Page 76 of The Boss Upstairs
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Finally, he shakes his head. “No… I wouldn’t say it was. It was a moment of insanity. As soon as the car span out of control, I realized I was in trouble, and I saw my children’s faces. I desperately wanted to turn back time, but it was too late.”
“God…”
Ethan has now made a complete mess of his crackers, but I couldn’t care less.
“But you were okay in the end… obviously.”
“I was lucky,” he says. “I thank God every day for letting me live, despite how reckless and foolish I was.”
“Your children needed you,” I tell him. “That’s why you were spared.”
He smiles, averting his gaze in Ethan’s direction.
“And a lot of other people too, I bet… me… I needed you.”
His grin reaches his ears. “Well, glad to hear that.”
“I think the lasagna is ready now.” I stand to fetch the salad from the refrigerator.
“Can I help?”
“No… you just sit there with Ethan. I’ve got this.” I hastily cut the loaf of bread, and serve it along with the salad and lasagna.
He shoots me a smile. “Looks delicious… thank you.”
I take a seat. “I hope you like it.”
We both dig into our lasagna and watch Ethan devour his. I smile at the sight of him. He’s just like his dad. He loves food.
“You got yourself a good eater,” Weston says. “You’re lucky.”
“How about you? Are your kids good eaters?”
He shakes his head. “Ashton was always pretty good, but Elizabeth… God, she’s just like her mother. She’s always been a picky eater. She drives me up the wall sometimes.”
“Are you the ‘eat your broccoli or no dessert for you’ type?”
He laughs. “Most definitely. Lizzie hates me.”
I smile. “I’m sure she only hates you at the dinner table.”
“Something like that.” He pokes his fork into his lasagna. “This is really delicious, by the way.”
“Thank you.”
“Bridget was not a good cook,” he tells me, and for some reason, I’m not surprised. I’ve only seen a photo of her, but she strikes me as the quintessential career woman. Who needs to cook when you can pay others to do it? I’m a little jealous.
“Is that why the marriage didn’t work?” I joke. “A man needs a meal on the table.”
“What kind of old fashioned misogynist do you think I am?” he asks with a cheeky grin. “No, that was definitely not the reason. She didn’t cook, but she always made sure we were well fed. And if she didn’t, I did. We worked well together that way.”
I nod, still itching to know why they broke up. It takes every iota of strength I have not to pry.
“No… it was way more serious than that,” he tells me. “She deceived me. More than once.”
“Did she cheat on you?” I ask, not able to rein myself in.
