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“That’s correct, sir.”

“I see, I see,” he muttered, thumbing through the file. “And you haven’t returned to Brazil since you arrived in America?”

“No, I haven’t.”

He hummed a little absently and finally pulled out a single sheet of paper to examine. The corner of his mouth quirked into a grin.

“So, your visa has expired after six years and you are contesting it?” he drawled, the boredom in his voice turning his words flat.

“Yes, sir.”

He finally lifted his drooping eyes to Mia, the corners of his thin mouth curving into a smirk. “On what grounds?”

“I was not given adequate time to extend it and I’m now facing deportation.”

“Well, you see,” he said, clearing his throat and leaning forward on his elbows, “work visas such as yours are technically only valid for six years. Once it expires, you must leave and reapply.”

“Is there no way to extend her current visa while she’s still here?” I cut in, and his beady eyes slid to mine.

“You must be her employer,” he droned, and I didn’t dignify it with an answer. “Your company should have been aware of this little hitch. It would have been simple to extend her visa.”

Somehow, I very much doubted that. I got the distinct impression that he very much enjoyed being the person who ruined peoples’ dreams and lives. His widening smirk only proved my theory.

I switched tactics. “Then what other visas are available for Mia?” I demanded, crossing one leg over the other. “She’s not someone I’m willing to let go.”

“I understand she must be a wonderful employee,” he began, but with a curl of rebellion in my gut, I interrupted him.

“She’s a far better partner.”

Silence descended upon the tiny, cramped office, and both Mia’s and the agent’s eyes stared in surprise.

He was the first to break it with a forced chuckle. “Bypartner, you don’t mean that you two are, uh,” he trailed off.

“Together?” I finished for him. I reached over and slipped my fingers between Mia’s and sent her an apologetic look. “We are.”

“And how long has this been going on?” he asked. I answered before Mia could; I knew he’d be looking for holes in our stories and I was bordering on desperation.

Something I hated.

“A year and a half,” I answered. “Surely, there must be something that you can do? It’s a bit too cruel to take her from me, don’t you think?”

With a grumble and a sigh, and apparently no other sarcastic ammunition, he dragged a hand through his thinning hair. “Unfortunately,” he said placidly, “unless there’s a ring and a marriage certificate, there’s nothing I can do.”

“Marriage shouldn’t be treated like a contract,” I spat. “There are plenty of people out there who spend their lives together without needing a worthless piece of paper from the government. What makes Mia and me so different?”

With a nasty grin, he looked at us over the top of his glasses. “Shewasn’t born here,” he said, as if that was answer enough. “And if there’s no ring, we are done here.”

He got to his feet and stalked off, the door swinging shut on its hinges behind him.

“That smug son of a b-”

“Reid?”

My head whipped around to Mia, whose eyes were instead focused on something else. I followed her gaze to our linked hands and my heart sank.

“Shit, sorry,” I mumbled, gently unwinding our hands with a tightness in my chest. “That wasn’t something I’d planned.”

“I figured,” Mia said, slowly getting to her feet. “We should probably talk about this somewhere less… conspicuous.”