The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(66)

Although, kissing Claire and her house of horrors goodbye would be the much smarter option right now. What the fuck am I even doing here?

I clench my hands together as I imagine myself wringing the little fucker’s neck. Finally I throw on some clothes and walk back out to find Claire in her dressing gown. She has the kettle boiling and is standing in the kitchen.

Calmness sweeps over me, and I smile. “What are you doing today?” I ask her.

“Mom stuff,” the wizard snaps from behind me.

“That’s enough, Harrison,” Claire snaps back.

Fuck this.

“I’m going to get going.” I sigh. This pit bull of a kid is chasing me out.

“Okay.” She forces a smile.

“Are you sure you can’t escape for a lunch date?” I whisper.

“We’re very busy today, Mom,” Harry interrupts.

I clench my jaw. I wasn’t joking—boarding school could be in this kid’s very near future.

She smirks. “Does it look like I can do lunch today, Tris?”

I stare at her deadpan. “Fine . . . I’ll see you later?”

“Okay.” I slowly walk to the door, and she follows me.

I turn toward her, and we stare at each other for a moment. So much I would like to say . . . to do.

Harry steps between us, forcing me back from her. “Do you mind?” I ask.

“Not at all,” he snaps.

I glare at him. “If you want to do something useful, keep Paul from Pilates off the property and away from your mother. He’s no good, that guy.”

Claire tries to hide her smile and fails abysmally. “Goodbye, Tristan.”

Harry’s eyes widen in horror. “Who’s Paul from Pilates?” he says as he looks between us.

I smile at Claire and give her a wink.

She narrows her eyes in return. “Nobody that you need to worry about,” she says. “Tristan is delusional.”

“Goodbye,” I say, feeling pleased with myself.

“Oh, Tristan,” Harry calls, and I turn back toward them. “Tick. Tock.” He smiles darkly, as if he has a secret.

I narrow my eyes . . . what the fuck does that mean? I shake it off. “Goodbye, Claire. Goodbye, Wizard.”

I walk out to my car, and I hear a little voice call, “Tristan?” I turn and see Patrick running out after me. He’s all messed up and just woken up. His hair is standing on end.

“Hey, buddy.” I smile.

His face falls. “Where are you going?” he asks.

“I have to go home.”

He catches his lip with his teeth, as if worried. “Well, are you coming back?”

“Of course I am.”

“When?”

“Um.” I glance up and see Claire standing at the door, watching us. “Soon.” I ruffle his hair and smile. “Thanks for hanging out with me last night. Next time I get to pick the movie.”

He swings his arms happily. “Okay.” He turns toward his mother and smiles proudly.

With one last wave, I get into my car and drive away.

Half an hour out on the highway, and my car begins to shudder. I turn the radio down to listen to the engine. I accelerate, and it shudders again.

What’s going on?

I slow down and continue to drive, but the car seems to have no power.

What in the world?

It begins to shudder violently, and it limps along for a while. I eventually pull the car over and turn it off.

I sit for a moment and then turn it back on. It won’t click over.

The engine ticks as it tries to start, but it just won’t. “Oh, come on. You’ve got to be kidding me.”





This car is fucking new.


I try to start it again and again.

Screw this. I get out and slam the door shut.

I take out my phone and google tow trucks.

This is the last thing I need.





Claire

I type the email.

Mr. Scott,

It was lovely meeting you

I’m interrupted by my phone ringing. The name Paul lights up the screen.

Oh no. I exhale heavily. I don’t even want to speak to him. Our date on Friday was the longest night of my life.

It’s Monday, and I know he’s calling to see if I’m going to Pilates tonight. Damn it.

Now it’s just going to be awkward. What a stupid move to date someone from my favorite Pilates class.

My mind goes to Tristan. I can’t believe that he was waiting for me to come home from my date. I smile at the thought of him at home alone with my kids.

Oh well . . . at least he survived, I guess.

I ignore the call and go back to my email. Then . . . knock, knock.

“Come in,” I call as my eyes stay glued to my computer. The door opens and closes.

“Anderson,” I hear the deep, flirty voice purr.

I look up to see Tristan Miles in all his glory. Perfectly fitting dark-navy suit, a crisp white shirt, and a navy tie. His hands are in his pockets, and he looks very much like the Miles Media heir that he is. His dark hair is messed to just-fucked perfection.

“Tristan.”

Our eyes meet, and my stomach flutters. He’s so damn gorgeous that I can’t stand it. “Hello.” He smiles.