The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(50)

I glare straight ahead at the doors as I go over in my head what I’m going to say.

The doors open, and I storm out. My step falters as I see the floor.

What the fuck?

Expansive views all over New York. White marble. Contemporary luxury at its finest. Of course his office looks like this . . . it only boils my blood more.

The pretty receptionist smiles. “Hello, I’m Sammia. You’re here to see Tristan?”

“Yes, please.” I remember my manners and force a smile. “Hello, I’m Claire Anderson.”

“Are you . . .” Her voice trails off.

“Yes, I’m Fletcher’s mother.”

I see the exact moment that she realizes why I’m here—her eyes widen. “Oh, I see.” She stands and puts her hand out. “This way, please.”

We turn left and go down a wide corridor. I can see the sprawling New York skyline at the end, and offices are all to the left. “His office is at the end,” she says.

I keep following her, and we get to a large room, another reception area, and I see Fletcher sitting at a desk. Two girls are at desks beside him: one looks younger.

Fletcher’s face falls when he sees me. “Mom, what are you doing here?” he stammers in a panic.

“Just visiting Tristan.” I fake a smile. “Thanks, Sammia.” I barge open Tristan’s door and close it behind me.

I find him sitting at his desk. He looks up and runs his tongue over his bottom lip and sits back in his chair, as if amused.

Arrogance personified.

“Claire Anderson.” He smiles.

I narrow my eyes.

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” he says, pen in hand.

“Oh, I think you know,” I sneer.

He raises an eyebrow. “No. Actually, I don’t.”

“What the hell are you doing to Fletcher?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” I bark, “how dare you call him stupid? How dare you scream at him in front of other staff? Or at all, for that matter.”

He tilts his chin to the sky defiantly. “Did he run to Mommy, did he?”

“Tristan,” I whisper angrily. “I understand that you met in terrible circumstances, but it’s clearly obvious that you only hired him to make a fool of him. And I won’t have it.”

He narrows his eyes and sits back in his chair. “Is that what you think?”

“That’s what I know.”

He stands and comes around in front of me. “I’ll tell you what I’m doing with Fletcher Anderson. I’m teaching him work ethic. He’s lazy and needs discipline.”

“You are not training him; you are belittling him,” I fire back.

“I’m teaching him to have some respect,” he replies calmly. “Something that he quite obviously hasn’t learned at home.”

“Why on earth would he respect a jerk like you?” I whisper angrily.

“Because I’m his boss, Claire, and I am not putting up with his excuses,” he replies.

“By calling him stupid,” I snap.

“I did not call him stupid. I told him to stop acting stupid. There’s a big difference. He’s intelligent, Claire, a lot more than you give him credit for. He doesn’t have anger issues; he has a fucking attitude issue, and I’m getting rid of it.”

“By making a fool of him?” I gasp.

“By making him learn from his mistakes. If he is not punished as he does them, he will keep doing it. You don’t learn a lesson unless it makes you uncomfortable.”

“You yelled at him for forgetting a pen, for Christ’s sake,” I stammer.

His face contorts in anger. “How many CEOs do you know that don’t take a pen to a meeting, Claire?” he sneers. “Rule number one.” He holds his finger up to accentuate his point. “Be prepared. Do not turn up to a meeting unprepared.”

The door opens, and Fletcher comes into view. He closes it behind him.

Tristan glares at him. “You run to Mommy when you get into trouble?” he asks.

Fletcher stares at him.

“You going to run to Mommy when someone steals your business or your girlfriend?” he asks. “Is that what a man does? Run to Mommy?”

“How dare you?” I whisper angrily. “Get your things, Fletcher; we’re leaving. You don’t have to put up with this.”

“Get back to your desk, Fletcher, and finish that report,” Tristan snaps.

Fletcher looks between us, unsure what to do.

“Fletcher Anderson,” Tristan asserts. His voice rises along with his anger. “That report is to be on my desk before you leave today. I don’t care if we don’t get out of here until midnight.”

“He’s coming with me,” I snap. “Stick your report up your ass.”

“Mom,” Fletcher interrupts. “Don’t.”

“Fletcher, let’s go,” I urge.

“Do you want to know why I’m riding this kid so hard, Claire?” Tristan asks.

I stare at him.

“Because Fletcher Anderson has more potential than I’ve seen in a very long time. He’s super intelligent.”

Fletcher’s chest rises as he fights a crooked smile.