Nine days passed before Rachel saw Matteo Bellini again.
She had almost convinced herself she never would.
Laura had not made that easy.
“You seriously told a Bellini security guy to take his shoe out of your apartment?”
“Yes.”
“And Matteo Bellini personally showed up?”
“Yes.”
“In the black suit?”
Rachel looked across her desk.
“Are there versions of Matteo Bellini that come in cargo shorts?”
“There should not be.”
“Laura.”
“I’m focused.”
“You haven’t been focused since I mentioned his name.”
Laura leaned forward.
“You didn’t tell me whether he was as attractive in real life as the photographs.”
Rachel resumed typing.
“That seems unrelated to the groceries.”
“That is the most suspicious answer you could’ve given.”
Rachel refused to respond.
Mostly because the answer was yes.
Matteo was extremely attractive.
That fact was inconvenient rather than important.
Men who arrived with security teams and last names that made strangers nervous were not part of Rachel’s life plan.
Her plan was considerably simpler.
Work.
Pay bills.
Try to replace her couch before the springs finally declared war on her spine.
Maybe take a trip somewhere warm next winter.
That was enough.
Then Friday arrived.
At four-thirty, Rachel’s supervisor appeared beside her desk.
“Foster.”
“Yes?”
“The Westlake Hotel conference center has eighteen mini-fridges malfunctioning before a pharmaceutical event tomorrow.”
Rachel stared.
“Eighteen?”
“Apparently they synchronized their rebellion.”
Laura whispered, “They’ve unionized.”
Rachel bit the inside of her cheek.
Her supervisor continued.
“The service manager needs someone to help coordinate access with hotel operations. You’re the only one who understands the commercial account software.”
Rachel checked the clock.
“So much for Friday takeout.”
“You’ll get overtime.”
“I suddenly love hospitality.”
By six fifteen, Rachel was standing inside the loading entrance of one of Chicago’s most expensive hotels with a clipboard, two technicians, and a hotel manager named Susan who looked one malfunction away from abandoning civilization.
They got to work.
For ninety minutes, Rachel barely looked up.
She coordinated rooms.
Logged serial numbers.
Reassigned technicians.
Solved a billing problem.
Then Susan hurried toward her.
“Rachel?”
“Yes?”
“I need one of the technicians on the executive floor.”
“We have seventeen units left down here.”
“I know, but the private dining suite has one too.”
Rachel sighed.
“Fine. I’ll check it first.”
She took the elevator upstairs alone.
The executive level was quieter, decorated with pale stone, dark wood, and enough understated luxury to communicate that if a person had to ask what anything cost, they probably weren’t supposed to be there.
Rachel followed the room number.
She pushed open a service door.
And stopped.
Matteo Bellini stood beside a conference table.
He was speaking with three men and Isabella.
Rachel nearly laughed at the statistical absurdity of her life.
Matteo noticed her.
His sentence stopped.
Isabella followed his gaze and smiled immediately.
“Rachel.”
Rachel lifted the service tablet.
“Please tell me nobody ordered groceries.”
Isabella laughed.
Even Matteo smiled.
“No groceries,” Isabella said. “Just a refrigerator apparently refusing to cooperate.”
“Good. Those I understand.”
Rachel crouched beside the under-counter unit.
She became aware of Matteo standing nearby, but he did not hover.
That was noticeable.
Powerful men often hovered when they believed every event required their involvement.
Matteo remained several feet away.
Rachel removed the vent panel.
“Compressor is running. Temperature sensor might be bad.”
One of the executives asked, “Can you fix it?”
“I’m not the technician. I diagnose enough to avoid wasting his time.”
She checked another reading.
“Sensor.”
Rachel stood.
“I’ll send someone up.”
Isabella folded her arms.
“You know, I owe you coffee.”
“For what?”
“For not opening my envelope.”
Rachel shrugged.
“That’s a low bar.”
“Not in my family.”
Matteo looked at his sister.
Isabella smiled innocently.
Then one of the executives asked her to review a document, leaving Rachel and Matteo briefly separated from the others.
Matteo spoke first.
“Miss Foster.”
“Mr. Bellini.”
“No one has bothered you since that evening?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Rachel looked at him.
“You sound surprised.”
“I was verifying.”
“You were worried one of your men might ignore you?”
“No.”
“Then verification accomplished.”
The corner of his mouth moved.
“You’re difficult to have a normal conversation with.”
“That’s interesting coming from a man whose first appearance in my life included three strangers and a private envelope.”
“Two strangers.”
Rachel stared.
“The delivery supervisor was not one of mine.”
“That distinction is doing heroic work.”
This time Matteo laughed.
Quietly.
Briefly.
But genuinely.
Rachel had not expected that.
Something shifted.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to make him look less like the intimidating figure newspapers preferred and more like a man who had forgotten for a second that people watched everything he did.
Isabella returned.
“My brother is hosting a foundation dinner tomorrow.”
Matteo’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Isabella.”
“What?”
