The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(120)

I do up my tie and comb my hair, put on my watch and shoes, and stare at my reflection in the mirror. That’s it . . . it’s over.

Time to grow up and start my new life.

One with responsibilities and someone to take care of. I stare at my face as a twinge of sadness fills me.

Things will never be the same, from here on in . . .

“Christopher,” Hayden calls. “Don’t make me come up there and spank you.”

I smile. “Coming, dear,” I call.

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” I mutter to myself. I grab my briefcase and head downstairs.

Hayden is sitting at the kitchen counter; the heavenly aroma of omelet and coffee fills the apartment. The American news is on the television, and as she sits there in her robe, all disheveled and just fucked . . . a calm falls over me.

And suddenly all my fears disappear.

This is where I’m meant to be and exactly who I’m meant to be with.

London, my home. With my beloved, sweet girl.

Hayden raises her eyebrow. “Look at you being all hot CEO.” She stands and runs her hand over my behind. “Meow.”

She sits back down as my eyes hold hers.

“What is that look?” she asks.

“What look?”

“That twinkle in your eye.”

I cut into my breakfast. “I have a lot to be grateful for.”

“Like what?”

“Like omelets and coffee.” I hold my coffee cup up to her in a salute with a wink.

She giggles. “Glad I can be of service, Mr. Miles.” She holds her coffee cup up right back.

“What are you going to do today?” I ask as I cut into my omelet.

“Hmm . . .” She looks around the apartment. “I have no idea, to be honest.” She shrugs. “I guess I’ll putter around here, and then I might go for a wander.”

I frown. “Where are you going to wander to?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Your driver will take you anywhere you want to go.”

“Or . . . I could just catch an Uber.” She widens her eyes.

“Yes. You could,” I agree. My natural instinct is to ask her to stay close to home, but I know I can’t do that.

The story in the paper has ruffled me more than I care to admit. I know I can’t keep her wrapped in cotton wool. If this is to be her home, she needs to find her own way. The mere thought of her not doing that makes me sick to my stomach.

We eat our breakfast, and I take her into my arms and kiss her softly. “Have a good day.” She smiles up at me.

“I don’t like the idea of not seeing you.” I hug her tight. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right here on your own?”

She giggles in my arms.

“Good grief, I’m pathetic,” I mutter into her hair.

“Little bit.” She pinches her fingers up in the air, and I grab her roughly on the behind and slam our hips together.

“You better fuck that out of me tonight,” I warn her.

“Okay.”

I kiss her softly and grab my briefcase. “See you tonight, babe.”

I take the elevator downstairs and walk out to see my car waiting. “Good morning, Mr. Miles.”

“Good morning, Hans.” I get into the back of the car and stare out the window as we pull out into the traffic.

This all feels so . . . foreign. Even though I’ve been doing it throughout my entire adult life.

Those twelve months away felt like a lifetime.

As we sit in the London rush hour traffic, I dial my favorite number, and he answers on the first ring. “Hello, Mr. Christo.”

His happy little voice brings a huge smile to my face. “How’s my main man?”



Forty minutes later the car pulls into the Miles Media building, and I get out of the car and peer up at the sleek and modern skyscraper.





MILES MEDIA


Hmm, it’s so . . . huge.

I walk through the foyer and notice the marble and the guards and the sheer luxury of the building.

I catch the elevator to the top floor; the doors open with a ping, and I step out to the flitter of my stomach.

I’m nervous to be back.

Here early to start the day, I walk past the empty reception and down to my office.

My eyes roam over the couch and the drop-dead-gorgeous view, the large desk and fully stocked bar in the corner. A strange feeling washes over me.

Pride.

My family has built this business from the ground up, worked their fingers to the very bone, and I owe them a lot.

I’ve been given the opportunity of a lifetime . . . and damn it, I’m going to repay them for the privilege.

I turn my computer on with a new determination. I’m going to be the best version of myself that I can be. Work harder than ever before.

At the very least, I owe them that.

I open my email. We opened it back up over the weekend in preparation for my return today.

Six hundred and twenty-six emails.

Fuck.

I open my diary on my computer and see that I’m booked back to back with appointments for nearly the entire week. Zooms and conference calls with Paris and New York. Some running late into the nights.