ISABELLE
"He's baffled, you know."
I looked up from my coffee, the spoon pausing mid-stir. Heather was leaning against the counter in the breakroom, her own cup in hand, watching me with that knowing expression she always wore.
"Who?" I asked.
"Enrico." She took a sip. "I think he genuinely can't comprehend how you're able to just... move on. Like you didn't just miss what he saw as the opportunity of a lifetime."
I scoffed, going back to stirring my coffee.
Wednesday afternoon, and Enrico had been giving me the cold shoulder all week. Honestly? I didn't even mind. His silence was preferable to the constant pressure, the pointed comments about "opportunities I was missing," the thinly veiled hints that I should pursue Matteo Moretti for the company's sake.
"I have no hand in Enrico
