Chapter 5

Emma lifted her head. Through her blurred, tear-filled vision, she focused on the man standing in front of her.

He wore a perfectly tailored navy blue suit. His deep brown eyes were filled with genuine shock and concern.

Emma blinked, her brain sluggishly processing his face. It was Diego Pena, her old friend from their days at the Phillips Academy prep school.

Diego sat down on the bench, leaving a respectful distance between them. He held out the decaf latte again.

"I thought I recognized the fiercest debate team captain in New England staring blankly at a pond," he joked softly.

Emma took the cup. The heat seeped into her freezing palms. She managed a weak, bitter smile. "Hi, Diego."

Diego's eyes flicked down to her bleeding heel and the bulging, worn briefcase beside her.

He didn't point out her misery. Instead, he stood up. "There's a French bistro across the street. Let's get some food and catch up."

Ten minutes later, they were seated in a warm, private booth. A steaming bowl of French onion soup and a basket of fresh baguette sat between them.

Driven by the severe blood sugar drop, Emma ate quickly but in small bites, feeling her stomach finally stop cramping.

Diego watched her quietly. He slid a crisp napkin across the table. "Are you in trouble, Emma?" he asked, his voice low.

Emma's hand paused holding the spoon. Her instinct was to lie, to put up the polished society wife shield.

But looking into Diego's steady, non-judgmental eyes, the tightly wound string inside her snapped.

She didn't mention the pregnancy or Beverly. She kept it brief. "Denton and I are divorcing. He froze my assets."

Diego's brows pulled together in a hard line. A flash of deep disgust for Denton's tactics crossed his face.

He tapped his fingers on the table. "Are you still interested in crisis management and strategic consulting?"

Emma froze, confused. "What?"

Diego pulled out a thick, gold-embossed business card and slid it over. He was now a partner at a rapidly expanding Silicon Valley tech consulting firm, heading their new New York branch.

"I need a senior consultant," Diego said firmly. "Someone who understands how the old-money families in Manhattan operate."

Emma's heart leaped into her throat, but she quickly shook her head. "Denton put a blacklist out on me. No one in the city will hire me."

Diego let out a short, dismissive laugh. He leaned back against the leather booth, his eyes sharp.

"My headquarters are in California. My funding comes from independent venture capital," Diego stated with absolute authority. "Chaney's reach doesn't extend to my board."

He named a starting salary that made Emma gasp, adding, "And I'll advance your first month's pay tomorrow."

Emma stared at the business card. Her eyes burned again. This was a lifeline. A way to survive and protect her child.

She took a deep breath, reached across the table, and shook Diego's hand. "I accept."

The heavy tension evaporated. They spent the next hour talking about prep school memories.

For the first time all day, a genuine, relaxed smile broke across Emma's face.

Diego watched her smile, a flicker of relief in his eyes, quickly replaced by a cold anger directed at the man who had caused her so much pain.

After dinner, Diego insisted on driving her home in his Range Rover.

The black SUV pulled up across the street from the Chaney building. Emma smiled, waved goodbye, and stepped out into the cold night.