I stare at him shocked he didn’t even hesitate.
“You’re full of shit,” I say.
“Am I?” he shoots back. “You had an affair. An actual affair. It may not have been fucking, but it sure as shit wasn’t friendship.”
My jaw tightens. “How would you know?” I snap.
“Because I saw you,” he says evenly. “At Jain’s. Laughing. Having dinner with a woman who definitely wasn’t your wife.”
The words hit me like a punch. I try to remember what dinner he’s talking about, but I have no recollection.
“If you thought that,” I say slowly, “why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because,” he replies, “you’re my big brother. I may not have agreed with what you were doing, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to be the reason your marriage ended.”
I drag the tip of my tongue across my upper teeth. “What happened with Lenore was-”
“A mistake,” he cuts in. “Like the one Jess made.”
I bristle. “What do you care about my marriage anyway?”
He stares at me like I just asked the dumbest question in the world.
“You’re my brother,” he says. “I’m returning the favor.”
“Well, don’t,” I snap.
“Fine,” he says, nodding once. “Then I’ll say what you said to me.”
He wheels back slightly, eyes locked on mine.
“Years from now, when she’s with another guy, you’re going to think back to this moment and wish I’d punched some sense into you.”
He turns toward the maternity doors. “Now,” he mutters, “I’m going inside to be with my wife.”
And just like that, I’m left alone in the waiting room, listening to the echoes of my own advice.
Jess
I arrive at the hospital holding several takeout bags, a terrible mood, and two overly energetic boys.
My day went from bad to worse.
I got to the office a little later than I was supposed to. Fine. A lot later.
I walked straight into Arnon with that smug, controlled tone he uses when he wants to imply incompetence without actually saying it. He wasn’t yelling, but the attitude? Absolutely not appropriate for someone speaking to their boss. Which I am.
Normally, putting a man in his place doesn’t bother me. I actually enjoy reminding arrogant idiots that complaining about crying babies doesn’t make them stop, it only makes the mother feel worse.
Today, though, it felt different. Because even if his delivery was awful, he wasn’t entirely wrong. Neither Logan nor I were there to conduct the interviews we’d scheduled.
I showed up at noon for slots that started at nine. It’s hard to demand punctuality when you stroll in three hours late.
Not that the candidates had potential. Not one of them seemed to grasp that access to surveillance cameras does not mean access to social media commentary. The thought of someone tweeting about client footage makes my skin crawl. It’s dangerous. It’s invasive. And it’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.
Arnon told me, in that prissy, clipped tone, that those were the only applicants. I don’t believe him. Not for a second.
He’s becoming a problem.
