The Casanova (The Miles High Club #3)(98)

“Okay.” I smile as I think of another. “If you had the chance to sleep with me or Elliot Miles, who would you choose?”

He chuckles and throws his arm around me. “No contest.” He kisses me on the forehead. “You.”

I smile. “Why?”

“Well, because you are totally fucking hot.”

“And?”

“I’m pretty sure Elliot Miles isn’t going to take it, which means I would have to, and to be honest I think he’s a little too much man meat than I could handle. I’m not entirely sure I would survive it.”

I burst out laughing. “You’re right, he is a whole lot of man meat. Even for me.”

At 7 p.m. the Bentley pulls into the driveway at Enchanted, behind a truck. We’re just getting home from work and are exhausted.

No sleep last night has really taken its toll.

Andrew parks the car and it’s then I see the herd of goats in a pen behind the truck. “What’s going on?”

Elliot gets out and smiles at the men. “Thank you for coming,” he says. “I’ll go get him.”

Huh?

Elliot disappears, and a few minutes later returns with Billy on a rope leash.

“As you requested, Mr. Miles, these are the three-year-old females that we have.”

What in the world?

Elliot lets Billy into the pen with the goats. “Pick one,” he instructs him.

Billy’s little tail begins to wag and he sniffs all of the goats.

Oh my God . . . Elliot had female goats brought here so that Billy could choose his own mate.

My heart constricts as another piece of the Elliot Miles puzzle clicks into place.

The rest of the world has their opinion of my man—hell, I know it well, I used to share it. But now, I really can see him. Here he is, the epitome of power, in his ten-thousand-dollar suit . . . worrying about his farm animal’s feelings.

With a lot of bleats and sniffing, Billy stays close to one goat. She’s a pale color and has a pretty face. She seems to like him too.

Elliot stands back, his arms folded, and eventually he speaks. “We’ll take that one.” He ties the rope around her neck and leads her into the paddock and Billy runs after them.

He turns to the men in the truck. “Thank you, I appreciate it. Send me the bill.”

The men begin to herd the goats back onto the truck.

That just may be the sweetest thing I ever saw.

I get out of the car and move to go inside, and as I walk up the stairs I glance back to see Elliot and his two goats in the distance, and a smile crosses my face.

Casanova Miles, goat-matchmaker extraordinaire.

“Do you have everything?”

“Uh-huh.”

Elliot wheels my suitcase out of the front door.

“Oh, I forgot my computer.” I take the stairs two at a time. “I won’t be a moment.”

“Hurry up. Why do you always forget something?” he calls as he disappears to join Andrew.

We leave for New York today and I’m excited and nervous and wound up and I hardly slept last night for overthinking every little thing. I know I shouldn’t be nervous, but I can’t help it, I am.

New York is Miles Media territory and I really feel like this is a make-or-break week for us.

I take one last look in the mirror and swallow the lump in my throat.

May the gods be with me.

Twelve hours later, the doorman opens the door to Elliot’s apartment in New York and the air leaves my lungs.

Wall-to-wall glass with the most spectacular view of a city I have ever seen.

It’s huge, grand, and super modern, and I’m instantly reminded who I’m with.

A Miles Media mogul.

Son to one of the most powerful men in the world.

It’s easy to forget who I’m with when he’s screaming at goats in his underpants.

But here . . .

The power that emanates out of him, the way the staff downstairs were scrambling when they saw him, this apartment.

His life.

It makes the time we spend together seem so insignificant, or maybe it’s just me that feels insignificant.

I knew coming here with him would throw me, to take a peek at the life he lives.

The life he left.

I walk through his apartment with my heart in my throat; he stays silent as he watches me.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper nervously.

I have never felt so out of place as I do here.

He presses his lips together as if stopping himself from saying something.

“Would you like a drink, sweetheart?”

I nod.

“Wine?”

“Tequila.”

He chuckles, clearly amused. “Tequila, coming right up.”

The vibration of Elliot’s phone buzzing on the bedside table wakes us and he frowns.

“Elliot,” I whisper. “Your phone.”

“Go away,” he mutters.

“Something might be wrong at home.”

“Huh?” He jumps up and answers it.

“Happy birthday,” I hear a voice say as clear as day.

I sit up. What? It’s his birthday?

“Fuck off, Tris, it’s too early for this shit,” he grumbles sleepily as he rubs his eyes.

“What are you doing?” I hear the voice ask.