The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(73)

Molly shakes her head as she drives. “So . . . let me get this straight, Michael. You’re going out with Madam Whorebag tonight, and you go to all this trouble to satisfy whoever she is in bed?”

He looks over at her and clenches his jaw as if he knows what’s coming next.

“You couldn’t even be bothered to have sex with me at all, Michael!” she screams. “How the hell do you think that makes me feel?”

“Because you didn’t fucking like it,” he fires back.

“Because I got two fucking pumps.”

My eyes widen. Oh jeez. I so don’t want to be here right now. I slump into my seat to try to hide.

“Why do you think I have to take this shit? Huh?” he yells. “Because I knew what a fucking disappointment I was to you.”

Molly’s eyes widen in rage. “You were never a disappointment. You were fucking lazy and didn’t care.”

“I did so care!” he screams. “Losing you is the biggest regret of my life.”

I put my head into my hands. I wonder if they would notice if I dived out of the moving car.

Molly glares at him, and the car coasts to one side of the highway. I wince. “Eyes on the road, Moll,” I whisper. She straightens the car.

“So why didn’t you call her to come and get you tonight, huh?”

“Because I wouldn’t tell her anything about me.” He sighs as he leans his head onto his hand, clearly upset.

“Why not?” she yells.

“Because she’s not you!”

The car falls silent, and my eyes fill with tears. He still loves her.

Oh . . . this is so sad.

Moments later we pull into the hospital and help him out of the car and into the reception room, and Molly goes up to the desk. “My husband needs to see somebody, please.”

“What’s the problem?” the nurse asks.

She drops her shoulders as she steels herself to say it out loud. “I accidentally gave him too much Viagra.”

Michael takes her hand in a silent thank-you, and I smile softly.

She’s covering for him to save him the embarrassment.

“Oh.” The nurse’s face falls, and she gets a wheelchair. With Molly walking beside him, he is wheeled down the corridor.

I take a seat and inhale deeply as my faith in the human race is restored.

I learned a lesson tonight—love comes in all shapes and sizes.

Jameson

I tap the whiteboard in front of me as I stand and go through our discussion topics. “This projection here is based on the current climate. However, that may change when the election goes through.”

Buzz. My phone dances across the table, and I look up at the men sitting around the board table. Damn it, just let it ring out. Elliot glances down at my phone at the same time to see the caller ID.

FB.

But I want to hear her voice; two minutes won’t hurt. “I have to take this call. Elliot, can you go through the advertising strategy for next month, please, while I do?”

“Sure thing.” Elliot stands and takes over, and I answer the call and leave the room and head into Christopher’s office next door.

“Hello.”

“Hi.” Emily’s happy voice beams down the phone line.

“Hi.” I find myself smiling stupidly as I stand at the window overlooking London.

“Did I interrupt anything?” she asks.

I smirk. Only a meeting with twelve management staff. “No, not at all.”

“I called to tell you I bought new sneakers.”

I smile. “You did?”

“Uh-huh, they’re motorized, so I will be whipping your ass on park runs from here on in. Just thought I should warn you.”

God . . . she’s so refreshingly normal. When has a woman ever called me to tell me she bought new sneakers? “I highly doubt that.”

“Oh hell, you won’t believe what happened last night,” she continues. “Molly’s ex-husband took two Viagra, maybe three, and passed out while he was driving because he had no blood left in his body because it was all in his dick, so we had to take him to the ER.”

I laugh out loud. “What the hell? Is that a thing?”

“Yes, it’s a thing. Who knew?”

I widen my eyes. Jesus. “I’ll have to stop taking it, then,” I tease.

She laughs. “No, it’s okay. I completely know what to do now. Passing out is well worth it. You stay on that shit—we just need to tourniquet it. I’ve got us covered.”

We both laugh and then fall silent.

“Three days,” I murmur.

“Three days,” she repeats.

God, I’ve never been so anxious to get home in my life.

“What are you doing now?” I ask.

“I’m about to put a face mask on and take a bath with cut-up cucumber over my eyes. You’re missing out on a real visual sensation over here.”

“No doubt.” I smile. This woman is so naturally beautiful. She doesn’t try to be something she’s not. I love that about her.

I love a lot of things about her . . .

“So you’ve added cucumbers to your beauty regimen now?” I ask.

“Yeah, it’s supposed to make you less puffy.”