Page 20 of Please, Forgive Me

“Tired in general?” he repeated, narrowing his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean? Tired of me—or of work?”

A short laugh slipped out before I could stop it. He always had this way of twisting any conversation into an excuse to flirt.

“Maybe a little of both,” I teased, though there was truth hiding in the words.

Diego smiled again, but his gaze softened then, almost… worried.

I could see it then—beneath all that confidence and control, there was a man who actually cared. Not just about how efficiently I did my job, but about me.

“I just don’t want you overworking yourself,” he said, his tone still light, but I could hear more in it than he’d ever admit. “You’re my right hand, Gabriela. Without you, nothing runs the way it should. Not even me.”

And that was the moment I realized that, for all the ways Diego lived at the center of his own universe, when it came to me… he saw beyond himself.

There was a care there, a concern he tried to bury under sarcasm and teasing.

“I’m fine,” I repeated with a smile, brushing off his worry. “I just need a little peace. Something you clearly don’t know how to provide.”

He laughed, that deep, infuriatingly charming laugh, leaning forward like he was about to say something far more intimate.

“Peace was never my thing,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower. “But maybe we can find some balance in all this.”

And for a moment, the silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable—it was loaded with possibility.

I didn’t know where this thin line between us would lead, but deep down, I knew that with Diego, personal and professional were bound to collide. Sooner or later.

“Tell me something, I—”

The sharp buzz of a ringtone cut me off. Diego sighed, pulling his phone from the pocket of his blazer, irritation flickering across his face—until he saw the name on the screen. Then everything softened.

“Sorry,” he said, lifting a hand, signaling the conversation would have to wait. “It’s Arthur.”

My curiosity spiked immediately.

Arthur—his son. One of the few things Diego took seriously, and yet one of the topics he almost never touched with me.

In all the years I’d worked by his side, I’d never once heard him speak about Arthur’s mother. That mystery clung to him like a shadow, a wall he refused to let anyone climb.

He answered, and the second he heard his son’s voice, a genuine smile spread across his face.

It was rare—seeing Diego like that.

So human.

Within seconds, he had relaxed into his chair, chuckling softly as Arthur’s excited voice spilled through the line.

“Hey, champ!” Diego’s tone was warm, nothing like the sharp edge I was used to in boardrooms. “You’re behaving, right? Not giving Helena too much trouble?”

I watched in silence, captivated by this other side of him. The way he spoke to his son—with patience, with gentleness—was such a stark contrast to the cold, calculating man I knew at work.

And I couldn’t stop myself from wondering, for the thousandth time, who Arthur’s mother was.

The woman who had managed to reach this softer side of him.

And why he never spoke of her.

Diego laughed again, lighter this time, almost musical, while Arthur chattered on about some childhood adventure.

“Of course I miss you too. When I’m back, we’ll go out, I promise.” He paused, listening, then smiled again. “That’s right, champ. Just… try not to drive Helena crazy, okay?”