The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(146)

I come here often to think, to try and feel.

I can’t talk to anyone. I can’t express my true feelings.

I want to know why.

Why did you do this to us?

I clench my jaw as I stare at my late wife’s tombstone.

We could have had it all . . . but, we didn’t.

I lean down and brush the dust away from her name and rearrange the pink lilies that I have just placed in the vase. I touch her face on the small oval photo. She stares back at me, void of emotion.

Stepping back, I drop my hands in the pockets of my black overcoat.

I could stand here and stare at this headstone all day—sometimes I do—but I turn and walk to the car without looking back.

My Porsche.

Sure, I have money and two kids that love me. I’m at the top of my professional field, working as a judge. I have all the tools to be happy, but I’m not.

I’m barely surviving; holding on by a thread.

Playing the fa?ade to the world.

Dying inside.



Half an hour later, I arrive at Madison’s—my therapist.

I always leave here relaxed.

I don’t have to talk, I don’t have to think, I don’t have to feel.

I walk through the front doors on autopilot.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Smith.” Hayley the receptionist smiles. “Your room is waiting, sir.”

“Thank you.” I frown, feeling like I need something more today. Something to take this edginess off.

A distraction.

“I’ll have someone extra today, Hayley.”

“Of course, sir. Who would you like?”

I frown and take a moment to get it right. “Hmm. Hannah.”

“So, Hannah and Belinda?”

“Yes.”

“No problem, sir. Make yourself comfortable and they will be right up.”

I take the lift to the exclusive penthouse. Once there I make myself a scotch and stare out the smoke-glass window overlooking London.

I hear the door click behind me and I turn toward the sound.

Hannah and Belinda stand before me smiling.

Belinda has long, blonde hair, while Hannah is a brunette. There’s no denying they’re both young and beautiful.

“Hello, Mr. Smith,” they say in unison.

I sip my scotch as my eyes drink them in.

“Where would you like us, sir?”

I unbuckle my belt. “On your knees.”





Chapter 1


Brielle


Customs is ridiculously slow, and a man has been pulled into the office up ahead. It all looks very suspicious from my position at the back of the line. “What do you think he did?” I whisper as I crane my neck to spy the commotion up ahead.

“I don’t know, something stupid, probably,” Emerson replies. We shuffle towards the desk as the line moves a little quicker.

We’ve just arrived in London to begin our year-long working holiday. I’m going to work for a judge as a nanny, while Emerson, my best friend, is working for an art auctioneer. I’m terrified, yet excited.

“I wish we had come a week earlier so we could have spent some time together,” Emerson says.

“Yeah, I know, but she needed me to start this week because she’s going away next week. I need to learn the kids’ routine.”

“Who leaves their kids alone for three days with a complete stranger?” Em frowns in disgust.

I shrug. “My new boss, apparently.”

“Well, at least I can come and stay with you next week. That’s a bonus.”

My position is residential, so my accommodation is secure. However, poor Emerson will be living with two strangers. She’s freaking out over it.

“Yeah, but I’m sneaking you in,” I say. “I don’t want it to look like we’re partying or anything.”

I look around the airport. It’s busy, bustling, and I already feel so alive. Emerson and I are more than just young travellers.

Emerson is trying to find her purpose and I’m running from a destructive past, one that involves me being in love with an adultering prick.

I loved him. He just didn’t love me. Not enough, anyway.

If he had, he would have kept it in his pants, and I wouldn’t be at Heathrow Airport feeling like I’m about to throw up.

I look down at myself and smooth the wrinkles from my dress. “She’s picking me up. Do I look okay?”

Emerson looks me up and down, smiling broadly. “You look exactly how a twenty-five-year-old nanny from Australia should.”

I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from smiling stupidly. That was a good answer.

“So, what’s your boss’s name?” she asks.

I rustle around in my bag for my phone and scroll through the emails until I get to the one from the nanny agency. “Mrs. Julian Masters.”

Emerson nods. “And what’s her story again? I know you’ve told me before but I’ve forgotten.”

“She’s a Supreme Court judge, widowed five years ago.”

“What happened to the husband?”

“I don’t know, but apparently she’s quite wealthy.” I shrug. “Two kids, well behaved.”

“Sounds good.”

“I hope so. I hope they like me.”