The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(122)

I’ll call her back when I’ve finished.

“Not entirely true, but to an extent I do agree,” I reply. “If we change the tactic, we change the outcome.”

I sit down at my computer as the discussion continues, and I discreetly email Elouise.

Hi Elouise.

Check in with Hayden please.

She just called and I can’t answer.

“Here, I’ll show you my projections if we change our route now.” I stand and go back to the board.

Hayden

The phone rings out. “Damn it, Christopher, answer your fucking phone.”

I hang up and dial his number again.

I’m hiding in the bathroom of the bar, my half-drunk glass of wine still back at the table. Photographers are gathered around the front doors as they wait to get their shot of me.

I’m in a panic.

This is a gross invasion of my privacy. I don’t want another photo of me in circulation. The last one stressed Christopher out so bad that it took him three hours to calm down. These bastards are vile.

A waitress comes into the bathroom. “Hi.”

“Are they still out there?” I ask her.

“Yep.”

“Do you have a back entrance?”

“We don’t,” she says as she peers out the door at them. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” I nod.

My phone rings.

Elouise

“Elouise. Hi.”

“Hello, Hayden,” she says happily. “Are you okay, lovely? Christopher is stuck in a meeting.”

“No. I’m not,” I whisper. “I’m in a bar, and a group of photographers have found me and are waiting out front, and now I’m hiding in the bathroom,” I splutter.

“Oh dear. Where are you? I’ll get Hans to come and collect you now.”

I put the phone down. “What’s the name of this bar?” I ask the waitress.

“O’Brian’s.”

“What’s the address?” God, I must sound stupid, but I was ambling down the street paying no attention.

She gives me the address, and I tell Elouise.

“Just wait there. Hans will call you when he pulls up out the front,” Elouise says calmly.

I hear my angry heartbeat in my ears. This is all so overdramatic.

And so . . . not me.

“It’s okay, Hayden. Please don’t let this worry you. It comes with Miles territory. In time, you will get used to it,” Elouise says.

Not likely.

“Stay in the bathroom. Hans will be there soon.”

Ugh, I hate this.

“Are you okay?” Elouise asks.

“Yep,” I snap. I can’t even hide how angry I am.

I stay in the bathroom, and twenty minutes later my phone rings.

Hans

“Hello,” I answer.

“Hello, Miss Whitmore. I’m out the front.”

I peer out the door to see the black Mercedes double-parked in the traffic.

“There’s a security guard with me. He’s coming in to get you.”

My eyes well with embarrassed tears. So dramatic.

“Okay.”

I peer around the corner again to see a big burly bodyguard get out of the car and walk into the bar, and I square my shoulders to prepare myself.

I walk out in a rush, and the security guard gives me a kind smile. “Hello, Miss Whitmore?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go. Stay close.” He turns and walks out of the bar, and I follow him like a child. Cameras flash, people call my name, and in a whirlwind of chaos I am ushered into the back of the waiting car.

The guard gets into the front passenger seat, and we drive off into the traffic.

“Imbeciles,” Hans mutters under his breath.

A text bounces in from Elouise.

I’ve canceled your appointment with Zoe for this afternoon.

We will have to reschedule.

Let me know when suits.

X

I exhale heavily, great.

I can’t even go shopping now.

That was the one thing that I was doing today . . . the only thing.

Now that’s ruined too.

I stare out the window as I internally fume. How dare these fuckers chase me around town? Why don’t they report on an issue that actually matters?

“Where would you like to go, Miss Whitmore?” Hans asks.

“Home, please.”

Two hours later

My phone buzzes . . .

Christopher

“Hello,” I answer.

“Babe, are you okay?” he stammers. “I was in a meeting and just found out what happened.”

“I’m fine.” I’ve calmed down now and am feeling stupid for letting it get to me.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

“They won’t be able to sell the images. Everyone has been warned. I’m sorry that you had to deal with this alone.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

“Do you want me to come home? I’ll cancel the meeting I had with Paris for this afternoon.”

“No.” He can’t come home every time I’m photographed. I know I have to learn to deal with this shit. “Finish your day. It’s fine.”