The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(107)

He turns, and his cold eyes hold mine. “Did you practice that speech?”

My heart drops . . . oh, he’s so hurt.

“Jay . . .”

“If you won’t leave . . . I will.” He strides toward the door, and it closes quietly behind him.

I close my eyes in the silence and inhale through my shaking chest.

Did he just end us?

This can’t be happening.

It’s six o’clock, and I’m sitting at the café across the street from Miles Media. I’m watching the media circus gather as they wait for Jameson to leave the building.

This embezzlement scandal is news . . . big news, and while the rest of the world is hanging on to the story, I’ve been on the edge of tears all day.

I don’t know what to do or how to reach him. He’s put his defenses up, and with everything else going on for him at the moment, I don’t know how hard I can push without him completely losing it.

I don’t want to stress him out further, but he needs me more than ever at the moment. I put my head into my hands. Why the hell did I go and meet Jake?

What the fuck was I thinking? How was that ever a good idea?

I go over that night in my head, and I can hear myself lying straight out to Jameson when I got home . . . why? At the time, I thought I was protecting him. I know better now. This is one big mess, and I have no idea how to fix it. My mind goes to the money that has been stolen from the accounts. They all think it’s Ferrara, but why would Ferrara, a man who already makes billions of dollars a year, risk it all to take down a competitor? It just doesn’t make sense to me.

In my eyes, the person who has stolen the millions needs the millions.

But who is it, and how the hell did they get access to Jameson’s banking details?

There’s more to this case than meets the eye.

Molly, Aaron, and I are having a crisis breakfast meeting tomorrow, and hopefully together we can brainstorm a plan of action. I hear a flurry of excitement, and I look up to see Jameson walk from the building, flanked by security as the reporters clamber around him, shouting his name and clicking photos. He keeps his head down and doesn’t comment and then climbs into the back of his limo.

It pulls out from the curb and whisks him away into the night . . . and further away from me.

An overwhelming sadness seeps into my bones.

How can I help him?

“Okay, so here are the facts,” Molly states. We’re at breakfast trying to dissect my mess of a life. I’m more zombie than human, having not slept for two nights. I’m on my second coffee, and it’s seven o’clock. “You lied to Jameson about where you were going and went out to dinner with Jake,” Molly says.

I roll my eyes.

“You got home and then lied again to Jameson about where you had been.”

I blow out a deep breath. “Correct.”

“Now,” she continues, “Jameson’s whole life is falling apart, and he is being accused of a crime that he didn’t do.”

“Yes,” I snap before I sip my coffee.

“The entire world is watching, and you are public enemy number one.”

“How is this fucking helping me?” I stammer.

Aaron and Molly make eye contact across the table. “This doesn’t look good,” Aaron says.

“I know.” I put my head into my hands. “I don’t know how to help him. I’ve completely screwed everything up. I’m the villain in this story, and I want to be the hero.”

Silence falls across the table as we sip our coffees.

Aarons eyes light up. “I’ve got it.”

“Huh?”

“I know how you could be the hero.”

I roll my eyes. “How?”

“Solve the case . . . you’re a reporter; you’ve done this shit before.”

I sit up, suddenly interested.

“Those private investigators are obviously fucking useless; they are doing nothing.”

“That’s true.” I frown. “But I don’t know anything about computers. Where would I even start trying to track those transfers?”

“I don’t know, but finding out where that money has gone yourself does seem like the only way you are getting Jameson out of this.” Molly shrugs. “We could help?”

I think about it for a moment. Why couldn’t I do this myself? I’ve cracked cases before—big cases too.

“You know what—you’re right.” I feel a fire start in my stomach. “I am going to find out who’s doing this.”

Molly and Aaron smile.

“And when I do”—I punch my hand into my fist—“they will wish they were fucking dead for messing with my man.”

“Attagirl.” Molly smiles. She and Aaron high-five each other.

I smile as I sip my coffee, and for the first time in days, I feel hopeful. I hold my coffee cup up, and we all clink cups. “To Operation Hero.”

Jameson

I run down the street as fast as I can, my mind a clouded fog. With every step that I run . . . the better I feel. It’s been three days since I’ve seen her . . . three days incarcerated in hell.

I can’t see her. I can’t put myself in that position ever again.

Nobody is worth feeling this bad for . . . nobody.