The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(57)

“Hello, Harold.” I turn to face the front. “Have you had a good day?” I ask him.

“I have, sir.” He smiles. “Have you?”

I shrug. “It was okay,” I lie. I had the shittiest day of all time.

We continue to ride up to my penthouse, and a thought crosses my mind. Does he just stand in the elevator all night, waiting to take people up to their floors?

“How long have you worked in the elevator, Harold?”

“Seventeen years, sir.”

I stare at him.

He smiles broadly. “And tonight was the first time you have ever called me by my name.”

I blink. What?

The doors ping as we get to my floor. They open, and I stare at him, horrified.

“Have a wonderful night, sir.”

“You too,” I reply softly, taken aback. Surely that can’t be right, although deep down I know that it is.

I’m an asshole.

I walk out of the elevator and into my private foyer. I scan my fingerprint, and the double doors unlock. I push them open to walk in to floor-to-ceiling windows, stunning views over New York.

With a heavy heart, I drop my backpack and walk over to a window and stare out over the city. New York is buzzing down below, a sight that I have seen for all of my life—taken for granted, even.

Tonight, it feels foreign.

So foreign.

I turn and look around my grand apartment. It’s huge and spans two floors. Slouchy leather couches, polished concrete flooring, and bright abstract paintings hang on the walls.

I walk into the kitchen and look around. It’s as if I’m seeing every detail for the first time. Stylish appliances and expansive marble countertops. I open a door and stare in. Strip lighting illuminates a staircase leading down to the refrigerated room that’s bigger than most people’s living rooms. My wine cellar, where I house hundreds of thousands of dollars of exotic wine.

I frown, perplexed.

I close the door and walk up the grand double stairs beside the internal elevator.

I amble up the hall, and sensor lighting on the floor lights up as I walk along.

Hmm, why do I even need this? Since when has turning on a switch been so hard?

I arrive at my bedroom and stand at the door and look in at the oversize king bed.

A million visions run through my mind of the women I’ve had here, the parties, the orgies . . . the orgasms, both given and taken.

Deflated, I walk into my bathroom and turn the shower on. I stare up at the ceiling. It’s a triple shower with ornate brass fittings. Even though I used to see it every day, I never noticed it before. It’s something that I took for granted. Why do I even have a triple shower?

You know why . . .

There are usually three people in it.

I look around with fresh eyes. The marble is white, and the fittings are brass. There is a marble seat along one wall and a sunken spa bath in the floor. Fluffy navy-blue towels are folded perfectly on the shelving, along with four navy robes hanging perfectly on brass hooks on the wall.

Four robes.

This apartment has the best of the best of everything in it, packed to the hilt with luxury . . . but somehow, it’s empty.

So empty.

Deflated, I get into the shower and stand under the hot water. My heart is racing, and for the tenth time today, I feel the walls closing in on me. I swear to god, I’m fucking losing it.

I don’t feel like I’m home, and this all feels foreign . . . which is fucked up, because I am home.

New York has always been the one place I do belong.

If this doesn’t feel like home, then where is?

London.

If I was at my penthouse in London, then it would feel different, I’m sure.

Yes, that’s it . . . London.

I inhale deeply as I try to calm myself. Of course I’m rattled and feeling off. I didn’t sleep a wink last night and am exhausted. Jet lagged, even. I’m not going to call my brothers to meet tonight. I’m feeling way too off kilter.

I get out of the shower and dry off, and too tired to eat any dinner, I crawl into bed.

In the dark silence, I stare up at the ceiling.

The bed is huge, the sheets are crisp, and everything feels so clean and sterile.

Lonely.

My life is a mess.





Chapter 13


Top floor, Miles High Building. The elevator doors open, and I stride out.

“Good morning, Sammia.” I smile. It’s good to see a familiar face.

“Christopher.” She gasps. “My god.” She stands, and I lean over the desk and kiss her cheek. “Miss me?” I ask.

“Definitely not.” She smirks.

Sammia and I have a strong friendship. Been play flirting for years. “Still married?”

“Yes, Christopher.” She rolls her eyes.

“Such a shame,” I reply as I walk past her. “One of these days,” I call as I walk away.

I hear her giggle, and I head down the corridor to Jameson’s. I walk in, and he’s on the phone. He glances up and stops midsentence. “I’ll call you back.” He hangs up without waiting for a reply and stands immediately.

I chuckle and hold out my arms, and he rushes me and pulls me into a hug. Emotion overwhelms me. I didn’t realize just how much I missed him up until this very moment. “I thought you weren’t coming until Friday?” he says as he regains his composure and steps back from me.