The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(78)

“I’ve never lied to you.”

“What was last night?”

My eyes hold his.

“You told me you were hormonal.” His chest rises and falls as he battles to contain his anger.

I look on, helpless to stop the train wreck as it happens before my eyes.

“But you were thinking about him,” he whispers. “You were crying because you were thinking about him.”

I drop my head in shame . . . it’s true; I was.

He grabs his things and storms out the door. I hear his rented car pull out and drive down the street.

My heart breaks into a million pieces, and I want to run after him and beg him to stay.

But I won’t . . . because he was going to leave anyway. I can’t give him the life that he wants.

He was never mine to keep.

My forever man died.

Tristan Miles was just on loan.





Chapter 16

Tristan

I exhale heavily as I watch the numbers climb.





Hurry up.


Even the elevator is pissing me off today. It’s Monday, and after the worst weekend in history, work is the very last place I want to be.

She dumped me.

The doors open, and I stride out and through the foyer. “Morning,” I say to the girls at reception.

Sammia’s eyes widen as she looks at me, and then she bursts out laughing. “What happened to your hair?”

“Bad product.” I storm past.

She dives out of her seat and follows me up the corridor, determined to make fun of me. “What product is that bad?”

I dump my briefcase on my desk, and I take off my jacket. “The one I used, apparently. Now if you don’t mind . . .” I gesture to the door.

She sits on the corner of my desk. “How was your weekend?” she asks.

I sit down and turn my computer on. “Ordinary. Yours?”

“Great. I had the most romantic weekend of all time,” she gushes.





I roll my eyes.


“Don’t you want to hear what I did?” she asks.

“No. I’m in an extremely bad mood, and it will be in your best interest not to talk to me for the rest of the year. I’m bad company.”

“I seriously doubt that,” she says as she watches me. “Do you need coffee?”

“Yes, please.” I hit my keyboard with force.

She walks to the door and turns back, eyeing me carefully. “Are you okay?”

I type my code in. “Of course I am,” I snap. “I’m always okay.”

She gives me a stifled smile and disappears out the door.

Two minutes later, Fletcher appears at the door and says, “Hey.”

“Hey, Fletch.” I sigh as I gesture to the chair at my desk.

He walks in and takes a seat.

“How was your date?” I ask as I read through my emails.

“Pretty good.”

My eyes flick to him. “How good?”

“Not that good.”

“Fletcher.” I turn back to my emails. “Ignore my previous advice about stepping up to the challenge. Stay the hell away from women altogether. They’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

He frowns. “Why’s that?”

“They just are.” I bash my keyboard again. “Trust me on this one.”

“What do you want me to do today?” he asks.

“We have meetings across town all afternoon. If you can, get started on the preparation for those,” I reply. “Read through the minutes from the last meetings with these particular clients. I want you to know what’s going on when we get there.”

“Okay, sure thing.” He gets up and walks to the door and turns back to me. “Do you know what’s wrong with Mom?”

My eyes rise to meet his. “Why do you ask?”

“Because she sat on the balcony and stared into space for nine hours straight yesterday.”

My stomach drops. I hate the thought of her upset. “I think she’s missing your dad, buddy.” I sigh.

He nods. “Yeah, probably.” He shrugs. “Okay, I’ll get started.”

“Thanks.”

I go back to my emails and stare at the screen. My mind goes back to Friday night.

There I was, sleeping alone on her cement lounge, pining to hold her in my arms.

And she was missing him.

My stomach twists in regret, because I know that no matter what happens between Claire and me . . .

I will never come first. Everyone will always come before me.

And it shouldn’t upset me . . . but it does.

All my life I’ve been prepared to do a job that not many people could handle.

I take over companies and destroy them—take what isn’t mine.

I hate that it applies to her too.

She will always be Wade Anderson’s wife.

I let myself become too attached to her. From the moment I left Paris, all I have thought about is her. I’ve chased her, I’ve called her, I’ve booked hotel rooms and begged to see her every lunch hour, I’ve gone to her house and put up with shit from her children. And for the first time ever since I’ve been dating, I’ve done everything I could to try to make someone happy.