The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(132)

Claire’s eyes come to me in question.

I drop to my knee in front of her and hold out the ring. “Claire, will you marry me?”

The three boys all bounce on the spot in excitement.

Claire giggles and pulls me in to kiss her. “I thought you’d never ask.” We kiss, and the boys high-five. “I’ve got a Christmas present for you too, Tris,” she whispers.

I smile as I kiss her again, and then she takes my hand and puts it over her stomach.

“You’re going to be a father.”





My world stops.


She smiles through tears. “I’m two months pregnant.”

I stare at her wide eyed; then I look to the boys, who are wide eyed too.





What the . . .


Claire giggles as my hand rests tenderly over her stomach. “Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Miles. Now you have four.”

Two weeks later

I exhale heavily as I stand outside Jameson’s office door. I drop my head as I brace myself.

I’m about to do something I’ve never imagined in my wildest dreams.





I knock twice.


“Come in,” he calls.

Without a word, I walk in and hand him the envelope.

He frowns. “What’s this?”

“My resignation.”

“What?” His eyes hold mine. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m taking over as CEO of Anderson Media. Fletcher and I are going to run it together.”

His face falls. “I don’t think—”

“The decision’s already been made, Jay,” I cut him off. “I’m going.”

“What did Claire say?”

“She doesn’t know yet.”

He frowns. “You are leaving your family company to run someone else’s company? That’s madness.”





I drop my head.


“I can’t let you do this,” he stammers.

“I’m going to run my sons’ company . . . for them. I can build it back up so that by the time they are old enough to take it over, it will be booming.”

His eyes hold mine, and he gives me a slow smile. “You’re a good man, Tristan.” He pulls me into a hug and kisses my cheek.

I want to blurt out that we are pregnant and not to be sad, because this is the beginning of something wonderful—a life with the woman I love and four beautiful children—but I can’t. We’ve agreed to keep the pregnancy to ourselves for another month until Claire reaches her second trimester.

However, I’m well aware that this is the end of my time working with my brothers, and for that I truly am devastated.

It won’t be the same not working with them.

My eyes well with tears as we hug. The ending of an era.

Eventually I pull out of his arms and walk toward the door.

“When will you be back?” he asks.

I turn back to him. “When my boys are men.”

The End





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It takes an army to write a book, and I undoubtedly have the best army on earth.

To Sammia, Lindsey, and my Montlake team at Amazon, thank you for believing in me and my work—your support has been amazing.

Publishing with you has been a dream come true.

To my wonderful assistant of three years, Kellie, who we all know is the real boss around here. Thank you for everything you do: the travel, the covers, the books, my meltdowns . . . you handle it all with a beautiful smile on your face. I am so grateful for our friendship.

To my gorgeous beta readers, Rachel, Nicole, Vicki, Rena, Amanda, Nadia, and Lisa: you guys are the best. Thank you for everything that you do for me. You make me so much better.

To my family, the loves of my life. I love you. Xoxoxo.

To my beloved friends in the Swan Squad, thank you for your friendship and keeping me sane.

And last but not least, to my beautiful readers: it is because of you that I get to live this wonderful life, and words don’t seem enough to express my gratitude.

Thank you so much for reading my books.

Thank you so much for your continued support.

Thank you so much for believing in my characters and stories as much as I do.

Dreams really do come true.

Tee

xoxoxox





Read on for the first chapter of T L Swan’s backlist title Mr. Masters, available to buy now!





Prologue ALINA MASTERS 1984–2013

WIFE AND BELOVED MOTHER. IN GOD’S HANDS WE TRUST.

Grief. The Grim Reaper of life.

Stealer of joy, hope, and purpose.

Some days are bearable. Other days I can hardly breathe, and I suffocate in a world of regret where good reason has no sense.

I never know when those days will hit, only that when I wake, my chest feels constricted and I need to run. I need to be anywhere but here, dealing with this life. My life.

Our life. Until you left.

The sound of a distant lawn mower brings me back to the present, and I glance over at the cemetery’s caretaker. He’s concentrating as he weaves among the tombstones, careful not to clip or damage one as he passes. It’s dusk, and the mist is rolling in for the night.