The Casanova (The Miles High Club #3)(42)

“I didn’t know if he was serious.” I place the flowers on my dressing table and smile as I reposition them.

“Well . . . I’m thinking he was serious, Kate. Call him, go over there right now, and thank him in the flesh.”

I burst out laughing. “He’s in New York, you idiot.”

“He’s in New York and is sending you flowers back home?” he shrieks. “Oh . . . he’s got it bad.” He snatches the card from me and reads it out loud.

Kate,

Merry Christmas,

Elliot

x

“Oh, merry fucking Christmas to you too, hot stuff,” he says. “He could have at least written ‘love’ on the card, don’t you think? It’s very generic.”

I snatch the card back from him. Excitement bubbles in my stomach as I stare at the flowers. I imagine Elliot ordering what to write on the card. “I need to call him and say thank you.”

“Yes.” Daniel smiles as he grabs my shoulders and turns me toward the door. “Yes, do it now. Come downstairs so I can listen.”

“No.” I laugh. “I’m doing it in private tonight after you leave.”

Daniel puts his arm around me as we walk toward the stairs and he kisses my temple. “Seems Elliot Miles has some taste after all.”

I pace back and forth with my phone in my hand. It’s 8 p.m. on Christmas Eve and I have to call him.

I’m nervous as hell and my heart is beating hard and fast in my chest.

He called me years ago at a conference looking for a report, and I saved his number so I knew not to answer if he ever called me again. Never in a million years did I think I would be calling to thank him for flowers.

What do I say?

Thank you for the flowers, they’re beautiful . . . then what? Hopefully he will lead the conversation from there.

I close my eyes as I steel myself.

I have to call, it’s rude not to thank him.

Right.

Just do it.

Oh hell. I put my hand over my stomach to try and calm myself. I feel like I’m about to throw up.

My finger hovers over his name . . . shit. I close my eyes and press call.

I pace back and forth as it rings. Maybe he’s busy. I mean, it’s Christmas Eve, of course he’s busy.

“Hello,” his deep voice answers.

Oh fuck.

“Elliot, hi. It’s Kate.”

“Hello Kate.” There is chatter in the background. “Let me go somewhere quiet so I can hear you.” I hear him walk and then a door close. “That’s better.”

I screw up my face. “Thank you for the flowers, they’re beautiful.”

“Like you.”

I smile goofily. “Are you always so smooth?”

He chuckles. “I do my best.”

We fall silent.

“What are you up to?” he asks.

“Nothing much, just wrapping presents. You?”

“I’m at a cocktail party at my parents’ house.”

I imagine the rich and famous people that he would mix with; his life and mine are complete opposites.

“I won’t keep you, I’ll let you get back to the party,” I whisper.

“No rush, I’d rather talk to you. These people are dull.”

I smile as I pace back and forth, so nervous that I can’t stand still.

“What are you doing for Christmas Day tomorrow?” he asks.

“My brother and sister are coming over, what about you?”

“Just at my parents’ house in the Hamptons. Tristan cooks.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he fancies himself as a bit of a chef. He’s done it since he was about eighteen; the meals have thankfully gotten a lot better since then.”

I smile as I imagine the gorgeous Tristan Miles in an apron.

“Ten days until I see you,” he whispers.

What?

My heart somersaults in my chest. “I can’t wait,” I whisper back.

We fall silent again.

“Go back to your party.” I smile.

“I don’t want to.”

Oh . . . he’s just so . . .

“You’ve made my day,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

I close my eyes as excitement thrums through my body.

Is this really happening?

“Merry Christmas, Kate Landon,” he whispers in his deep, sexy voice.

I smile broadly. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Miles.”

We hang on the line for longer than we should, neither of us wanting to hang up.

Eventually the phone clicks as he ends the call and I throw it onto the bed and twirl on the spot in glee.

Holy fucking shit.

We sit around the Christmas table and eat in silence.

The food is delicious, the carols are on in the background.

But it’s hard—there are two people who should be here. Every year I hope this is the last bad one; every year I’m sadly disappointed.

It’s all I can do not to run up to my room and cry on my bed. I don’t want to do Christmas if it makes me feel this empty.

It just isn’t fair.