The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(95)

The view over the beach is picture perfect.

It’s Christmas Day, and to splurge we rented a house in Ko Samui for two weeks.

The boys are cooking on the outdoor grill, and we’re all wearing our colorful hats from our Christmas cracker bonbons.

These are the best five people I could ever have hoped to have met.

The best of friends, we’ve been through so much together as we’ve traveled the world.

Christopher pops a cork on a bottle of champagne and fills all our glasses and then holds his glass in the air. “A toast.”

We all smile and hold our glasses up as we wait for his wise words.

“May all our Christmases be as happy as this one.” He lifts his glass up higher. “To happiness.”

His eyes find mine across the table, and they twinkle with a certain something. I feel it to my toes.

“To happiness.”

We all sip our champagne, and our faces screw up as we wince in silence.

“What is this? Tastes like fucking shit,” Christopher cries in disgust. “I paid twenty-two dollars for this fucking horse piss.”

Everyone bursts out laughing as they choke on what is possibly the worst champagne in the world.

“To dying in Thailand from poison,” Basil says as he holds his glass up for another toast.

We all laugh hysterically as we toast again. “To poison.”

March

Germany

We stand on the curb outside the hostel. The bus is coming to collect the others for the airport.

Our trip of a lifetime is over.

It’s time to go home.

Christopher and I are flying out of a different airport. Our cab is coming in half an hour to collect us.

We are going to see his parents, then mine, and then we are going to visit Elliot in London . . . and then I guess we will see where we end up.

Christopher’s been quiet all week, and I know it’s because our trip is over.

He’s dreading going back to cleaning.

But I know it will be okay. Maybe he can do a course or go back to school or something. I don’t want him to do a job that he’s ashamed of. It hurts my heart.

I stand back and watch Christopher hug everyone goodbye. We’re all in tears.

Because no matter how much we say we’re going to keep in touch, we won’t.

We live in completely different parts of the world, and soon these people will be nothing more than memories. They’ll be nothing more than people in photos, ones I went on a trip with once.

Their car is waiting.

It’s my turn to hug everyone, and with tears running down my face, I say my goodbyes.

Christopher helps load their bags into the bus, and they sadly climb on.

I can hardly see the bus as it drives away.

The end of an era.

Christopher puts his arm around me as we watch it disappear into the distance.

“That’s it,” he says softly.

I nod.

“The trip’s over.”

“Yep.” I nod as I wipe my eyes. “Time to go back to reality.”

He rolls his lips. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“You want to stay longer?” I smile hopefully.

“I wish we could.”

I smile sadly. If only.

His eyes search mine. “Hayden . . . I’m not who you think I am.”

I frown.

“I’m not a cleaner.”

“What do you mean?”

He grabs my two hands and leads me over to a bench seat and sits me down. “Sweetheart.” His voice is soft, cajoling, as if delivering a fatal blow. “Have you ever heard of Miles Media?”

“No.”

“It’s a media company in New York.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I’m Christopher Miles.”

I frown. “What are you talking about?”

“Babe.” He widens his eyes, hoping I will get a clue. “As in Miles Media Miles.”

“I don’t understand.” I frown.

A black limousine pulls up, and the driver in full uniform gets out and pops the trunk.

“Our car is here.”

I look to the fancy car, horrified . . . that’s our car?

What the fuck?





Chapter 21


My eyes search his.

Time seemingly stands still . . . I don’t understand. I look back at the pristine limousine and then back to him.

What do you mean . . . that’s our car?

“Babe, we have to go. We have a plane to catch. Let’s just . . .” He gestures to the limousine and the driver waiting by the open trunk. “We can talk about it on the way.”

I stare at him, shocked to my core.

“Grumps.” He kisses my lips quickly. “It changes nothing. Relax.” He carries my backpack down to the car. “Hello,” he says to the driver before passing the backpack and coming back for his. “Get into the car, sweetheart.”

How can he say this changes nothing? This changes every single thing.

“Babe.” He points to the car as if reminding me. “Get in.”

It’s then that I realize what’s going on here. I’m being railroaded. He’s purposely withheld this information until two minutes before the car turned up so that I wouldn’t have time to get upset.