She steps closer, lowering her voice, like we’re insome conspiracy together. “Nelson is angry with me. He’s…frustrated. I think he might?—”
“Good,” I cut in again, which I know irritates the hell out of her.
She narrows her eyes, but I can see her panic, real and shaking, underneath the veneer. “I need help.”
“That sounds like ayouproblem.”
Before she can say anything else, I lift my hand to silence her. “See, if we parted as friends, I’d be there for you, but we didn’t. You know why?”
Her face hardens.
“Because you hurt my wife and then you sided with a man who would let his son burn for the sake of optics.” I shake my head in mock disappointment. “And now you’re here begging me for help? Tsk. Tsk. Don’t you have any sense of right or wrong?”
Her eyes fill with tears. I know I hit her where it hurts. She hates that she’sbeggingme…begginganyonefor that matter. Her pride can’t handle it.
“That’s not fair, Aiden.”
“Neither was stealing my job by playing nice with my father. Neither was kissing me in front of my wife.” I drop my hands and stick them in my pockets, because I want to throw something at her. “It’s rich of you to even talk about fairness, don’t you think?”
Before she can respond, the front door opens.
Looks like Mia did finally use her key, I think, when she walks in wind-blown and rosy-cheeked, a paper bag in one arm and her phone in the other. She pauses when she sees Diana.
“What on earth are you doing here?” She comes to stand by me, kisses my cheek. “Brought you those empanadas you love.”
“Mia—” Diana starts, but Mia holds up a hand.
“Nope. Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying. Get lost.”
Diana’s jaw tightens. “I just came to?—”
“Don’t care,” Mia interrupts. “You’re wasting time. My time. His time.”
She moves past Diana, into the kitchen, and starts unloading the empanadas onto a baking sheet as if this is the most normal thing in the world. Like a woman in love, safe in her home. Unbothered.
I follow her in, as does Diana.
“Mia, your insecurities are yours to deal with. I’m here for Winter Financial.” Diana sounds more confident than she feels. I know her well enough to know that.
Mia turns, slow and steady, and smiles—the kind of smile that could cut glass. “Diana, you need to understand something. I have no reason to be insecure. The man is mine. The money is mine. You are a waste of space, and right now you need to get out so my husband and I can enjoy our late afternoon snack after what has been a very difficult day.”
Diana snorts. “Look, you don’t understand what’s happening at Winter Financial?—”
“Sure, I do. You’re screwing up.” Mia turns on the oven, and opens the fridge. “Ah, good, you have the Provencal rosé in the fridge. I was thinking we could sit on the porch and?—”
“Aiden,” Diana all but shouts, “are you going to help your family’s company or not?”
“Not,” Mia answers for me.
“I’m talking to Aiden,” Diana grits out.
“This is my house. My husband. You’re not welcome here.”
Mia steps forward, her chin high, and extends her hand—an unmistakable gesture pointing to the living room and the front door. “Get out.”
Diana lets out a ragged breath.
“And one more thing?” Mia adds sweetly and charges toward Diana. She takes a step back, away from my wife, who is looking scary in the most adorable way possible. “Next time you think about showing up here uninvited, don’t.”
