The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(120)

His eyes search mine. “Em . . .”

A tear escapes onto my cheek, and I wipe it away with a nervous smile. “You know, I watched Magic Mike XXL last night.”

He listens.

“And there was this poignant line that finally made everything make sense to me.”

“Which was?”

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

He frowns, not understanding.

“I finally believe you, Jameson.”

“Believe what?”

“That you’re a coward.”

He clenches his jaw.

“That you’re too scared to love me.”

Our eyes are locked, and an undercurrent of anger runs between us.

“And I deserve someone who knows that I’m worth the risk.”

He clenches his jaw as he watches me.

“You’re just not brave enough to love me.”

“That’s not fair,” he whispers.

“No.” I shake my head softly. “Falling in love with you is what isn’t fair. I never stood a chance . . . you knew that all along. You keep your heart in a tightly sealed Miles-High icebox, only to be looked at.”

His face falls, and I turn and walk from his office. I close the door quietly on my way out, and I stare at it for a moment as I gather the gumption to walk out of his office for the last time. In a strange kind of irony, this has been the best and worst time of my life.

Goodbye, Mr. Miles.

I will always miss you.

Jameson

With a tight chest, I watch Emily leave the office. The door clicks closed, and the walls begin to close in around me.

On autopilot, I pour myself a scotch and walk to the window. I stare out over New York as I fight an overwhelming sense of sadness.

She’s gone.

Knock, knock. Tristan appears and smiles broadly as he sees my drink. “We celebrating already?”

“Seems that way.”

He looks around. “Where’s Emily?”

“She left.” I sip my scotch and feel the warmth of the amber fluid. I stare at it in the glass. “She resigned. Effective immediately.”

“What?” His face falls. “You can’t be serious.”

“It’s for the best.”

“What the fuck? How is it for the best?”

“We were never going to work, Tris; you knew that.” I pause. “There’s always going to be an asshole like Ferrara prepared to step on her to bring me down. I don’t want her dragged through the mud any further.”

“Is that what you’re telling yourself?” he huffs.





I stare out the window.


“I don’t fucking get you, man; you’re madly in love with her. Why are you really letting her go?”

I pause as I contemplate his question. “She deserves better than the life I can give her.”

“Fuck off,” he scoffs. “She couldn’t get a better life than the one you could give her. She would never want for anything.”

“It’s not the money she wants,” I mutter dryly.

“What does she want?”

“Things . . .” I frown as I try to articulate my thoughts. “Things . . . I’m incapable of giving her.”

“Like what?”

“Time.”

He stares at me, lost. “But you committed to Claudia no problem.”

I raise my eyebrows as I sip my scotch.

“What does that mean?”

“I didn’t care if Claudia was waiting at home for me. I didn’t care how much time I spent away from her. I could travel, work, focus . . . I was content to put her fourth or fifth in line, and she never expected anything different.” I exhale heavily. I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. “Claudia was easy.”

“Because you didn’t really love her?”

I shrug, unable to put a label on my feelings.

He puts his hand on my shoulder. “You’re more than a CEO, Jameson. You deserve to be happy too. Why do you think it has to be one or the other?”

I frown, pained.

“Don’t let the love of your life walk away because you’re scared that you’re going to lose her.”

“It’s inevitable, Tristan . . . eventually, she will leave. Her hand will be forced.”

“And then what will you be?” he snaps. “A lonely, stressed-out, alcoholic CEO?”

My eyes rise to meet his.

“Oh, wait.” He gestures to my drink. “That’s already happening.” He shakes his head in disgust. “When I find my woman, I’ll move heaven and hell to keep her.”

“Get out.” I sigh. “You have no idea what you’re fucking talking about.”

“Actually, I’m kind of glad I’m getting to watch you fuck up your life,” he calls as he walks toward the door. “Now I know what not to do.”

I sip my scotch as the door slams hard behind him.

My buzzer on my desk sounds, and I push the button. “Yes, Sammia.”

“The detectives are here to see you, sir.”

I drain my glass . . . good, a distraction. “Thank you, send them in.”

Emily