The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(49)

My mouth falls open in surprise. “What? Over a pen?”

“Mom, that’s not even the half of it. He yells at me the entire day. Everything I do is wrong.”

Anger simmers in my stomach. “He yells at you?”

“Screams the fucking place down. Even Jameson, the CEO, had to come and rescue me today. He told him to settle down.” His eyes widen. “And Jameson Miles is known for screaming at everyone all the time, Mom, so I know Tristan mustn’t scream at anyone else like he does me.” He throws his hands up in the air. “Sammia, Jameson’s PA, even bought me a cupcake today. She feels sorry for me too. She told me not to worry about him—that I was doing a good job.” His shoulders slump. “He just hates me.”

My eyes narrow as I feel anger twist in my gut. “Just ignore him, buddy.” I fake a smile. “He’ll settle down.” Or else. “Just keep your head down, and do your job.” I cut him a piece of cake and hand it over.

“Cake before dinner?” He frowns.

“Cake for dinner, if you want.” I watch him eat it and stare into space as adrenaline surges through my body.

Tristan fucking Miles . . . don’t push me.

“What do you think, Marley?” I ask. “Should I be worried?”

“Hmm, it’s a tough one.” She sips her Coke. We are at a restaurant eating lunch. “On one hand, you want Fletch to be taught the right way.”

“Yes, but he’s screaming at him, Marl. In what job is that okay?”

“It’s not; I agree.” She shrugs. “It’s so not okay in any workplace.”

“God, I’m going crazy over this. What if he just hired him to put him through hell for the way they met? What if he’s purposely being nasty to teach me a lesson for ending it?”

“It’s completely possible.” She shrugs again. “But this job will set Fletch up for life, so more fool him, you know?”

“But at what point is it enough? Like how far do I let it go?” A text comes in. It’s from Fletcher.

Hi.

I smile. “Fletch is on his lunch break.” I text back.

Can I call you?

He texts back.

Yeah.

I dial his number, and he answers on the first ring. “Hi, Fletch.” I smile. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty shit.” He sighs.

“Why?”

“Well, apparently now I’m stupid.”

My hackles rise. “He called you stupid?”

“Yep.”

“That’s it.” My anger explodes. “Don’t go back after lunch.”

“Mom.”

“I mean it,” I snap. “He can’t call you fucking stupid, Fletcher; that is unacceptable.”

Marley’s eyes widen in horror as she listens. “What?” she mouths. “He called him stupid?”

“No job is worth your self-respect, Fletcher. Do not go back.”

“Mom, shut up. You’re making it worse. I shouldn’t have even told you.”

“Fletcher.”

He hangs up.

“That’s it,” I snap. “He’s gone too far this time.” I down my drink and slam my empty glass on the table and stand. “Meet you back at work. I have an appointment with Tristan fucking Miles.”

“Oh shit. Good luck.” She winces.

I punch my fist. “Bail me out of jail, will you?”

She giggles and raises her glass at me. “Yes, okay, what account do I take the bail money out of?”

“You’ll have to rob a bank.”

“Roger that.”

I storm out of the restaurant on a mission. Tristan Miles is looking for a fight, and he just found one.

Nobody calls my son stupid and gets away with it.

I march up to the reception desk in the Miles Media building.

“Hello, may I help you?” The young girl smiles.

“I’d like to see Tristan Miles, please.”

“Did you have an appointment?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry; that will be impossible.”

“You tell him Claire Anderson is here to see him.”

“I’m sorry—” she continues.

“Tell him,” I interrupt her. “I’m not leaving until I see him.”

She and the other receptionist exchange glances, and she dials a number. “Hi, Sammia. I have a Claire Anderson to see Tristan Miles in reception.”

She listens and then holds the phone down. “She’s just checking.”

I can hear my pulse as it pumps boiling blood around my body.

Boom . . . boom . . . boom.

“Okay, thank you.” She types something and hands over a security card on a lanyard. “You can go up. Hector will accompany you.”

“I can find it myself,” I snap.

“Nobody goes to the top floor without a security guard.”

He’s going to need one. “Fine.”

She waves over a security guard, and he comes over. “Can you please escort Mrs. Anderson to see Tristan Miles, please?”

“Sure thing.” He smiles at me. “This way, please.” He gestures to the elevator, and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from speaking. I’m so mad that I can’t put two words together.