Page 50 of Mario
He laughs again, and I turn red. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You did. That’s all right.” He’s still grinning. “He can be a bit intense.”
Of the four brothers, Diego is the least polished in the traditional corporate sense. Lorenzo has charm down to an art. Ricardo has an edge he hasn’t bothered to file smooth. Mario has whatever Mario has, which is less a personality trait and more a force of nature.
Diego has ease.
Not carelessness. Ease.
There is a difference.
“Mario asked me to bring you the security division files before your meeting,” he says. “I thought I would take the opportunity to come see you again.”
I lift my eyebrows as I sip my coffee more carefully this time.
“Our meeting was brief,” he explains, then adds, “And supervised.”
His grin appears before he can stop it.
And there is more than charm in it. There’s mischief.
I’m not sure Lorenzo would appreciate being referred to as a chaperone.
“Should I be concerned that you wanted to see me unsupervised?”
“Alas, I’ve been warned away,” he says, faking a wistful tone. “So now all I have is delivering messages and coffee.”
Warned away?
Before I can ask what that means, he continues.
“Just in time, too,” he says, going right back to teasing me.
“I didn’t sleep well,” I say, because apparently my mouth just says things without my permission now.
His brows lift slightly.
“Bad dreams,” I add quickly.
Which is so much worse.
Why would I say that?
Why not simply hand him a printed transcript of every thought I have had since meeting his brother a week ago and invite him to distribute copies?
Diego, to his credit, does not ask.
He only nods once. “Chicago does that, it seems.”
I stare at him, thrown by the answer.
“What?”
“When we first came here,” he says. “I did not sleep well either.”
That is not what I expected.
I sit back a little.
