The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(47)

I’ll never admit the truth—that he’s right, and just as he planned, it really did work. Tristan never contacted me again after that fateful day. He went from coming to my house to pursue me . . . to never calling again. It says a lot about him and the gumption he has—or lack of it. Anyway, who cares?

Good riddance. I’m actually grateful that Fletcher scared him off. Saved me the job and stopped things from dragging out.

“Just remember to be professional,” I remind him.

“I know.”

“And use your manners.”

He rolls his eyes.

“And if you get into trouble, what do you do?”

“Go to the bathroom, and count to ten to calm down.” He sighs.

I smile as I fix his hair. “That’s it, Fletch.” I smile up at him. “You’re going to be great.”

I keep straightening his hair, and he swats me away. “That’s enough already, Mom.”

I grab his face hard in my hands and bring his eyes to mine. “Do you know how proud your father and I are of you?”

He shrugs sadly. “Thanks.”

I smile. “And call me on your lunch break.”

“Oh my God. Stop nagging me. I’m not going to have time.”

“One minute—you have one minute.”

With one last eye roll he walks downstairs, and I follow and grab my keys. “Let’s go.”

This is the longest day of my entire life. I pick up my phone and check it again. “It’s one thirty p.m. Why hasn’t he called?” I sigh.

“He probably forgot,” Marley replies.

“What if they didn’t give him lunch?” I say. “He can’t handle not eating. He might faint.”

Marley rolls her eyes. “It will be fine, and it isn’t a prison camp. Miles Media has one of the best reputations for treating their staff well.”

“Will you stop telling me that everything is going to be okay?” I snap. “Because I have a reason to be concerned, and I’m really worried about him.”

“Oh my God, you’re driving yourself crazy—and me, for that matter.”

“When you have a child who is going to work for the biggest bastard in the world, you let me know how you go.”

“Okay, fine.” She smiles my way. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that Mr. Miles hasn’t called you, would it?”

I screw up my face in disgust. “What, as if I’m annoyed that he hasn’t call me? I had already broken it off with him—not that we actually had anything to break off. It was just one week, Marley, and besides, Tristan Miles means nothing to me. But I have serious suspicions as to why he would’ve hired Fletcher in the first place. Something feels off. Fletcher tried to bash him with his own underpants, for God’s sake.”

Marley giggles. “Oh Lord, how I wish I was there to see that. I bet Tristan Miles has never had that before.”

I smile as I remember that momentous day. I’ve never been so horrified and yet so amused at the same time. Not that I would ever admit that to anybody, not even Marley.

“I’m just gonna text him. I can’t be going crazy like this for any longer.” I type.

Hi Fletch, how’s it going buddy?

A reply bounces straight back.

I hate this job. I hate this man, I’m not coming back tomorrow.

My eyes widen in horror. “Oh no, Marley. This is going to be worse than him not even starting. I can just see it.”

I text back.

Why what’s happening?

He texts back.

Talk to you tonight I’ve got five minutes left for lunch.

I look up at Marley, my stomach sinking. “What’s happening over there? I don’t believe this.”

Marley rolls her eyes. “I do, actually. Let’s face it, Claire. Fletcher doesn’t exactly take orders well.”

I blow out a big deep breath. “Hopefully his afternoon will be better.”

Marley smiles. “It will be. Don’t you remember what it was like to start a new job? Everybody’s first day at a new job is bad, Claire.”

I shrug. “I guess you’re right.”

“Everything is going to be fine. Relax, and let him go. He’s nearly a man. He needs to find his own way.”

“Yeah, I know.” I sigh. I pick up my pen and try to get back to work. Nightmare images of my poor little baby all alone in that big cranky corporate office are flying through my mind.

Why couldn’t he just go to university?

I stir the cheese into the large pot of spaghetti bolognese. I finished early today, and although I wanted to pick Fletcher up from work, I let him catch the train home. I’m really trying my hardest to give him a little tough love. He wants to be a big boy and work; he needs to learn how to be self-sufficient. I look at the clock. Where is he?

I glance up at my other two sons, who are sitting at the kitchen counter. “How did it go at school today, Harry?”

“Okay.”

“How was Mrs. Parkinson?”

“A witch, as usual.” He sighs.

“I don’t think it’s very nice to be calling your teacher a witch.”

“Yeah, well, if she stopped acting like one, I wouldn’t have to call her one.”