Chapter 4 A New Job

Mia's POV

Jeo was already there when I arrived at the quiet café downtown, and he stood when he saw me — dark hair stylishly messy, blue eyes as kind as I remembered — and pulled me into a gentle hug. I stiffened for half a second it had been long since anyone had held me like this.

"Mia Williams," he said. "Still as beautiful as ever."

"You look good too, Jeo."

"I ordered you hot chocolate instead of coffee," he said as we sat down. "You never could stomach coffee in the morning."

I stared at the cup. Steam rose from it in a thin ribbon, and my throat closed around nothing.

"Hey." Jeo's voice softened. "You okay?"

"It's the hot chocolate," I said, and laughed wetly. "It's very moving hot chocolate."

He had the good grace not to press. Instead he spread the sketches across the table — the Havers project, a luxury boutique hotel, modern but organic, flowing lines and natural light — and somewhere in the second minute of talking, I forgot to be sad. My hands started moving on their own. "You could integrate the existing architecture with bio-mimetic design elements," I heard myself say. "Keep the old brick facade as a contrast to curved glass — and the central atrium could carry a sculptural staircase, with water features that throw light patterns through the whole space as the sun moves—"

I stopped. Jeo was grinning at me.

"What?"

"There she is," he said quietly. "The girl who painted that mural in the university hall. I was starting to think K.T. Enterprises had filed her away somewhere."

It had, I thought.  "Jeo, it's been years since I've drawn anything—"

"Mia."

That voice. My spine knew it before my mind did — three years of training, the body snapping to attention. Kyle stood at our table in a crisp black suit, rain glittering on his shoulders, his expression carved from stone. How he'd found me, I didn't ask. Kyle Branson found whatever he wanted found.

Jeo rose, extending his hand, easy and unbothered. "Kyle Branson? Jeo Parker. I went to college with Mia."

Kyle ignored the hand. His eyes never left me. "A word, Mia."

I had to breathe before I stood.

Outside, the awning dripped rain between us and the street. His hand closed on my elbow, burning through my sleeve.

"Who is he?"

"An old friend."

"Friends don't look at each other that way." His voice was low, dangerous. "You quit this morning. You slapped Taylor, you quit, you disappeared — and now I find you here, with him. What is this, Mia? What exactly do you think you're doing?"

"Having hot chocolate," I said. "And discussing a job."

"You have a job."

"I quit that job. You were there. You were holding her at the time — perhaps it slipped your attention."

His jaw tightened. "You signed a contract. No relationships with other men during our marriage—"

"A job, Kyle." Something hot finally tore loose in my chest, and my voice rose to meet it. "The contract says nothing about a job. Or does it? Should I check?" I pulled my arm free, and the rain-cold air rushed into the space between us. "You suspended me. I saved you the paperwork. What I do now is none of your business."

"You're my wife."

"Your wife?" I met his gaze. "You don't get to control every aspect of my life, Kyle. Not anymore."

"The contract—"

"The contract says I can't have relationships with other men. It doesn't say anything about taking a job." I straightened my spine. "Unless you're jealous?"

His laugh was harsh. "Jealous? Of him? Don't be ridiculous."

"Then there's no problem, is there?"

We stood there, staring at each other under the dripping awning. For a moment, I thought I saw something in his eyes.

"Fine," he said coldly. "Take the job. But remember your place, Mia."

I walked back inside on legs that held. Behind me, through the glass, I felt him standing in the rain a long moment before his car door slammed.

"The job," I said, sitting down. My hands were shaking now that it was over. I wrapped them around the cooling cup. "Tell me where to sign."

Jeo's whole face lit, "Monday. Come Monday."

It was dark when I got home. The porch light was off — I always left it on — and the wrongness of that small thing prickled at me even before I reached the stairs. The bedroom light was burning.

Taylor was lying on my bed.

In my pajamas. The ivory silk ones . She was scrolling her phone against my pillows, one leg crossed over the other, and when she saw me in the doorway she stretched, slow and luxurious, like a cat presenting its claws.

"Oh, Mia." A smile bloomed, unhurried. "I hope you don't mind. I just got back to the country and haven't found a place yet — hotels are so impersonal, you know? Kyle worried." She let the word sit there, glowing. "So he said I should stay here." She plucked at the silk collar with two lacquered fingers. "These are darling, by the way. A little loose on me."

Two more days.

"Where is Kyle?"

The smile has something anticipatory. She looked like a woman watching a fuse she herself had lit.

"The study, probably." She turned back to her phone. "He found some very interesting reading."

I should have heard the warning. I was too tired; the day had used everything. I walked down the dark hallway toward the line of lamplight under the study door, and I pushed it open.

Kyle sat behind his desk, perfectly still. The lamp cast shadows across his face, and in his hand, held so tightly the paper had begun to crease, was a hospital report.

My pregnancy report.

His eyes lifted to mine, and they were nearly black.

"When," he said, very quietly, "were you going to tell me?"