I jumped when Aria walked in. I sho

I jumped when Aria walked in. I should have been more careful and not answered the phone when she was supposed to arrive.

“You’re late,” I said icily. She looked terrified, so I added more softly, “Is everything okay?”

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, walking over to sit next to me and gently putting her arm around mine. “Is everything okay with you?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“How long were you standing there?” I grinned. “I’m just kidding. Everything is fine.”

“That’s not what it sounded like.” She looked like she immediately regretted saying that. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry… I just meant, is everything okay?”

“It is now that you’re here,” I said, leaning in to kiss her, hoping it served as a distraction. She backed away after a few seconds. I hadn’t done a girl twice in a long time, but she was so damn intelligent, I couldn’t help but want more of her.

“That’s sweet, but I am worried about you. I’ve never seen you like that. Is there anything I can do?”

“Yes, just quit it,” I snapped.

Her eyes widened and eyebrows rose.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap—“

“But you did,” she said, her voice trembling. “I think it’s best I leave since you’re in such a shitty mood. You won’t tell me what it’s about so I can’t even help you, which makes my being here pointless.”

“Why would you think that? Your being here has made this day slightly better,” I said, thinking up the best lie to tell her. “It’s work, it has been really shitty today. More protests, and someone filed a complaint against one of my loan officers.”

“Wilson?” She asked eagerly.

“No, not Wilson,” I said before she could email him or do something stupid. “Someone from the Nashville branch. You don’t know him.”

“Was that him on the phone just now?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Yes,” I sighed, feeling glad that she literally walked into a solution. “He is threatening to quit and I’ve been trying to explain to him that it will just make him look guilty—which I wouldn’t give a crap about, except that it gives the whole bank a bad reputation. I don’t want scandals, I hate dealing with scandals.”

That merited a laugh. “Really? Sleeping with your employees would be your fault,” she said with mischievous grin.

“Me screwing around with some tellers is hardly a scandal. They’ve all been of age and don’t work here anymore because they can’t handle that it was a one-time thing.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Not you. You know better than to think you’re just a one-time thing,” I said, trying to save myself.

“What am I, then?” She challenged.

What had gotten into her today? This was not at all like her; she was usually graceful, intelligent, and charming. It was stupid for me to have answered Gina’s call just when Aria was scheduled to come.

Gina was my ex-wife and the bane of my existence. She was the daughter of my mom’s oldest friend, and they had decided Gina and I would be married the second we were born. By the time I realized how wrong they were, we had already been married for five years. I was just lucky we never had any children; if it were up to Gina, though, we would have had quite a few. I suppose she thought I would never leave her if kids were involved. And perhaps I wouldn’t, and I must’ve known that deep down inside because I always turned down the idea of having kids until I was more settled with the bank, my first child. Truthfully, I had been settled with the bank years ago and just kept convincing her and myself that we weren’t ready to have kids. We had filed for divorce last year, and although it hadn’t completely gone through yet, she was still out of my life.

Not according to my mother though. That’s the real reason I had gone to New York: to deal with this bullshit. My mother had attempted what I was convinced was a fake suicide at a hotel room in NYC, drinking half a bottle of whiskey with some painkillers—just the right amount for her to pass out dramatically, but not quite enough to cause any permanent damage. I saw right through it since she used to pull crap like that with dad all the time. Yet when I went to the hotel and saw her, pale and weak and miserable, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.

Leave it to Eleanor Sinclair to milk my sympathy for all it was worth; she quickly went on a long rant about how my divorce was taking a toll on her, how Gina was the perfect girl for me, and how my happiness was the only thing keeping her alive. I tried to explain to her that Gina did the precise opposite of making me happy: for one, she had cheated on me more times than I could count, and I was pretty confident that she loved my money more than me. And most importantly, I had never quite loved her. I thought I did at some point, but it was an illusion built on lust and inspired by her beauty, not to mention my parents insisting that she was perfect for me.

Until last year. I found out she was cheating, and was hardly surprised – some part of me knew all along. I had a solid reason to file for divorce.