Damn it. I hadn’t noticed it before, but now it hit me—Claire always brought up Jim whenever something happened.

Was Jim her husband or mine?

The bitterness bubbling in my chest didn’t fade, but I couldn’t let myself break down in front of her. Not in front of the mistress.

I forced myself to take a deep breath, wiped my face with a tissue, and said casually, “It’s nothing. Just thought of something unpleasant. Sit down. What do you want to drink? It’s my treat today.”

Damn right! It’s my treat. I paid your tuition, and got you a good job, I can afford this lousy cup of coffee.

I...