The Italian

“But where were you?” I cry as my eyes fill with tears. I swipe them away, annoyed with myself for baring a weakness. “You left me when I needed you the most. I needed a friend.” My voice cracks betraying my bravery act.

“I had a lot on my plate. It was a very bad time for me.”

“Yes, I know. You and your thousands of lovers. You make me sick.”

“You fuck strangers on Tinder,” he growls. “I should have left you in that cell to rot.”

I lose it, step forward, and I slap him hard across his face. The crack echoes through the room. We stare at each other, hate running

between us, and I’m not entirely sure that he isn’t going to slap me back. The look on his face is murderous. “You were the last man I slept with, asshole, not that that’s any of your business,” I sneer. “Yes, I know that’s pathetic, and damn it, I’ll be rectifying the situation immediately. You left a bitter taste in my mouth, and up until now, I couldn’t stomach the thought of being with another. But thank you very much for reminding me of what you really are. I am well and truly ready to meet a real man.”

His eyes hold mine. His chest rises and falls, as if he’s grappling for control.

“Don’t come near me ever again,” I whisper. “I hate you. I wish we’d never met.” I turn and storm toward the door. I open it in a rush to find four security guards waiting. “Move!” I yell, and they quickly jump out of my way.

“Olivia!” Enrico calls from behind me. “Get back here.”

I run to the elevator. The doors are still open, and I slam the button to close them.

The numbers start to go down, and I run my hands through my hair as I try to control my erratic heart. Oh my God, that is the exact opposite of what I wanted to say.

Why did I come here?

The elevator doors open, and I run out of the building. I duck around the corner and lean up against the wall, closing my eyes.

What a disaster.

* * *

I climb the never-ending stairs, and I drink out of my water bottle. I’m wet with perspiration but nowhere near the end of my workout. I can’t stop; I’m too wound up. I didn’t expect for Enrico to rattle me the way that he did.

I cringe every time I think of myself tearing up in that asshole’s office this morning.

Stupid fool. What on earth was I thinking?

The gym seems like a great place to try and punish myself. I wipe my perspiration with my towel and I keep on climbing. Perhaps this is the secret to working out hard—anger. Maybe all the people who smash it at the gym are really just pissed off individuals who have no other outlet. Makes perfect sense. Right now, I feel like I could take on Rocky Balboa and kick his ass.

My phone rings. It’s Giorgio.

“Hello,” I pant.

“Where are you?”

“The gym.”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“I guess. Although you should be doing me a favor after the hangover you gave me.”

He laughs, and I find myself smiling. I have no idea why Giorgio and I have clicked, but he’s fun and we seem to have strung up an unlikely friendship.

“I completely forgot that I have a black-tie charity event tomorrow night. Angelo is away and can’t make it. Will you be my date?”

“Seriously?” I continue to climb. “I can’t, I have nothing to wear.”

“You can wear a dress from work. It is a work dinner. You would be on the clock, technically.”

I roll my eyes.