The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(106)

“Hi,” I reply. I turn and switch on my computer. Great. Now I’m the office gossip as well—can this fucking situation get any worse?

“Yay, you’re here,” Molly’s familiar voice sounds from behind me.

I swing in my chair toward her, and her face falls when she sees mine. “Oh, baby,” she whispers as she puts her arms around me. “Are you all right?”

“He’s blocked my access to his floor,” I whisper against her shoulder.

“What?” she whispers as she fixes my hair. “He’s just . . .” She hesitates. “God, I don’t even know what to say, Em.”

I stare sadly at my computer.

“Let’s just get our work done, and we can brainstorm over lunch.” She smiles as she rubs my shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Over the next half hour, I watch on as everyone arrives for their day, sees me, and then proceeds to whisper to the person next to them.

I’m not only the office gossip; I’m the office slut. The idiot who played upon the CEO with the company douche . . . I’m embarrassed, I’m ashamed, and this is appalling.

It’s four o’clock, and Jameson hasn’t answered any of my calls. I think I’m losing my mind.

Aaron thinks I should give him time. Molly thinks I should be dropped onto his floor by a helicopter . . . either that or bomb the whole floor.

Me . . . I just want to crawl under a rock and hide.

Molly returns from the photocopy room and smiles sweetly over at me.

“What?”

“Say, ‘Thank you, Molly. You’re a lifesaver.’” She smirks.

I frown.

She passes me over a security card, and I stare at it in my hand. “What’s this?”

“It’s Melissa’s card to get to the top floors. I stole it.”

My eyes widen. “You stole her card?” I whisper as I look around guiltily.

“How else are you going to get to see the stupid fuck?” she murmurs.

I smile at her perfect choice of words. “Thanks.” I go to the bathroom and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

I look like shit. I drop my shoulders and inhale deeply as I steel myself. Let’s do this.

I take the elevator to the top floor, with my heart hammering hard in my chest. I have no idea what’s going to be awaiting me, but bring it the fuck on, because I’m getting angry now.

How dare he not even let me explain?

The elevator opens, and Sammia’s face drops as she sees me. “Emily,” she stammers as she stands. “Mr. Miles isn’t here.”

I storm past her and down the hall and open his door in a rush . . . and there he sits behind his desk, his cold, calm persona firmly in place.

Elliot is sitting with him, and his eyes snap up. “How did you get up here?”

My eyes find Jameson’s across the room, and I can see the hurt from here. “Can you give us a moment, please?” I ask.

“No,” Elliot snaps. “Leave now.”

My anger bubbles. “With all due respect, this is none of your business,” I snap.

Elliot narrows his eyes and stands. “How dare you—this is entirely my business!”

“Oh, I dare all right,” I fire back.

Jameson clenches his jaw, and Tristan comes into the office. His step falters when he sees me. “Emily.” He frowns as he looks between the three of us.

“Tristan, I need a moment with Jameson, please,” I ask him hopefully.

“Of course.” He forces a weak smile. “Out, Elliot.”

Elliot glares at me.

“Now,” Tristan repeats.

Elliot and Tristan leave the office, and we are left alone. Jameson stands and goes to the window, turning his back to me.

Oh God, how do I fix this? “Jay,” I whisper as I walk toward him. “Baby, I didn’t do this . . . you have to believe me. I know how this looks.”

He remains silent.

“He kissed me, and I slapped him, and I had no idea that someone took a photo,” I stammer.

Silence. I see his jaw clench from the side as he stares out over New York.

“Are you at least going to talk to me?” I cry. “Why did you block my access to this floor?”

He turns, angered. “Because I don’t trust you.”

I step back, shocked. “What?”

“You heard me. I don’t trust you. Get out.”

My face falls. “Jameson, I know you’re under a lot of pressure.”

“This has nothing to do with the fucking pressure I’m under!” he screams.

I wither. “You can trust me, I promise you.”

“Where did you tell me you were on Monday night, Emily?” he sneers.

I stare at him through tears. “I was trying to find out information.”

“By lying to me?”

I nod. “I know it sounds like . . .”

“Like I can’t trust you.” He turns his back and lifts his chin skyward in defiance. “I have more to worry about at the moment than dealing with a deceitful girlfriend.”

“Jameson,” I whisper.

“We have nothing to further talk about, Emily . . . get out,” he says calmly.

“No,” I plead. “I’m not leaving. I love you.”