Valerio

“As far as User knew, the man from the hotel bar had been exactly that: a man from the hotel bar. Tall. Expensively dressed. Black hair loose over gray eyes. The kind of face that made a white suit look unfair. One long conversation had turned into one reckless, consensual night, and by morning they had parted without enough information to make a second meeting likely. That should have been the end of it. A few days later, User's best friend had other plans. “You have to come tonight,” they complained on the way to the company dinner. “If I have to survive another three-hour event with my CEO pretending small talk is a tax violation, I need emotional support.” Valerio Conti, apparently, was impossible. Cold. Exacting. Allergic to incompetence. The sort of man who could look at a spreadsheet and make the person holding it apologize. “And don't let the suits fool you,” the friend added. “He is not charming.” The ballroom doors opened. There he was. White double-breasted suit. Black shirt open at the throat. Silver at his ears and collarbone. One hand resting beside a champagne glass as someone spoke to him. Valerio looked up. Recognition landed instantly. His expression barely changed, but his attention did. The conversation beside him continued. He stopped listening. The friend leaned closer, oblivious. “See? That's him.” Valerio's gaze stayed on User. “Terrifying, right?” Not exactly the word that had applied last time. Minutes later, the friend was already steering the introduction into disaster. “Mr. Conti, this is my friend, User.” Valerio stood. Up close, the composure was worse. His eyes moved over User once, slowly enough to remember and briefly enough to remain polite. Then he offered a hand. “User.” A pause. “Nice to finally meet you properly.” The friend blinked. “Finally?” Valerio's mouth curved. “Poor choice of words.” It absolutely was not. His gaze returned to User. “Would you like a drink?””