The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(58)

“I have my kids, and I don’t do casual, and I can’t do a relationship. And even if I could, it’s not the life you want.”

He exhales deeply, knowing I’m right. His eyes drop away from mine.

“We’re so good together,” I whisper as I pull his face back to me. “In . . . in another life, we could have been great. Just not this one.”

His eyes search mine, and I feel like he has so much to say but is choosing to remain silent.

“Promise me something.”

“What?” He sighs, unimpressed.

“Promise me . . . that sometimes . . . you’ll think of me.”

Our eyes are locked. “No, I can’t do that, Anderson . . . if I can’t have you, I don’t want to think about you.”

I smile sadly and lean in and kiss him. Our faces screw up together.

This is goodbye.

We stare at each other, and he runs his fingers over my face, as if memorizing every inch. “I wish things were different,” he whispers.

“Me too.”

He frowns, and I know he wants one last time. He goes to lie over me.

“I can’t, Tris.” I shake my head, emotional overload threatening. “I just can’t.”

He clenches his jaw and gets out of bed in a rush. He dresses in silence as I lie and watch him.

“You know I’m right,” I whisper.

He does his tie, refusing to look at me.

“Are you going to say anything?” I ask.

“Nope.” He pulls his jacket over his shoulders and retrieves his expensive watch from the bathroom and pats his pockets as he makes sure he has everything. He goes to the door, and I hold my breath as I watch him.

“Tris.”

He turns back to me.

“Can . . . can you say something, please?”

“What do you want me to say, Claire?”

Tears threaten. “Anything?”

His eyes hold mine for a beat, and finally he speaks. “Goodbye.”

I swallow the lump in my throat . . . not that.

He turns and leaves. The door clicks closed, and I stare at the back of it.

He would have fought me if he wanted it.

He didn’t.

And now I know.

I stand under the hot water and let it stream over my head. I’ve had the worst week.

Busy at work, and I’ve been moping around about Tristan, and I don’t know why. I did the right thing.

We were never going anywhere, and I knew that, but it still stung.

I just wish he wasn’t so perfect.

Maybe with kids I’ll just never meet someone, and I get it. I’m a lot to take on—any single mother is.

Maybe my happiness won’t come until they all move out . . . I just have to be patient.

My phone dances around on the bathroom vanity, and I peer out to see the name Marley light up the screen. I jump out and answer it. Something must be wrong. “Hello.”

“Hi, oh my God. You will never guess who I am looking at right now.”

I frown. “Who?”

“I’m in Portabella’s, the Italian restaurant we’ve been wanting to come to.”

“Who with?”

“My aunt. Guess who’s here?”

“Who?”

“Tristan Miles.”

I frown.

“Guess who he’s here with?”

“Who?” Don’t tell me—I really don’t want to know.

“Avril Mason.”

“The fashion editor?” I frown.

“Yes, they’re on a date. She grabbed his hand over the table before.”

My heart drops. “Oh well, I don’t care.” I act brave.

“Yeah, I know. Just thought you would want to know.”

“Not really.” I close my eyes as the walls close in. “I’m in the shower. I’ll see you tomorrow? Thanks for the update.”

“Yeah, sure thing.”

I hang up and get back under the shower and exhale heavily.

Well, that’s it. He’s moved on. Didn’t take much.

I should have gone out on a date with a less dangerous option.

A man I couldn’t fall for.

Oh well, it is what it is.





Tristan

“Well?” She smiles sexily. “Tell me.” She sucks on her finger seductively. “How many times a day do you think about me?”

I stare at the woman sitting across the table from me. Avril Mason: she’s beautiful, ticks all the right boxes. Natural blonde, killer body, twenty-eight, a successful fashion editor—she has been on my radar for years, but we have never been single at the same time. I went on one date with her before I went to France for the conference. After that I thought we were going somewhere. Not so much now. I should be obsessed with her; I should be chasing her around New York and falling hopelessly in love.

What I’m doing is neither of those things.

I’m dreaming of a fiery brunette. That woman has gotten under my skin.

I can’t get Claire fucking Anderson out of my head. This is my third date with Avril, and every damn time I’ve spent the entire evening dreaming of Claire. It’s getting to where I have to either step up and do the deed with Avril or stop seeing her. This is not my style. I fuck whomever I want, whenever I want. Doing the deed is never an issue. Especially with someone I know I want.