The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(99)

She nods and steps back, still processing.

I open my wardrobe door. “This is my wardrobe.”

She peers in, and then a frown crosses her face, and she walks past me into the wardrobe. I hold my breath as I watch her look over my three bays of expensive suits. Her hand runs over the shoes neatly lined up. Her eyes rise to the floor-to-ceiling tie rack I have for my ties. She goes to the set of drawers that is freestanding in the middle.

Don’t open the . . .

Too late. She opens the top drawer and peers in at my designer watch collection, displayed in a glass cabinet.

She swiftly closes the drawer and walks past me out of the wardrobe.

Huh?

What the hell does that mean?

I wait for a moment and walk out to find her staring out the window over the city.

“Are you going to say something?” I ask.

“It’s beautiful.” She forces a smile.

She has more to say.

“And?”

“What . . .” She pauses as if searching for the right words.

I wait.

“What do you do at Miles Media?”

“I’m the head of marketing.”

She frowns as she stares at me. I can see her mind running a million miles per minute. “Where is your office?”

I roll my lips. Here we go . . . “London.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “You live in London?”

“Yes.”

“London.” She gasps. “You live in fucking London?”

“I do.”

“And when were you going to tell me this?” She gasps, affronted.

“I’m telling you now.”

She stares at me, horrified.

“You’re going to love it there, Hays.”

“I am not moving to London, Christopher.”

“What does that mean?” I snap.

“Exactly what I said. I’m not moving there.”

“You said you would live anywhere as long as we’re together,” I splutter.

“When did I ever say that?”

“Oh, you said it, all right; I clear-as-day remember. But what you really meant was that you would move anywhere for a pauper, but you won’t fucking move for me?” I bark.

“Would you move for me?” she fires back.

“If it meant we were together, then yes.”

“Okay, great. That settles it.” She dusts her hands together. “We’ll live in the country.”

I see red.

“Don’t give me your smart-ass fucking attitude, Hayden,” I yell. “I have responsibilities with Miles Media.”

“And what about your responsibilities to me?” she yells. “My work is in the country.”

“I run a multibillion-dollar company, Hayden. I need to live between London and New York. I can’t live in Bumfuck, Nowhere, while you play with cows.”

“Play with cows!” Her eyes bulge from their sockets.

“My job is important.”

“Obviously.” She throws her hands up in the air and then marches from the room.

“Get back here!” I yell.

“Go fuck yourself.”





Chapter 22


I march after her, infuriated. “Where are you going?” I demand.

“To bed.”

“Your bedroom is back here!”

“That isn’t a bedroom, Christopher; that’s a Tinder auditorium. I can hear the moans that are ingrained into the paint.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” I explode.

“It means I don’t want to sleep in there!” she cries. “I’ll sleep in the fucking laundry room before I get into that bed.” She marches down the stairs at high speed and up the hall into one of the spare rooms.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I lose all control. “Don’t you fucking dare throw my past in my face. Just because you chose to be a nun before we met, don’t dare judge me for having fun,” I scream as I follow her.

“And now I see the whole picture of just how much fun you’ve had.”

“What the hell are you talking about right now?”

She keeps marching.

“You are judging me based on your assumptions of what you think wealthy men live like. Do you have any idea how childish that is?”

She turns like the devil herself. “Am I wrong?” she demands. “Please, tell me . . . am I wrong? I want you to correct me if I am. That is a show-pony bedroom if ever I’ve seen one . . . do they all gush and goo when they see your apartment, Christopher?”

I screw up my face. What?

“Why are you being such a raving bitch?” I yell. “I don’t know who the hell you are or what malfunction has happened in that brain of yours today . . . but bring my sweet Hayden back to me right now.”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t fucking push me, Hayden,” I yell, infuriated. I’ve never been so angry.

“Or what?”

“Or you’ll find yourself fucking single, that’s what. I am not putting up with your fucking tantrums that have nothing to do with the subject we are even arguing about.”

Slam!

She slams the door in my face, and I lose control and punch it hard. It shudders as it nearly comes off the hinges.