The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(42)

I walk in and close the door behind me. “I saw the story.”

“And?”

“Well . . . why didn’t you tell me? It was my story. I thought you would have at least told me.”

“Ms. Foster.” He clenches his jaw as if I’m a huge annoyance. “I don’t have time to play your juvenile games.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m very busy.” He goes back to typing.

I stare at him for a moment. What?

“Close the door on your way out, please.”

The fucking nerve of this man. He sleeps with me while he’s seeing someone else and then has the audacity to treat me like this. Something snaps deep inside me. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Here we go,” he mutters under his breath.

“What?” I cry. “Here we go? Are you fucking serious?”

He rests his chin on his hand as he glares at me.

“What was last night? Huh?” I cry. Alarm bells start screaming around me. This is the worst thing I could possibly do, but I’ve lost all control. “You’re seeing someone else?” I stammer. “Who’s Chloe, Jameson?”

His eyebrow rises, and he stands and walks toward the door. “Out.”

“What?” I snap in disbelief. “You’re kicking me out?”

“What I’m doing is being professional. I suggest you do the same thing.” He stands over me.

“You know what?” I whisper up at him through tears of rage. “You can go fuck yourself.”

He glares at me. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Chloe is my masseuse. I had an appointment with her last night that I wasn’t home for. Those text messages came through hours after she sent them.”

I stare at him as my heart hammers in my chest.

“Do not check my fucking phone ever again.” He sneers as he turns his back on me and goes and sits back at his desk.

I stare at him through tears. I feel . . . used. “I thought we had something.”

“So did I.” His cold eyes hold mine. “But you fucked that up this morning when you left like a two-year-old.” He turns back to his computer.

“Do you sleep with your masseuse?”

His eyes come to mine. “That is none of your business. Now get out.”





Chapter 9

I storm out of his office and down the hall, and I fall into the ladies’ room. I burst into the stall, sit down, and put my head into my hands.

Embarrassment fills me. I just completely lost control and made a fool of myself. You stupid fucking idiot.

My heartbeat sounds through my body, and I’m so angry right now that I can’t even see straight. His words come back to me: But you fucked that up this morning when you left like a two-year-old.

God.

Angry tears stream down my face, and I wipe them away as quickly as they appear.

Stop crying, you baby. I’m not even upset—I’m angry. Now I have to get off this floor without anyone seeing me.

Why am I fucking crying?

I know why. Because I’m sleep deprived, and I deserve to be treated better, that’s why. The fucking asshole. Who the hell does he think he is?

The longer I’m in here, the worse it is. I wash my face, dry my eyes, and drop my shoulders as I steel myself to walk past reception.

I’m fine, fine . . . totally fine. Jameson Miles does not have the power to affect me at all. I open the bathroom door and walk out, and Tristan comes around the corner. His face falls when he sees me. “Emily?” He frowns. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course.” I storm past him.

“He’s had a bad day,” he calls after me, and my eyes fill with tears anew.

Yeah, well . . . so have I.

“Where have you been?” Molly asks on my arrival back to my desk.

“I went and saw Ricardo,” I lie.

“So where do you want to go tonight?”

“Oh.” I wince. I can’t think of anything worse. “I’m sorry, guys. I’m going to bail. I need to sleep.”

“But we want to hear all the juicy details.”

“Oh.” My heart sinks. I don’t want them to know that I’m the world’s biggest loser. “We didn’t meet up last night. He pulled out.”

“What?” Aaron frowns.

“Whatever. I don’t care.” I shrug, acting casual. I wish I hadn’t told them anything at all about him now.

“Yeah, that’s okay. I need to save money anyway.” Aaron sighs as he packs up his computer.

“You coming?” Molly asks.

“I’m just going to finish this up.” I open my computer back up. The last thing I want to do is give the bastard a reason to fire me. I finish my task, and finally, an hour later, I close my computer and head downstairs.

I walk through the front doors and glance up to see the black limo parked at the curb.

Shit.

I look around nervously. Is he in there? Damn it, I don’t want to see him. I power walk across the street to the safe haven of the café. I order a drink and take a seat at the window.

Great. I drag my hand down my face. Seriously, what next? This is the last thing I need.