Gianna flexed her numb fingers, reclining deeper in her chair, the leather sighing faintly beneath her weight.
Her eyes were tired too, aching in that dull, persistent way that ca from staring too long at fine lines and details, just as her brain felt sluggish and overworked.
Worse? It was compounded with the beginning throb of a headache pressing behind her temples.
But that was to be expected, considering she had been working nonstop for the past five hours.
Make that six. She mused absently, lifting her wrist to check the ti, blinking when the numbers confird it. Her lips pressed together in sothing close to resignation.
"Vance, go for lunch," she said to her partner in hard work, her voice firm but not unkind.
She could see him from across the room, hunched slightly over the table, straining himself to continue working—or rather, touching their designs with hands that had long since lost their precision.
When his tired gaze t hers, bloodshot and stubborn all at once, sothing tugged faintly in her chest. She was sorry for stressing him this way. Truly.
But she didn’t say it out aloud. He was the one who wanted the taste of success, who wanted to claw out of diocrity. He might as well get the full treatnt.
"I’m okay, Miss Gianna. I can work so more..." Vance said, though the dreary tone of his voice betrayed him.
Gianna shook her head slowly. Another hour of work, and he would just pass out right here. The brain needed refuel, unless migraines were sure to follow.
"Go and have lunch, Vance. It’s an order."
She watched as he slowly rose to his feet, the movent stiff. When he staggered and then blinked at himself in surprise, she snorted softly.
"You were saying..."
Vance had the grace to acknowledge that his boss, as always, was right. He smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, and asked if she wasn’t going to lunch too. "I heard the chefs are going all out today..."
Gianna smiled faintly, waving him off with a loose flick of her wrist. "I’m okay. I have a packed lunch."
Florence had gone all out too. She had been doing so since the week started, clearly guessing just how imrsed Gianna would be in work.
Deliveries around the clock were included—four hours apart—of fruits, warm als, snacks. So much food that she ended up sharing with her secretary, with Vance, and with Mason whenever he popped in unannounced.
Vance chuckled. "Of course, miss. I’ll see you in fifteen minutes’ ti."
"No," she said quickly. "Take your ti."
Once Vance was out of the office and the door clicked shut behind him, she made a few more careful touches on the design she was working on, adjusting a line here, softening a curve there.
Then, with a loud exhale that carried all her fatigue with it, she dropped the pencil onto the desk. Ti to eat!
She opened the lunch bag, and took out the neatly packaged flask and the bottle of water, shoulders relaxing as she leaned back.
She ate slowly, gratefully, enjoying a hearty lunch without the interruptions or constant noise that accompanied the company’s cafeteria.
That peace wasn’t ant to last.
A sharp knock sounded on her door, and before she could call co in—after squeezing her face briefly at the interruption—Mason’s head popped into view.
Gianna held back a sigh of exasperation. "Shouldn’t you be at the VIP tables at the cafeteria for lunch?" she asked dryly.
Mason shrugged, already taking the seat opposite her. "I already had lunch. Today has been very hectic."
Tell about it, Gianna mused silently. Hectic didn’t even cut it, not with the convention just two days away.
"So," she said, lifting a brow, "why are you here then?"
"To invite you to dinner..."
Gianna frowned, ready to shut that down imdiately, when Mason chuckled, confusing her further.
"No, that didn’t co out right. The family is having dinner—the Becketts and the Newmans... well, you have been invited as Noah’s girlfriend."
Gianna didn’t think she would ever get used to the bitterness that slipped into Mason’s tone so suddenly whenever her na and Noah’s were placed in the sa sentence.
She sighed and took a asured scoop of her food. "We are not dating. I’ve said that countless tis. You can pass the ssage to your family, since you’re the ssenger."
Mason sneered. "You keep saying that, but you keep going on dinners with him."
Anyone listening would think she and Noah went on dinner dates every night, but it had been only just that once. Once.
"And the socials have yet to recover from the last pictures."
Gianna sighed again, and took another scoop. Sohow, soone had taken pictures that night—pictures that suggested anything but the re friendship she shared with Noah now.
Yes, they were making rounds. Yes, they were gaining ground. But they were good for PR, and so she wouldn’t debunk it.
And even though Noah had claid he didn’t need it, both his reputation and his company had been bolstered by it.
According to the comnts, he no longer posed a flight risk. Apparently, dating her suggested permanence, roots in the country. A good thing for investors.
"Mason, it doesn’t matter. Just tell your father that I’m not interested."
Mason pursed his lips, watching her eat so unbothered, so composed, and wondered if there were ways to crack that armor she wore. Ways to unsettle her.
She was always too... put together.
He abandoned the thought and reclined into the chair, folding his hands across his chest. "I don’t think you have a choice."
Gianna frowned, her food montarily forgotten. "Excuse ?"
But Mason stood up instead, walking out of the room, a smile curving his lips once he turned his back on her.
He had successfully rattled her.
Gianna’s frown deepened as the door shut. She had no choice? What did that even an? Were they planning to bundle her into a car and force her to sit down for dinner?
She released a choked laugh and continued eating. Mason was probably teasing her.
She had just finished when another knock sounded on her door.
Closing the flask and depositing it back into the bag, she called for Lottie to co in.
But it wasn’t Lottie.
And it wasn’t Vance.
It was Es.
This ti, Gianna released a loud, unrestrained sigh—the kind that communicated clearly she was being disturbed.
Es scoffed, shut the door behind her, moved forward, and dumped herself into the guest seat.
"Yeah, of course," Gianna said coolly, "make yourself comfortable."
The sarcasm in her tone was entirely lost on Es.
"I heard that only our designs will be shown at the convention," Es said. "Only the both of us were picked to represent the Becketts. I had half expected Vance to be picked too..."
So you would make a fuss and shout down the company? Gianna thought dryly. Arthur clearly knew his relative well enough.
"What do you want, Es?" she asked flatly, going straight to the point. She needed the woman out of her space. The talkative was bad luck.
"For so reason," Es said, crossing her legs, "my parents want to et you. And I’m bound to invite you."
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