The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(26)

WE HAVE UNFINISHED BUSINESS.

COME TO PARIS FOR THE WEEKEND.





xoxoxox


“What?” I whisper.

I plop down on the bed and stare at the card in my hand.

This is not what I was expecting at all. After mentally throwing daggers at him all day, this is a huge surprise. I read the card again as I consider his proposal.

I can’t go to fucking Paris. I have to get home to the kids.

I get a vision of spending three days in a city I’ve always dreamed of visiting . . . alone with him . . . it could be so fun.

Damn it . . . I want to go.

I just can’t. Stop it, Claire; it is what it is.

I exhale heavily and make myself a cup of tea.

My phone beeps with a text. It’s from Tristan.

Are you back in your room yet?

I smile softly and put the phone down on the coffee table. He’s expecting me to call him to say thank you. I go to the flowers and stare at them. I touch the petals—the flowers have huge heads and a strong perfume. French roses. I inhale the beautiful scent.

So unexpected.

Well played, Mr. Miles. Well played.

I decide to check on the kids, and I call my mother. “Hello, dear.” I can hear her smile down the phone.

“Hi, Mom. How are you surviving?”

“Oh, we’re having a great time. How are you?”

“Good.” I pace back and forth. I am filled with nervous energy. “Are the kids home?”

“No, they’re all at sports training. They’ve been angels.”

“Listen, Mom.” My eyes close. What the hell am I doing? “I’ve been offered an extension conference in Paris for the weekend.” I scrunch my hand up in my hair. “But I don’t think I’ll go,” I add.

“Why not?”

“It’s a bit much to ask of you.”

“Oh no. Go, honey. The boys and I are having a great time. It’s no difference to me when you get home.”

“Really?” I frown.

“Yes, I’m loving the quality time I’m getting with the boys. Let off some steam and have some fun, Claire. If anyone deserves it, it’s you.”

“But what about Patrick? He’ll be fretting.”

“He’s fine and happy, Claire, and, I hate to say it, not missing you at all.”

I smile as hope blooms in my chest. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Oh.” I pause as my mind wanders off on a million tangents. “I’ll think about it. I’ll let you know tomorrow; is that okay?”

“Of course. It must be late there. Get some sleep, and call me tomorrow. But I say go for it. Paris is beautiful, and you’ve never been.”

“Maybe.” I shrug.

“Goodbye.” She hangs up.

In a daze I walk into the bathroom and run the hot water. I need a hot bath to think about this.

An hour later I sit forward and turn the tap off once more. I fill the bath up, let it cool down, let some water out, and repeat the process. My mind is ticking at a million miles per minute.

Tristan is a soul-sucking bastard who left without even a goodbye.

But then . . . he sent roses.

But I don’t want roses, because that’s not who we are . . . but maybe he was just being nice because he couldn’t say goodbye properly?

He’s a bastard . . . but he’s a fun bastard. Or maybe that was just an act, and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

Oh God, I’m so confused.

If I go to Paris, I’m guaranteed laughter and fun.

If I don’t go, there’s no chance of me getting attached to him.

He’s a player. He probably has ten girlfriends. He is not the kind of man you get attached to.

But he’s so fun.

Over the last two nights we have laughed and laughed, and it felt good, even if I knew it was only temporary—just in that moment, it felt really good.

There’s absolutely no chance of a future or anything; I already know that. We’re from two different worlds.

Am I okay to spend a weekend with someone knowing that? I think on it for a moment.

I’ve had enough heartache. Maybe it’s time to throw caution to the wind. Maybe it’s time to just . . . no, it’s just safer not to go. I mean, what’s the point?

Why prolong what was only a one-night thing? We already extended it to two nights. That’s enough.

My phone rings, and the name Tristan lights up the screen. Oh fuck.

I close my eyes and answer. “Hello.”

“Anderson.”

A broad smile crosses my face just at the sound of his voice. “What do you want?” I tease.

He chuckles. “I’m calling to see if you got my gift in your room.”

“Oh.” I smirk. “I haven’t; I’m in Nelson’s room.”

“What the fuck? You better not be.” It’s loud where he is, like a bar or something.

I giggle. “They’re lovely.”

“So?” he asks.

“So what?”

“Come to Paris. Spend the weekend with me.”

I stay silent.

“It’s one of my favorite cities. I can show you around. We can go sightseeing.”