The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(36)

I smile and mess up his hair. “Okay, no more trips.”

“Do you promise?” he asks.

“I promise.”

Fletcher climbs up from underneath the dishwasher and turns it on. “I fixed it, Mom,” he announces.

I smile. Fletcher likes to fix things. I think he thinks that’s what he should do as the man of the house. “Thanks, buddy.” I hold my arms out for him, and he comes and hugs me. “I missed you.” I squeeze him tight. “Thanks for taking care of everyone.”

I’m not joking; I’m really not going away again. I missed them desperately.

The dishwasher begins to churn, and Fletcher smiles proudly. “Told you I fixed it.”

“I never had any doubts.” I smile.

“Harry and Patrick, upstairs to clean your teeth. I’ll come up in a moment. You have school tomorrow.”

They moan and walk upstairs.

Fletcher packs up all the tools into the toolbox. “I’m taking them out to the garage.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

He disappears outside.

I go to the bathroom and then turn the television channel. I’m walking over to the fridge when I feel something wet on my foot. Huh?

I glance down, and my eyes widen in horror.

Water is flying out of the bottom of the dishwasher; the entire floor is flooded, and it is running into the next room.

“Ahh!” I yell. “Fletcher. Turn the water off.” He doesn’t reply, and I run to the linen closet and grab whatever I can to stop the house from flooding. “Fletcher!” I scream as I throw blankets onto the floor. “Quick.”

He appears, and his face falls in horror as he sees the flooding.

“Don’t just stand there!” I yell. “Turn the water off.”

He runs outside.

The water is spurting out of the bottom of the dishwasher now like a fire hose.

The kitchen is four inches deep, and the living area carpet is all wet too.

What the fuck did he do? “Ahh,” I cry as I try to make a dam so it won’t go farther.

The water turns off, and I pant as I work fast to try to stop the carnage.

Fletcher comes running back in. “What do I do?”

“Get some towels; help me mop this up, honey.” He runs off, and we get to work.

“What the hell happened?” I hear Mom cry. I look to the top of the stairs and see my mother sopping wet and wrapped in a towel with a headful of shampoo. “I can’t rinse off the shampoo. The water stopped. What am I supposed to do now?” she cries.

For fuck’s sake.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Back to reality.

It’s Monday morning, and I walk into the office. I can hardly wipe the satisfied grin from my face.

“Well, hello there.” Marley smirks as she looks me up and down. “Look at you, all glowy and shit?”

I pull her into a hug. “Thank you for forcing me to go. You were right; I really needed it.”

“You liked it?” She frowns in surprise.

“I loved it. I even booked in for next year.”

“Yes.” She pumps her fist. “I fucking knew you would love that motivational shit.”

“Who knew?” I smile and walk past her into my office and take a seat.

“Do you want a coffee?” Marley calls.

“Umm . . .” I frown as I dig my phone out of my bag.

“You’re going to need it. You have like a thousand emails to answer.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, okay, thanks.”

I plug my phone in to charge, and the screen lights up.

Five missed calls, Tristan.

Shit, when did he call me? I scroll through to the missed calls. Last night.

Hmm. I was so exhausted after I mopped up the lake-size flood in the house, and by the time the emergency plumber left, I didn’t even check my phone.

Oh well. I turn it on silent, put it down, and boot up my computer. I smile broadly. I honestly feel like I haven’t been here for a month. So rejuvenated.

My stomach growls, and I glance at my watch. Eleven thirty. Marley was right; I haven’t even come up for air this morning.

A knock sounds at the door, and I glance up at it. Where’s Marley?

“Come in,” I call.

I keep reading an email, then glance up to see Tristan standing there. Navy suit, pale-pink shirt, and crimson tie—looking as gorgeous as can be. “Tristan,” I stammer. “What are you doing here?”

He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “Well, you’re not answering my calls, so I had no choice.” He walks over to me and bends and kisses my lips.

I jerk back from him. “What are you doing?”

“Kissing you hello.”

“Don’t.”

“Why not?” He frowns.

“Tristan.” I stare at him for a moment. He can’t be serious. “The dirty weekend was just that. One weekend. I don’t want anything with you.”





Chapter 9

He screws up his face. “What are you talking about, Anderson?” he scoffs. “Get your stuff. We’re going to lunch.”

What?

“Are you listening to me, Tris?” I stand up.

“No. I’m not. You’re talking shit.” He puts his hands on my hips and smirks down at me. “Why wouldn’t we see each other when we get on so well? That’s the most ridiculous thing that’s ever come out of your mouth.”