Rachel looked between them.
Isabella continued.
“The Bellini Foundation funds vocational programs, trade scholarships, and technical schools.”
Rachel said, “That sounds useful.”
“It is. We have two empty seats because a donor canceled.”
“Isabella.”
“What?” she repeated.
Rachel understood.
“Oh, no.”
Isabella grinned.
“I wasn’t asking you to marry him. I was offering dinner.”
Matteo closed his eyes for half a second.
Rachel laughed.
“I appreciate it, but fancy charity dinners aren’t really my thing.”
Matteo surprised her.
“Then don’t come.”
Isabella stared at him.
Rachel did too.
He continued.
“You don’t owe us anything because you returned an envelope.”
Rachel considered him more carefully.
There it was again.
That awareness of obligation.
Or the refusal to manufacture one.
“I might’ve expected you to be better at getting what you want,” Rachel said.
“I am.”
“That sounded ominous.”
“It wasn’t meant to.”
“What was it meant to sound like?”
Matteo held her gaze.
“Like I know the difference between getting what I want and taking away someone else’s choice.”
The words stayed with her after the technician arrived.
They stayed with her on the drive home.
And apparently they stayed with her long enough that Saturday afternoon, when Laura invited Rachel to an industry networking event and Rachel discovered the event was attached to the same Bellini Foundation dinner, she almost turned around.
Laura grabbed her arm.
“Absolutely not.”
“I’m not dressed for this.”
Rachel wore a navy wrap dress and simple black heels.
“You look better than half the room.”
“I hate rooms where chandeliers are larger than my apartment.”
“Free food.”
Rachel stopped.
“That was manipulative.”
“Effective, though.”
They entered.
The ballroom glowed beneath warm lights.
Business owners, donors, educators, labor representatives, and local nonprofit leaders filled the tables.
Rachel immediately noticed something.
This was not the kind of charity event where rich people applauded themselves for writing checks.
Students were there.
Electricians.
Mechanics.
Welders.
Nursing assistants.
People who had completed programs funded by the foundation.
A young man spoke about leaving foster care at eighteen and becoming a certified HVAC technician through a scholarship.
Rachel listened.
Her skepticism softened.
Then she saw Matteo.
He stood near the stage.
Black suit.
No tie this time.
Surrounded by people.
His gaze traveled across the ballroom.
Found her.
Stopped.
Rachel expected him to come over.
He did not.
He simply gave one small nod.
Then returned to his conversation.
That affected her more than if he had crossed the entire room.
“He saw you,” Laura whispered.
“I noticed.”
“And he’s not coming over.”
“I also noticed.”
“That man understands suspense.”
“Eat your chicken.”
Thirty minutes later, Rachel found herself near a quiet balcony after escaping a donor who had spent twelve uninterrupted minutes explaining cryptocurrency.
Matteo appeared in the doorway.
He stopped several feet away.
“May I?”
Rachel glanced at the empty balcony.
“It’s technically not mine.”
“Your apartment taught me to ask anyway.”
She smiled despite herself.
“Come out.”
He joined her.
Chicago spread below them in glass and light.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Rachel said, “The scholarship program is impressive.”
“My mother started it.”
“Really?”
“She believed useful skills gave people choices.”
“You talk about choice a lot.”
Matteo looked toward the skyline.
“I’ve recently been reminded I should.”
“By Isabella?”
“And others.”
Rachel knew he meant her.
She leaned against the railing.
“Your sister is leaving?”
“Denver. Three weeks.”
“Are you handling that well?”
“No.”
Rachel laughed.
“At least you’re honest.”
“I’m trying not to interfere.”
“Trying?”
“I have researched exactly one thing.”
Rachel turned slowly.
“What?”
“The company.”
“Matteo.”
“I didn’t contact anyone.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“I also checked the neighborhood.”
Rachel stared.
He sighed.
“And the building.”
She laughed harder.
“You’re impossible.”
“Apparently.”
The wind moved a strand of hair across Rachel’s cheek.
Matteo watched her tuck it back.
Then his expression became more serious.
“Can I ask you something?”
“That depends.”
“Dinner.”
Rachel blinked.
“That wasn’t a question.”
“Would you have dinner with me?”
There it was.
Direct.
No manipulation.
No assistant making reservations first.
No driver appearing downstairs.
Rachel studied him.
Every practical instinct told her no.
His life was complicated.
His family was complicated.
Even his apologies arrived with security details nearby.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Matteo nodded once.
“All right.”
Rachel waited.
He did nothing else.
“You’re not going to ask why?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you said no.”
The answer landed somewhere she had not prepared for.
Rachel looked away toward the city.
“That was annoyingly appropriate.”
“I’m learning.”
When Rachel left the event an hour later, Matteo did not follow.
He did not send flowers the next morning.
He did not obtain her phone number.
He did not use Isabella to contact her.
Another week passed.
And Rachel discovered something deeply inconvenient.
She had expected him to try again.
A small part of her had wanted him to.