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least check?”
    “There are nearly six thousand hospitals in America, Amelia. How the hell could I have known you’d chosen to relocate to one halfway across the country with a brand-new HR manager who just happened to contact me out of the blue?”
    “Mia,” she said, her voice softer this time. “I go by Mia now. I started using my nickname after I moved to Portland.” She sighed. “You’re right, what are the odds? Still, you could have asked around.”
    “Honestly, I never gave you a second thought.”
    It. Gave it a second thought.
    That’s what he’d meant to say, not to make it personal, and it wasn’t true anyway. Hell, he’d wanted it to be, especially in those early months after she’d moved out. He wanted to be the sort of guy who moved on easily, who could dismiss his ex-wife without a second thought, writing her off as a cheater and a liar and a woman who’d cut and run at the first sign of relationship trouble.
    But he knew it wasn’t as simple as the stories he told himself or told the buddies who goaded him for details over beers at the pub. He didn’t want to hate her—not exactly—but he didn’t want to deal with her again. Not ever.
    But here she was now with her brown eyes brimming with indignation, the freckles across her nose as familiar as the back of his own hand. He didn’t love her, but he couldn’t muster up the anger to hate her, either.
    He cleared his throat. “So you go by Mia now. Mia Dawson?”
    Her expression softened again. She nodded. “I got married. Mark and I—” she swallowed. “Yes.”
    “Congratulations.” Adam let his eyes drop to her abdomen, to the evidence that she’d not only changed her stance on taking a man’s name, but on having his child.
    His child. Not yours.
    That shouldn’t bother him, either. Hell, he never even wanted kids, and he wasn’t some caveman intent on claiming his woman or planting his seed. Still, something gnawed at his gut and made him straighten a little so his knuckles didn’t drag on the floor.
    “Congratulations on the marriage and on the pregnancy,” he said. “Both seem to agree with you. You look lovely.”
    “Thank you,” Amelia—Mia—said, her eyes shimmering a little. Adam watched her throat as she swallowed. “I’m sorry, Adam.”
    He shook his head, not sure what she was apologizing for this time, but knowing it didn’t matter anymore. They’d both said the words so many times, they might as well have been speaking Swahili.
    “I’m sorry, too,” he said. “Look, I’ll give up the contract. I can recommend someone else. It might take a few weeks, but I can explain the conflict of interest and step back quietly.”
    Mia seemed to consider that, then shook her head. “No. I don’t want to be the reason you give up a job.”
    “It’s okay, really—”
    “No. I should have done my homework and figured out who the mediator would be. I knew you’d changed careers, but I never even considered it could be you.” She shook her head and gave a sad little laugh. “What are the odds?”
    “You knew I’d gone into counseling and mediation?” He wasn’t sure why that surprised him, but it did.
    Mia nodded and bit her lip. “Of course. I kept tabs on you. For a while, anyway. I wanted to make sure you were okay after—well, after everything.”
    “I’m okay.” His voice sounded certain, and he was grateful for that. “I’m great, actually.”
    Mia gave him a small smile, then shook her head. “Why the hell couldn’t you Facebook-stalk me like any other self-respecting ex?”
    He allowed himself a faint smile in return and shrugged. “Sorry. Not my style.”
    “You’re right, of course. Tuning in to other people’s lives and interests was never really your thing.”
    He couldn’t tell if she meant it as a jab, and a small flare of anger flickered in his lizard brain, that pesky, primitive amygdala that controlled emotional responses. He opened his mouth to retort, then stopped. Not