“Hands down.” I wasn’t sure why I told him that. I didn’t owe him anything. I could have kept that secret, but now that the gates were open, I shared everything with him, without hesitation.
“That’s quite the compliment.”
“Well, you’ve got a nice dick.”
A slow smile spread across his lips. “Wow, that’s an even better compliment.”
“People who say size doesn’t matter, that it’s all about the way you use it, are full of shit. Both matter—size and experience.” I held up two fingers. “You’ve got both.”
“This keeps getting better and better. No constructive criticism?”
It was perfect every single time. I missed it sometimes…all the time. “Nope. What about me?”
He released a quiet laugh. “No. You’re perfect.”
“If I was so perfect, my husband wouldn’t have cheated on me.” The bitterness escaped my voice when I’d meant to make a joke. But that pain was still there, right around my heart and lungs. I looked away, immediately regretting what I’d said the moment I said it. I hated being vulnerable, showing my weakness and handing out a map of my scars.
He stared at me and didn’t say anything.
I drank from my water and waited for the moment to dissipate on its own, fly away with the summer breeze.
“Your husband’s infidelity had nothing to do with you.” He spoke with a strong voice, making his simple statement resonate.
“You didn’t know our relationship.”
“Doesn’t matter. There are people out there who will always be unfaithful. It doesn’t matter how amazing their partner is. They can’t resist temptation, can’t stop chasing the next hot thing on the block. It might seem like they’re having a good time, but in reality, they’re eternally unhappy. Nothing is ever good enough.”
I turned back to him.
“So, feel bad for him. Not yourself.”
“I don’t feel bad for myself.” I wasn’t having a pity party.
“You’re still carrying some kind of guilt, like you were the reason the marriage failed.” He shook his head. “Trust me, it was him, not you.”
“You don’t know me that well.”
He gave me a slight smile. “I know about your dirty secret with the mafia. That’s gotta count for something.”
A small smile moved onto my lips.
“And I know you a lot better now as your friend than I did as your lover, and that’s been nice.”
It had been.
“Rose played me for a fool and took me for one hell of a ride. But that’s not on me. I’m a good man. I’m a good lover. I’m a good husband. I refuse to let her coldness break me.” He shook his head. “Sure, I have trust issues, but my confidence has never wavered. Neither should yours. Because I’ve had the luxury of having you—and you’re perfect.”
I looked away at his final comment, feeling warmth replace the pain that had gripped my chest a moment ago.
“Have you seen him since it ended?”
I shook my head. “After we signed the papers, we never saw each other again.”
“So, the divorce wasn’t messy?”
“He was the one with the money, but I didn’t want any of it. He got to keep the apartment and everything else, which was fine with me, because I would have just burned it down anyway.” Half of his assets belonged to me, but I didn’t want his wealth to be vindictive or greedy. I just wanted to start over, to make it on my own without looking back.
He stared at me with his fingers over his lips, his eyes dark.
“And I did.”
He nodded. “Yeah…you did.”
I didn’t want to talk about my ex anymore. We were at a beautiful home with an incredible view, so he shouldn’t be getting free rent through our conversation. “What kind of student were you?”
“Meaning?”
“Were you bright, or did you goof off all the time?”
He grinned. “Both.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “I inherited my father’s and grandfather’s brilliance, but I was also a little shit who liked to stick my hand up the girls’ dresses and steal my dad’s car in the middle of the night.”
“I can’t picture you acting that way.”
“I mellowed out in college.”
“Except for the hand up the dresses part.”
He chuckled. “That’s only gotten worse as I’ve aged.”
“What about your mother?”
“I won’t sugarcoat it—she was a trophy wife. My dad was a rich guy who wanted a beautiful wife. But he definitely loved her. After she was gone, he never remarried or even tried to date. He always said she was his one and only.”
“That’s sweet…”
“Yeah.”
“She never did anything at the company?”
“No. Stay-at-home wife. Did yoga every day. That kind of thing.”
“Sounds nice.”
“I never heard her complain.” He drank from his glass and looked across the yard, his knuckles under his jaw.
“Why didn’t your sister take over the company?”
“I’m older than she is, and when my father passed away, it just made the most sense at the time.”
“But does she have greater ambitions?”
“I think so. She’s the head of distribution, so she has a big job. But stepping up to my position… I’m not sure if she would ever want the job.”
“Why?”
“She wants a family, and now that she’s got a serious guy in her life, it might happen sooner rather than later.”
“Women can have a family and run a company.”
“I know, but I’m not sure she wants to do both. She knows how many hours I put in at home and on the weekends, so it makes my job much less desirable.”
“What about two CEOs?”
He considered the question.
“You split the work, so you both have more time.”
“Not a bad idea. But I’m sure she knows that’s an option and has never pursued it.”
“What do you mean, you’re sure she knows?”
He turned back to me. “I’ve never assumed the role because I’m the oldest or because I’m a man. I’ve always told her, if she ever wants the job, I’ll step down. The company belongs to both of us, not just me.”
God, could he be any hotter? He was so confident that he wasn’t intimidated by any event or any person. He had an open mind, not the least bit misogynistic. He didn’t think less of me for my affair with the mafia, didn’t care that I was so devoted to my job, which could be dangerous at times. He accepted me…exactly as I was.
“So, did your ex have a problem with your profession?”
“His name is Evan.” If he was going to keep coming up, might as well just use his name. “And yes, sometimes.”
“I read an article the other day that said the United States was one of the most dangerous countries for journalists. That three hundred of them had been killed doing their jobs just last year alone.” He dropped his hand from his jaw and stared at me, gauging my reaction to the fact that he’d just spat out at me.