Page 21 of Please, Forgive Me

After a few tender goodbyes, he ended the call, slipping the phone back into his pocket. When his eyes returned to me, that smile still lingered.

“Sorry about that,” he said, back to his usual tone—but softer somehow, as if part of that warmth hadn’t faded yet. “Arthur just called to tell me he won an ‘epic battle’ on his video game. He exaggerates, of course, but… I love hearing how excited he gets over the little things.”

I smiled, forcing myself to hide the questions burning inside me. It was almost impossible not to ask about Arthur’s mother right then, when he so rarely mentioned her at all. But I knew Diego guarded that part of his life, and I wasn’t sure how far I could push. Even so, curiosity gnawed at me.

“He sounds like a great kid,” I said casually, dropping my gaze back to the papers in front of me, pretending to focus.

“He is,” Diego replied, his voice still tinged with calm. “Arthur is… well, he’s the best part of my day.”

For a moment, silence settled between us again—but it felt different this time. It was the kind of silence heavy with unasked questions and unanswered truths.

I wondered if I’d ever have the courage to ask Diego what had really happened with Arthur’s mother. Or if he was just waiting for the right moment to share that piece of his life with me.

“What… were you going to say before the phone rang?” I asked carefully, trying to sound casual, though I knew nothing with him ever really was.

He looked at me with that arrogant smile I knew too well—the one that always made it seem like he was two steps ahead of me. The one that never failed to get under my skin.

“Look even more beautiful than you already do—we’re having dinner tonight,” he said, his voice low and firm, like he was laying down an order that couldn’t be challenged.

My heart skipped, but of course I couldn’t let it show. With Diego, those so-called dinners always felt less like business meetings and more like… dates. There was something in the way he said it, in the way his eyes held mine, that turned those moments into something far more intimate than they had any right to be.

Still, I had to cover it up.

“Is that a request?” I asked, arching a brow and folding my arms, trying to keep it light.

I knew better. Diego didn’t request things. He gave orders—and everyone knew it.

“I don’t request. I give orders. You should know that by now,” he said, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips as he waited for my response.

I rolled my eyes, but the smile creeping across my face betrayed me.

“If you keep this up, Bittencourt, you’re going to end up without a secretary,” I teased, though the seriousness beneath my tone was undeniable.

I knew I couldn’t play this game forever. Eventually, I’d have to make a choice, no matter how much the thought terrified me.

“Oh, but you’re not going to leave me, Gabriela,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost a whisper—but steeped in certainty. “You know why? Because you love this just as much as I do. And more than that… you know no one else could ever take your place.”

I stared at him in silence, caught in the weight of his gaze.

There was something there that completely disarmed me, something that made me doubt every decision I thought I’d made.

And deep down, I knew he was right.

I did like what we had, no matter how complicated it was. No matter how hard I tried to resist, there was an undeniablepull between us—something that dragged us back together, over and over again.

“I think you’re overestimating your powers of persuasion, boss,” I finally said with a wry smile. “But fine, I’ll consider dinner—just to keep up the tradition of disagreeing with you.”

He laughed, that deep laugh that always lingered in the back of my mind long after he was gone.

“As you wish, Maria Gabriela,” he said, settling back into his chair and turning his attention to the papers in front of him. “Just don’t take too long deciding. Patience has never been one of my strengths.”

I smiled, shaking my head as I turned back to my own work, pretending to focus on what actually mattered.

But I knew the truth.

It was only a matter of time before the line between professional and personal vanished completely.

And maybe—just maybe—I was finally starting to prepare myself for the consequences.