoon call," she replied calmly, stepping forward to lay the crisp, perfectly organized papers on his desk. "Your 2:00 PM meeting with the Marseilles port director will proceed without delay."

Matteo stared at the papers, then slowly raised his gaze back to her face.

For a long, heavy moment, silence filled the grand room. The violent aura of anger that usually surrounded him seemed to slowly dissolve, absorbed by Katarina's quiet, unwavering presence.

He looked at her intensely—noticing the absolute lack of fear in her clear brown eyes, the neat precision of her hair, and the calm, steady rhythm of her breathing. Every other person in this multi-billion-dollar building trembled when he raised his voice. They fawned over him, agreed with everything he said out of terror, or tried to flatter him to gain favor.

Only Katarina Meneses stood her ground. Only Katarina absorbed his storms, dismantled his problems, and handed him results without asking for praise or throwing a tantrum.

"You expected them to fail," Matteo murmured, his deep voice softening into an unreadable, magnetic low.

"I expect human error in high-pressure situations, sir," Katarina answered practically, taking a small, deliberate step back to maintain her safe boundary distance. "It is my duty as your senior secretary to ensure those errors do not affect your decision-making."

Matteo caught her subtle retreat. His dark brows knitted together, a sharp glint of annoyance returning to his eyes—not because of the logistics team this time, but because of the physical distance she so rigidly insisted on keeping between them.

He walked around the edge of his desk, stopping just two feet away from her. The imposing width of his shoulders and his tall height shadowed her completely.

"Do you think I'm a tyrant, Miss Meneses?" he asked softly, his gray eyes searching her face, probing beneath her calm mask. "Like the rest of the floor thinks?"

Katarina kept her chin up, meeting his heavy, suffocating stare directly. She was careful with her words. She was still uncertain about him—still deeply cautious of his volatile temper and his cold nature.

"I think you are an exceptionally effective Chief Executive Officer, Mr. Orsini," she replied neutrally. "The market results speak for themselves. My personal opinions on your leadership style are irrelevant to my duties."

Matteo let out a low, cynical breath that sounded almost like a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in his eyes.

"Irrelevant," he repeated, stepping an inch closer, his dark sandalwood scent wrapping around her senses. "You hide behind your professionalism like armor, Katarina."

"It is not armor, sir. It is my job description," Katarina answered, her heart giving a nervous, involuntary thud against her ribs from his proximity, though her face remained completely serene. "If there is nothing else, I will return to my desk to finalize the Marseilles brief."

Matteo stared at her for five long seconds, his jaw working as if he wanted to break through her icy reserve right then and there. But seeing the firm, resolute line of her shoulders, he swallowed his dark impulse and gave a single, rigid nod.

"Go," he commanded quietly. "And take a full hour for lunch today, Miss Meneses. That is an order."

"Thank you, Mr. Orsini," Katarina said politely.

She turned on her heels and walked out of the office with graceful, unhurried steps. As the heavy mahogany door clicked shut behind her, Katarina let out a long, quiet breath, adjusting her glasses.

He was brilliant, he was lethal, and he was undeniably the driving force pushing this company to unimaginable heights. But as she sat back down at her desk and reached for her home-cooked lunch container, Katarina reminded herself of the golden rule: Keep your distance from the devil, no matter how well he runs the kingdom.