Two hours in, and Mila had actually found her rhythm.
The Harbor District proposal was even more interesting than she'd expected. It was layered with enough financial maneuvering and municipal red tape that it required actual attention to get through.
Dante hadn't been testing her with busywork, he had handed her something real. Something that mattered. And once she'd stopped being distracted by his presence long enough to actually focus, the numbers started making sense.
She was three-quarters through the revenue projections when she caught herself leaning forward, pen in hand, circling a discrepancy in the third-quarter forecast. It was the kind of thing that wouldn't matter to most people but would absolutely matter if the city council decided to dig into the details during approval hearings.
Dante's voice cut through her concentration. "Did you find something?"
Mila glanced up only to see that he was watching her intently, his laptop open but his attention clearly focused completely on her.
"Your third-quarter numbers don't match the timeline for municipal approvals," she replied, tapping the page with her pen. "If the permits get delayed—and they will, because statically, the city council always delays, you're going to be sitting on a half-finished property with no revenue stream for at least six months longer than you've budgeted for."
Dante leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "And?"
"And that's a problem if your investors are expecting returns on the original timeline." Mila set the pen down on her desk and gave him her full attention. "You've got contingency funding built in, but not enough to cover a six-month gap. Not without eating into the profit margin."
He didn't respond immediately. He just watched her with that same steady, assessing gaze that made her feel like he was cataloging every word she said. And every word she didn't.
"You're right," he said finally.
Mila blinked. "I am?" She knew that she was, but that didn't mean she expected him to acknowledge it.
"Yes," he grunted before turning back to his laptop. "I'll have the team revise the projections."
That was it.
There was no explanation, no follow-up questions, just an acknowledgment and a decision.
Vaguely impressed, Mila went back to the file, but something had shifted. She wasn't just reading anymore... she was actually taking this more seriously than when she thought this was only a test.
He seemed to be taking her seriously, even though he had no reason to, and so she was going to do her best to actually help him.
She'd clocked the hierarchy within the first hour—Marco's quiet authority, Victoria's territorial hovering, the way everyone moved around Dante like he was the sun and they were planets locked in orbit.
But sitting here, absorbed in the work, Mila realized she wasn't trying to fit into that hierarchy. She was just... here, doing her job.
And that was enough.
Her stomach growled quietly, but she ignored it. She'd skipped breakfast, but she'd survived worse. Besides, she was on a roll, and stopping now would break her focus.
The door to Dante's office opened without a knock.
Mila looked up as Victoria stepped inside, carrying a tray with two covered plates and a bottle of sparkling water. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor with the kind of precision that suggested she'd made this walk a thousand times before.
She moved toward Dante's desk without acknowledging Mila's presence, setting the tray down with practiced ease.
"Your lunch, Mr. Falcone," Victoria announced, her voice smooth and professional but with a hint of huskiness. Like she was doing him a favor instead of her job.
Dante glanced up from his laptop. "Thank you."
Victoria's smile was small, clearly pissed that he didn't look at her. "I had them prepare your usual. Grilled salmon, no butter, extra lemon." She gestured to the second plate. "And I wasn't sure what Miss Hart would prefer, so I had them send up a Caesar salad."
Mila looked up from the file.
A Caesar salad.
Rabbit food... or diet food, depending on how you looked at it. Was Victoria trying to give her a hint?
How thoughtful of her.
How completely fucking transparent.
Victoria's gaze flicked to her for half a second—just long enough to make it clear that the choice had been deliberate.
Mila set the file down and leaned back in her chair, meeting Victoria's gaze with the kind of calm that came from years of dealing with people who thought they were smarter than her. "I don't eat salad for lunch," she said, her tone was pleasant and unbothered. "But thanks for thinking of me."
Victoria's smile tightened at the edges. "I can have them send something else up if you'd prefer."
"Don't bother." Mila picked up the file again. "I'll grab something later."
The silence that followed was brief but pointed. Victoria's fingers twitched slightly against the tray, like she was resisting the urge to say something else. Then she turned back to Dante, her expression smoothing out into something more neutral.
"Will you need anything else, Mr. Falcone?"
Dante's gaze shifted from his laptop to Victoria, then to Mila, his eyes lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—amusement, maybe. Or curiosity. Like he was watching a game unfold and finding it more interesting than he'd expected.
"No," he replied with a shake of his head. "That will be all."
Victoria nodded and turned toward the door, her heels clicking against the floor with the same measured precision. She paused at the threshold, glancing back at Mila one more time. "If you change your mind about lunch, just let me know."
"I won't," Mila said without looking up. "But I appreciate the offer." With all her luck, Victoria would bring up toast and a hard boiled egg.
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
Mila waited until the sound of Victoria's footsteps faded down the hall before she let herself exhale.
She wasn't threatened. Not even close. But the whole performance had been exhausting. She wasn't used to the subtle 'girl fights' that normally went on between two women, and it wasn't something she wanted to waste her time with.
Victoria wasn't subtle, she was obvious. And that made her predictable.
Dante picked up his fork and started eating, his movements efficient and unhurried. He didn't comment on what had just happened, didn't ask if she was okay, didn't offer to share his lunch.
Instead, he just... ate.
Like the entire exchange had been nothing but background noise.
Mila went back to the file, flipping to the next section. Her stomach growled again, louder this time, but she kept reading. She'd made it this far. She could handle a few more hours.
"You should eat something," Dante said without looking up.
Mila glanced at him. "I'm fine."
"You didn't eat breakfast."
"How do you know that?"
"Because you were too busy running down the stairs to stop and eat something." His tone was dry but there was a hint of a smirk on his lips.
Mila's face warmed slightly. "I wasn't late."
"No." He set down his fork and looked at her. "You weren't."
The weight of his gaze settled over her like something physical. She wanted to look away but she didn't. She held his gaze instead, refusing to be the first one to break.
"Victoria's testing you," he continued like she hadn't noticed the very thing.
"I know."
"Does it bother you?"
Mila considered the question. Did it bother her? Not really. Victoria was annoying like a fly was annoying...persistent, but ultimately harmless.
She wasn't a threat. She was just... noise.
"No," Mila said. "Should it?"
Dante's mouth curved slightly. Not quite a smile, but close. "No."
He went back to his lunch, and Mila went back to the file.
But when her stomach growled for a third time, Dante stood and crossed to the small fridge in the corner of his office. He pulled out a bottle of water and a wrapped sandwich before heading over to her corner of the room.
He set both on her desk without a word.
Mila stared at them. Then at him. "What's this?"
"Lunch."
"I said I was fine."
"And I'm telling you to eat." He returned to his desk and sat down, picking up his phone like the conversation was over.
Mila looked at the sandwich. Turkey and avocado, from the looks of it. The kind of thing that came from the executive kitchen downstairs, not the cafeteria.
She unwrapped it slowly and took a bite. It was good. Better than good, actually. And she was hungrier than she'd realized.
Dante didn't look up, like he did this for everyone.
But Mila noticed.
She seemed to always notice when he moved now.