Page 51 of My Unexpected Surprise
I tell myself it is paranoia, the natural result of too little sleep and too many secrets. Yet the weird vibe persists through the intensive review session.
Someone from Legal clears their throat awkwardly when I suggest a minor wording change to the family protection clause.
Another analyst excuses herself quickly after I answer a question about the Hudson Valley logistics.
By the time we break for a short coffee refill, the tension has settled under my skin like static. Priya follows me to the small pantry area near the elevators.
She's one of the few people who has been genuinely warm since my first day, quick with practical advice and sharper insights than her cheerful demeanor suggests.
“Don’t mind them,” she says quietly as she pours oat milk into her mug. “They are just jealous.”
I stir sugar into my coffee and glance at her. “Jealous of what? I have been here less than two weeks and I am already buried in the biggest client pitch of the quarter. If anything, they should feel sorry for me.”
Priya gives me a funny look. “What? So you’re not sleeping with the boss?”
Mortification hits me like a slap, my whole face heats up as I nearly drop the coffee cup. “Priya.”
She bursts out laughing, the sound bright and unfiltered. “I’m joking. I'm joking. But yeah, that’s the word flying around. You haven't been up to a week and you’re already going on this important career-boosting ten-day retreat upstate. People talk. Especially when the boss himself seems…attentive.”
I set my cup down hard enough that liquid sloshes over the rim. “I’m not. We’re not. This is strictly professional.”
Priya watches me for a second, then softens. “I know. Personally, I like you, Livia. You actually know what you are doing, and you are incredibly easy to work with. Yesterday Marcus ate something questionable for lunch and kept farting in the strategy meeting. I pointed it out politely, and he got offended. Then he kept farting. It was horrible. Horrible.”
I stare at her for a beat, then laughter bubbles up despite everything. It starts small and grows until my shoulders shake. Priya joins in, leaning against the counter as she wipes a tear from the corner of her eye.
“You should have seen your face just now too. Classic. But seriously, ignore the whispers. Do good work and let them choke on it.”
We laugh a little longer, the sound easing some of the tightness in my chest. For a few minutes the office politics fade, replaced by the simple relief of having at least one ally who sees me as more than rumor fodder.
My mind chooses this time to remember Valentino’s hand covering mine under the dinner table last night, the deliberate brush of his knee, the way my body had responded even while panic clawed at me.
The rumors are not entirely baseless in appearance, and that terrifies me more than anything.
Back in the conference room the review intensifies. We run through every contingency for the retreat, from guest vetting to emergency extraction protocols.
I contribute where I can, humanizing the technical language and suggesting ways to make the protection measures feel less invasive.
My mind keeps drifting, however, to the contract in my email inbox. The fake engagement agreement.
I signed it digitally during a bathroom break, heart hammering as I initialed every clause. Separate rooms. No unnecessary touching. Nico off-limits as a prop.
Valentino treats the entire arrangement like a full-scale security operation. I discover this when he summons me to his office shortly after lunch.
The rain has eased outside, but the gray light still casts long shadows across his expansive workspace.
He stands at the center of a carefully organized spread of documents, tablets, and printed timelines that look more like mission briefs than personal plans.
He glances up as I enter. “We need to align on the backstory before any public interactions at the estate.”
I close the door and cross my arms. “This is insane. You have color-coded folders for a fake relationship.”
“Improvisation is what people call failure before it happens,” he replies without missing a beat. His voice stays calm, but his eyes hold that steady intensity that always makes my heart quicken.
“Our timeline starts from three months ago. We met at an industry event, reconnected when you joined the company. Proposal was private. Small gathering with close friends. Nico approved because I promised to teach him about fast cars.”
I stare at him. “You planned our fake proposal down to Nico’s reaction?”
He nods once, completely serious. “Details matter. I also arranged wardrobe selections for the retreat. Nothing flashy. Pieces that suggest quiet commitment rather than performance. Your measurements are on file from the corporate health forms. Tailors will deliver tomorrow.”
