The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(119)

His haunted eyes hold mine. “I’m already there.” He turns and walks out the door. It clicks quietly behind him.

I sob out loud into the silence as I hold my poor heart.





Chapter 23

I sit on the carpet cross-legged, with my back rested against the couch, and flick my phone. I watch it spin until it slows in momentum, and I spin it again.

It’s been a weird day today—one of realization and the closing of a chapter in my life.

I’m not crying. I don’t have any tears left for Jameson Miles.

To be honest, I’m just angry, mostly with myself for meeting him last night and being his puppet once again.

Magic Mike XXL is on Netflix, and I’m watching it again. It’s ironic, really, that we started our love affair watching this movie, and now I’m watching it again on our demise.

I’ve been deep in thought. I’ve got some decisions to make—big decisions.

About where I’m going with my life . . . my career and my future at Miles Media.

I already know what I need to do. I glance up to the television, and it’s a campfire scene on the beach, and the men are talking about a woman one of them loved.

“When someone shows themselves to you . . . believe them.”

My chest constricts at the significance of that statement.

For weeks now, I’ve refused to believe that Jameson Miles was coldhearted.

He is, though; no matter how the man I thought I knew presented himself . . . his reality is a lie.

“Jim doesn’t exist,” he said.

My phone rings, and the name Tristan lights up the screen. I frown. “Hello.”

“Oh my God, Em. They think they’ve found it.”

I sit up. “What?”

“Lara Aspin’s computer—there’s evidence on there that it was used to log in to our bank accounts.”

“What?” I whisper, wide eyed.

“We don’t have details yet, but the computer analysts just called to let us know that the history is very promising.”

I smile. “That’s great.”

“I’ll see you in the office in the morning? Come up to the top floor as soon as you get in.”

“Yeah, sure.” I pause on the line. “Hey, thanks for letting me know.”

“See you in the morning,” he says chirpily down the line.

I hang up and, with a sad smile, stare into space for a moment. I get up and open my laptop at the kitchen table, and I begin to type.

I believe you, Jameson . . . I finally believe you.

“Oh my God, Em, did you hear?” Aaron smiles happily as he spins on his chair toward me.

I’ve just arrived at work for the morning and put my handbag down onto the desk. “What?”

“The headlines today say that they have made an arrest over the embezzlement.”

“Really?” I fake a smile. “That’s great.” I look around. “Is Moll here yet?”

“No, she’ll be here soon.” He turns on his computer.

“Okay, I’ll be back in a moment.” I take the envelope from my bag and swipe my card to get to the roof. Funnily enough, it works today.

The doors open, and Sammia smiles broadly as if she’s happy to see me. “Good morning, Emily.”

“Hi.” I look around. “Is Tristan here?”

“Yes, he’s in Jameson’s office. Just go through.”

My stomach drops. “Okay, thank you.” I walk across the tiles and make a mental note of the sound. My shoes don’t click on the tiles anymore, and I think back to a time when they did. I look out over the view and take a picture in my mind. I do love this building—so many exciting memories of when I started coming up to this floor. I knock on the door and hear Jameson’s strong voice. “Come in.”

Here we go.

I swallow my nerves and open the door, and Tristan’s face lights up. “Here she is. The hero of the day.”

“Hi.” My eyes find Jameson’s across the room.

“Hi.” He dips his head as if ashamed.

“The evidence is all on the computer, Em.” Tristan beams. “You did it; you solved the case. I don’t know why you kept following her, but boy, am I glad that you did.”

“Happy I could help.”

“Thank you.” Jameson frowns as if pained. “I’m very grateful for your dedication to solving the case.”

Tristan looks between us and must sense the tension between us. “I’m going to leave you two alone. We need to celebrate . . . tonight,” he calls as he rushes from the room in an excited flurry. It must be such a relief to him to have the case against Jameson coming to an end.

I close my eyes. Damn it, just get this over with. I hand Jameson the envelope, and he stares at it in his hand. “What’s this?” he asks.

“My letter of resignation.”

He frowns as his eyes hold mine. “No, Em.” He shakes his head. “I can’t accept this.”

Emotion overwhelms me, and I blink so that I don’t cry. “I can’t work here, Jameson.”

“You love Miles Media—working here was your dream,” he whispers.

“No. You’re wrong. I loved you . . . and you were my dream. I’ve taken a position with Athena, the place I did my internships. I start next Monday.”