The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(101)

“Maybe this model thing wasn’t such a great idea?” I say.

“We’ll get it,” he says with renewed determination as he stirs his coffee. “If it’s the last fucking thing I do,” he whispers under his breath. “And it might be.”

I kiss his shoulder, and it momentarily snaps him out of his stress. He kisses my forehead. “Stop distracting the genius at work,” he replies as he goes back to the table.

I giggle and look up to see that Fletcher has just been watching our interaction.

He gives me a lopsided smile and turns his attention back to the model.

A frisson of guilt runs through me. Is it weird for him seeing me with another man?

Should I talk to him about this?

What would I say? Hmm . . . I’m going to have to think about this in great detail. I don’t want to overdramatize it, but then I don’t want to sweep it under the rug either.

“That’s it!” Harry yells.

“What is?”

“The bags—they are the wrong colors compared to what’s in the instructions. That’s why nothing is adding up. It’s all labeled wrong.”

“What?” Fletcher frowns.

“The red parts are orange, and the orange parts are red. The black parts are white, and the white parts are gray. That’s why we can’t find all the pieces. The colors are all wrong.”

Tristan punches his fist. “Why you . . . tick tock . . . old man.”

“Yeah,” Harrison growls. “Tick tock.”

“Hmm.” The stylist’s eyes roam up and down my body as she circles me. “We have a lot to work with here.” She fiddles with my hair and tucks it behind my ears. She messes it up with her fingers as she inspects me in great detail.

My eyes flick to Marley, and she gives me two thumbs-up, the universal symbol of “You can do this.”

It’s Wednesday, and I’m at the dreaded appointment with the personal stylist. “You’re gorgeous, Claire; there is no doubt about it. Your bone structure is flawless, and you have a beautiful figure. But you don’t dress accordingly. Why don’t you show it off more?”

“Oh.” I shrug bashfully.

“You need to wear more fitted things.”

“I just don’t want to look like I’m trying to be young,” I reply meekly.

“You are young, Claire. You’re only what? Early thirties?”

“I’m thirty-eight.”

She smiles as she runs her hand down my shoulder and readjusts my bra strap. “I style eighty-year-olds. Trust me. You are young.” She smiles as she stands back to look at me. “Now, what do you need?”

“I have a black-tie dinner on Saturday night.”

“Okay.” She holds my hair up and looks at it. “At what time is it?”

I frown, and Marley grabs my phone. Tristan sent me the invitation. “Seven p.m.”

“Okay.” She takes out her phone and makes a call. “Hello, Marcello.”

She listens for a moment. “Hello, darling. Listen, I have a favor. Can you do hair and makeup for me on Saturday night, please?”

I frown, and my eyes flick to Marley.

“Oh . . . it’s an emergency. I’m going to send you images of exactly what we need.”

Emergency. I widen my eyes in horror, and Marley drops her head to hide her smile.

“Yes, we have a Cinderella here.” She listens, and her eyes sweep up and down my body. “Okay great, I’ll text you the address.” She hangs up. “Okay, that’s sorted out.”

I smile nervously.

“Marcello will come to your place and do your hair and makeup late on Saturday afternoon.”

I bite my lip to hide my smile. I’ve never had that before. “Is that necessary?”

“Oh my God, darling. Yes. It’s necessary. Now . . . let’s go shopping. I know exactly what you need.”

“Okay, thanks, Barb.” I smile. I rest my foot on top of Tristan’s leg. It’s Thursday night, and Tristan and I are having a glass of wine and watching television in the living room. The boys have miraculously done their homework, dinner is finished and cleaned up, and now they have a precious two hours to work on their model. This bribery of Tristan’s is the best thing since sliced bread. Everyone is behaving and hustling to get things done quickly so they can work on it together.

It’s like the freaking twilight zone or some shit.

“Are you sure that’s okay?” I listen to my girlfriend as we speak on the phone. I’m arranging for Harry to stay at her place on Saturday night. Fletcher is staying here with two friends, and Patrick is taken care of, but it’s Harry that I have to really check on.

“Of course, Claire, he’ll be fine. We will get pizza and watch movies.”

“Thanks so much. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay, see you on Saturday,” she replies, and I hang up.

Tristan raises an eyebrow. “We good?” he asks hopefully.

“All good.” I smile. “Who knew that Tristan Miles would be excited about locking in a babysitter?”

He chuckles and clinks his glass with mine. “Right?”

“Seriously, though, it is a relief. Barb is the only one I would leave Harrison with.”