The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(63)

“Well, she can’t have Tristan.” I tut as I turn on my computer. “He’s way too nice for her.” I shrug. “He’s taken, anyway, I think.”

We begin to work, and Aaron’s phone rings. “It’s Paul,” he stammers in a panic.

“Decline,” I say without looking up.

“But I want to see what he has to say.” He picks up the phone, and Molly snatches it from him and hits decline.

“He says ‘fuck me on Grindr’ to the whole world. Will you stop being pathetic? Kick this asshole to the curb,” she snaps.

Aaron’s shoulders slump sadly.

I rub his back in sympathy. “It will get easier, babe.”

“Yeah, when we set fire to his sleazy ball sack,” Molly whispers angrily.

I giggle. “Set fire to his sleazy ball sack—you speak with such articulation, Moll.”

“I know, right? This is why I’m a reporter.” She stands. “I’m going to make us coffee. You both want one?”

“Uh-huh.”

Aaron blows out a deflated breath. “Can you find us some cake too? Surely it’s somebody’s birthday around here.”

Molly looks around. “Yep, where’s that Uber guy when we need him?” Her eyes come to me. “Oh my God, was that cheesecake last week sent from Jameson?”

I smile broadly.

Aaron puts his head down and pretends to hit it on the desk. “He even sends cheesecakes. The man is a for real fucking god.”

Buzz goes my door buzzer. “Hello.” I smile.

“Hello, Ms. Foster. This is Alan, Mr. Miles’s driver.”

My face falls. “Oh. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, Mr. Miles asked me to collect you and take you to his apartment. He’s been delayed on a conference call and will be joining you shortly.”

“Oh, okay. I’m on my way.” I grab my overnight bag that I packed, and with one last look around my apartment, I head downstairs.

I walk out onto the curb to see the driver in his customary black suit standing next to the limo. “Hello,” I say nervously as I approach him.

“Hello.”

“I’m Emily.” I hold out my hand, embarrassed that I haven’t introduced myself before now.

“I’m Alan.” He smiles warmly as we shake hands. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” He opens the door, and I climb into the back of the car. He closes the door, and we drive through the New York night. This doesn’t seem real—me sitting in the back of a limo being driven to Jameson’s apartment by his driver.

We get to his building, and he stops in the pull-up area and opens the door. “I’ll take you up.” He goes to take my bag from me.

“It’s okay. I’ve got it. Thank you anyway.”

He frowns. I see his disappointment.

“Unless you want to carry it,” I splutter.

“Thank you.” He smiles as he takes it from me. “I would prefer to.”

Jeez. He got offended that I wanted to carry my own bag. What is this alternate universe?

We get into the swanky elevator, and the attendant already knows what floor to take me to. He must know Alan.

I hold my breath, nervous as we ride in silence. We get to the floor, and I tentatively follow Alan as he opens the door. “Mr. Miles shouldn’t be long. He’s still at the office. His call is going longer than he expected.”

“Thank you.” I smile.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“No, all good.”

With a courteous nod, he closes the door and leaves me alone. I turn to see the lamps strategically on, creating a breathtaking canvas to the view. The twinkling lights over New York are nothing short of spectacular. I take my phone out and snap some pictures. I couldn’t be such a fangirl when he is here.

I walk into the bedroom and put my bag into the empty walk-in closet, and then I walk into his. Suits and business shirts are strategically lined up, and there are rows and rows of expensive polished shoes.

I run my hand over the sleeves of the suits as I look around. I open the top drawer of the dresser, and I smile at his over-the-top organization. His ties are all rolled and displayed as if this is a luxury men’s boutique. Watches . . . I count them. Ten expensive watches are lined up. And then I see something rolled up next to his watches. My heart stops when I see the initials.

E.F.

My scarf.

He kept it.

Not only did he keep it, but it’s also with his special things. I pick it up and hold it in my hands as I stare at it. My eyes close, and I inhale deeply; the faint smell of my perfume still lingers.

I didn’t imagine it back then. He was right there with me. I smile broadly and put the scarf back where it was and carefully close the drawer.

I don’t know what to do with this information, but I’m pretty damn pleased with my find. My heart is racing.

He kept it.

I walk through the apartment as I look around. I run my hand over the heavy marble countertops in the kitchen and smile at the sheer luxury of the place.

I wonder if he has eaten.

I open the fridge, but it’s surprisingly sparse. There is chicken and a few ingredients. I open the pantry and find some other things. I glance at the wine fridge and frown—it’s full.