Page 139 of Ricardo
Mario’s gaze does not move from my face. “I noticed you drove Julia in this morning.”
There it is.
I lean back in my chair, the file still open between us. “She left her car here yesterday when we went to the club to get Valecourt’s documents signed. She never made it back into the office.”
Mario’s expression does not change. “So you were simply being courteous by picking her up this morning and bringing her in.”
“Yes,” I say. “I am a very courteous man.”
“Hm.”
The sound is mild.
I close the file.
Mario rests one ankle over the opposite knee, studying me with the same detached patience he brings to a negotiation when he already knows the other side is lying.
“Does your son know you are sleeping with her?” he asks.
I do not blink.
There is no point denying it. Mario is too astute for that, and I respect him too much to insult us both.
“No.”
He simply waits.
I keep my voice even. “We decided not to tell him quite yet.”
Mario absorbs that response.
“When will you tell him?”
“When we decide it is time to tell him,” I say. “And not a moment sooner.”
My brother’s gaze cools. “Careful.”
“I am merely issuing a reminder that certain things are not family business.”
“My brother is sleeping with my assistant, who is my nephew's good friend,” he says, tilting his head and watching me. “And she happens to be the daughter of a very powerful and influential judge who does not like us and has made it very clear that he intends her to marry that politician back east. Pray tell, brother, how is this not family business?”
Put that way, of course, he is not wrong.
It irritates me.
“Her father does not own her,” I say tightly.
“No,” Mario agrees. “But he has influence. A bench. Political friends. A bruised ego. Men have done more damage with less. Then there's the politician.”
“He is no longer in the picture,” I say.
“Are you sure he's aware of this?” Mario questions.
My jaw clenches.
Mario notices, of course.
“Careful,” he says again, quieter this time. “That look is exactly why I bring this up.”
