Page 186 of My Italian Love Affair

Go to hell, Chapman.

The seconds drag before finally, he lets out a short laugh and shakes his head.

"I just can't make it make sense," he says. "Why Richard's so far up your ass these days. It must be one of two things - I just can’t seem to figure out which."

His eyes flick up to meet mine, cold and calculating.

"Either you're sleeping with Rossi... or you're sleeping with Richard."

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and I swear my heart stops as the air is physically sucked out of my lungs.

"What did you just say?" I whisper.

"You heard me," Mark says, leaning back in his chair with a smirk.

He knows he’s got under my skin, and he’s infuriatingly pleased about it.

"Which is it? The footballer or the editor?"

Rage floods my veins. My vision blurs with it.

"You'redisgusting," I spit. "And you're a coward."

His eyes narrow, but I don’t wait for a response.

I spin on my heel, fling the door open, and walk straight out of the office.

It’s busy and bustling as usual, and people turn to watch me as I pass, shooting curious glances in my direction. My face burns with humiliation, but I don't stop until I reach the street and gulp in the warm air.

My mind is whirring, completely in overdrive, but I’m functional enough to pull out my phone and open Matteo’s chat.

Something urgent has come up. I can’t do dinner tonight. I’m sorry.

His reply comes almost immediately.

Everything good?

I stare at the screen, my throat tight.

Yeah. Just work stuff.

I turn off my phone and walk the rest of the way home in a daze.

This is the second time I’ve stormed out of that office, and the thought alone is embarrassing enough.

I never had any drama like this back in London, never hadany issues of this kind before. I’ve always kept my head down, always focused on the job. I never gave anyone any reason to doubt me or question my work ethic. I wrote what I was asked to write, turned it in on time, and moved on.

Simple. Straightforward.

No distractions. No chaos.

And now? Now, my biggest success in this industry so far isn’t because of my reporting or my analysis.

It’s because of a flirtatious interaction with a footballer.

The world isn’t talking about my articles - they’re talking about my banter with Matteo Rossi.

And my novel? The one I swore I’d finish while I was here?

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