The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(41)

I imagine Jameson Miles would have that with every woman he’s with. He’s that kind of guy with that kind of a dick.

Ugh. I take my coffee and make the depressing walk to the office. I’m not thinking about him today, and I’m most definitely not telling him that I know about Chloe.

Whoever Chloe is.

All I know is that if she’s texting him with where-are-you messages in the middle of the night, something’s going on, and he’s all hers. She can have him.

I may be a lot of things, but a man stealer I’m not.

Douchebag. How dare he use me for sex? The bitter taste of betrayal lines my mouth; I can act brave all I want, but the truth is I’m upset. Last night was perfect—more than perfect—and then he had to go and wreck it.

I thought I spent the night with Jim, but instead I got the sleazebag Jameson Miles version. How didn’t I see it?

I trudge into the building and up to my floor, and I fall into my seat in disgust. “Hi,” I say.

“Hey.” Aaron spins on his chair toward me. “How did it go?”

I glance up at the camera above. Is he watching? “Good,” I lie. “I’ll tell you about it tonight. We are drinking.”

“Drinking?”

“Everything we see.”

His face falls. “Oh . . . it went that kind of good.”

“Precisely,” I mutter flatly.

“What’s going on around here today?” Aaron whispers.

“What do you mean?” I look up from my computer.

“Tristan is buzzing around, and Jameson has been down to the floor already.”

“What time is it?” I glance at my watch. “It’s only eight forty-five. They are never down here at this hour, if at all.”

“I know.”

“Hmm.” I watch Tristan as he talks to the floor manager, and he seems to have a stern face on. “Do you think something’s wrong?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Did you piss Mr. J off last night?”

I smirk.

“Maybe he’s upstairs throwing a tantrum.”

“I’m probably about to get fired.” I smile happily as I open my computer. Good, I hope he’s pissed.

Two hours later, I glance up and see two men I haven’t seen before. “Who are they?” I whisper.

Molly looks up, and her face falls. “Oh Lord have mercy . . . thank you, God.”

“Huh?” I frown.

“That’s Elliot and Christopher Miles. They’ve flown in from the UK. Must be a board meeting or something going on this week.”

My eyes widen. “Jameson’s brothers?”

She smiles dreamily as she watches them. “Uh-huh.” She looks over to Aaron, who is also openly staring. “I call Elliot.”

“Good, because I call Christopher,” he whispers right back.

“Can you please set us up on a brother date?” she whispers.

“Yes, and we need to swing,” Aaron replies. “Because I want all four. I can’t choose.”

“Can you imagine?” Molly murmurs. “Makes me blush just thinking of it.” She fans her face with her manila folder as her eyes stay glued to the brothers. “Imagine all of them in bed together . . . taking turns with your body.”

I roll my eyes in disgust. “The Miles brothers are overrated, if you ask me.”

They’re not, though. I’m lying through my teeth. All with dark hair, tall, and built . . . square jaws in their designer playboy suits. Everything about the four of them screams power and gorgeousness. Assholes.

Jameson hasn’t been to see me today. I haven’t heard from him, and if the truth be known, he’s probably upstairs making out on his office couch with Chloe as we speak.

Ugh. I’m off all men. How could I have been so stupid?

4:30 p.m.

“Oh my God, did you see the story in the Gazette?” Molly says.

“No, what?”

“The Red Ribbon Killer. I don’t even feel safe on the subway tonight.”

My eyes flick to her. “What?”

“Yeah, it’s one of their lead stories today. I was reading it online just now.”

“Are you kidding me?” I click onto their website and search for the story, and sure enough, the story comes up, almost word for word . . . my words.

I put my hand over my mouth in horror as I read it.

Oh my God. That’s why they’re all here today; they’re in damage control.

I stare at the story on my computer. It’s there in black and white, but I can’t actually believe it. I look at all the people in the office acting calm and professional. Who is it?

Thieving bastard.

“I’ve got to go and see someone. Back in a minute.” I practically run to the elevator and take it to the top floor. Why didn’t he say anything to me?

“Hello,” I say as I brush through reception.

“Excuse me, Emily,” the receptionist calls. “He’s not taking visitors right now.”

“Whatever.” I storm through to Jameson’s office, and I knock on the door.

“Yes?” he barks.

I open the door to find him sitting behind his large desk; blue eyes rise to meet mine. “What is it?” he asks coldly.