The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(3)

I open my mouth to defend myself, but no words come out.

“And . . . you won’t date an average girl because they are below you,” Tristan adds.

“Nobody wants to date an average girl,” I cry, outraged.

Jameson looks me fair and square in the eyes. “Name the last time you had to work for something, Christopher.”

“Fuck off,” I huff.

“No, I’m being serious. When was the last time you set yourself a goal and didn’t have it the same night?”

Elliot smiles as he rocks back on his chair, and I look between them as they all wait for my answer.

“He’s got nothing. Not one single time.” Tristan smirks.

“I have goals I haven’t achieved yet,” I stammer, embarrassed.

“Sleeping alone?” Elliot suggests.

They throw their heads back and laugh out loud, thinking this is the funniest thing they’ve ever heard.

Betrayal washes over me.

This is how they see me?

“Fuck you.” I stand. “And fuck your stupid meeting. I’m not staying here and listening to this bullshit.” I storm from the office and slam the door hard.

“Get back here, wimp,” Jameson yells from behind me.

I hear them burst out laughing once more . . . fuckers.

I march past reception, and the secretaries all glance up at my angry demeanor.

This is probably a first. I’m never angry.

“Everything all right, Christopher?” Victoria frowns.

“No. It’s not,” I huff. “Those fuckers in there think that I’m spoiled.” I throw my hands up in the air as I march past. “Can you fucking believe that?”

“No. Not at all.” Victoria rolls her lips to hide her smile.

I narrow my eyes in a silent warning and continue marching for my office. I hear the secretaries all snicker from the reception area.

I see red.

The world’s gone mad. I begin to pack my briefcase with force.

I.

Am.

Not.

Spoiled.

I take offense at this accusation. How dare they? Do they even know what spoiled is? I really don’t think so.

I walk back out to the elevator, and the girls all look up, surprised.

“I’m leaving,” I announce.

“To go where?” Victoria frowns.

“Wherever I want to.” That sounded bad. I point at her. “Because I’m pissed off, not because I’m spoiled.”

Victoria widens her eyes to accentuate the point.

“Shut up, Victoria,” I spit.

“Yes, sir.” She smiles.

“And don’t patronize me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

I fume some more.

The girls all drop their heads to hide their giggles.

“Stop laughing or I’m firing you all,” I demand.

They all burst out laughing hard this time. I’m usually the funny guy of the office. Never the cranky one.

“That’s it!” I explode. The elevator doors open, and I storm inside and push the button hard. “No Christmas bonuses.”

They laugh harder again.

Witches . . . I take the elevator to the ground floor and walk out to the parking garage and look around. My car isn’t where I parked it.

I march over to the parking attendant. “Where’s my car?”

His eyes widen in horror. “Um . . .” He looks around nervously. “We weren’t aware you were coming to collect it, sir. We put it on the bottom level to make room for other cars that are leaving before you.”

What?

I raise my eyebrow, infuriated.

“When I park my car in a reserved parking spot, I expect that the fucking car will be left where I put it.”

The attendant opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again before saying anything.

“What?” I bark.

“That’s why we have your keys, sir, so that we can move cars around to suit the schedule. We do it every day.”

“Does this look like it is suiting my schedule?” I bark. “What am I supposed to do? I need my car. Now!”

“There it is,” I hear someone mutter. I turn to see Elliot standing to the side, listening.

What’s he fucking doing here?

“Never mind,” I snap as I march back toward the elevator. “I’ll catch an Uber.” I straighten my tie as I try to regain some control. “Because I’m flexible.”

The parking attendant frowns and looks to Elliot.

“Flexible,” Elliot mouths.

“Go back upstairs, Elliot, before I have my Uber driver run over you,” I snap as I bang the button to close the elevator doors.

Elliot runs and gets in alongside me, and the doors close. “Calm down,” he says. “We’re just having some fun.”

I clench my jaw as I stare straight ahead.

“You are not spoiled.”

I lift my chin in defiance.

“You’re entitled.”

My eyes bulge from their sockets. “Entitled to knock you out, right now,” I growl. The elevator doors open, and I march out through the foyer and onto the street. Elliot is hot on my heels.

We both stand on the curb, and he looks over at me. “What time is he coming?”