The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(79)

Two hours later, I pull into the underground parking lot of Jameson’s building. I know why he takes the damn limo—finding a parking spot in this city is insane. In the end, I made Molly sit in the car in the parking lot and wait for me while I grabbed what I needed, and then I drove her home. I was petrified someone was going to steal it. Alan is waiting, and he guides me into the garage, where I park.

“Thank you.” I smile as I get the groceries out of the trunk. “This is a poser car,” I stammer.

He smirks as he takes the bags from me, and we begin walking to the elevator.

“Did you lock the car, Emily?” he reminds me.

“Oh yeah.” I turn and hold the remote up, and it blips as it locks. I giggle. “Oops.”

We get into the elevator, and he stays silent and looking straight ahead.

“How long have you worked for Jameson?” I ask.

“Ten years.”

“Oh.” I frown. “That’s a long time.”

He smiles. “Yes, he’s very good to me.”

We get to the top, and Alan opens the door and walks in and puts the groceries on the counter. “Do you need anything?” he asks. “Mr. Miles is still in his meeting. He will be at least another half an hour.”

My eyes hold his, and I want to ask him a million questions about the enigmatic Mr. Miles. “Do you speak to him often throughout the day?” I ask.

“No.” He smiles at the suggestion. “I am in constant contact with his PA.”

“Oh.”

“His masseuse is expected here at seven.” He glances at his watch. “Would you like me to wait for her?”

“Her?” I frown.

“Oh.” He corrects himself. “It’s a him now, isn’t it?”

Something tells me that Alan knows a lot more about Mr. Miles than he makes out.

“No, I’m fine. I’ll let him in.” I fake a smile. “Thank you.” I show him to the door.

“Call me if you need anything.” He smiles.

“Okay, thanks.”

I walk back to the kitchen and begin to put the groceries away, and the doorbell chimes. “Hello,” I say as I push the intercom.

“Hello, I’m here for the massage.”

“Come up.”

I open the door and wait for him to arrive. “Hello.” He smiles. “Same room as last time?”

“Yes, please.”

He takes off down the hallway to set up.

The door clicks open, and Jameson comes into view. Every time I see him in a suit, I am reminded of exactly who he is. Power personified.

“Hello.” He smiles as he takes me into his arms.

“Hi.” His lips dust mine, and I melt into his touch. “Your car is ridiculous.” I smile.

He chuckles as he takes my jaw in his hand; then he kisses me deeper, and my hands go around his broad neck.

The intercom sounds again.

“For God’s sake, this place is like an airport,” I whisper, annoyed that my kiss is being interrupted.

“Oh, that’s the stylists with your dresses,” he says.

“Your masseuse is set up in the end room.”

He kisses me again. “Let them in, and choose what you want.”

“Jay,” I whisper as my eyes search his. This change in him is confusing me.

“Get a few.” He grabs my behind. “I’m going to take a quick shower.” He disappears up the hall, and I open the front door.

My face falls when I see the two gorgeous women pushing a huge garment rack of gorgeous dresses. “Hello.” One is tall with long dark hair, and the other is blonde and beautiful. Both have that trendy, confident vibe.

“Hello, Mr. Miles ordered some dresses,” the blonde says. “I’m Celeste, and this is Saba.”

“Yes, please come in,” I whisper, embarrassed. “I’m Emily.” We shake hands.

God, don’t tell me they are going to watch me try this shit on? How mortifying. “Just in here.” I show them to the living area, and they start to unpack shoes and accessories as I watch awkwardly. This seems all very over the top.

“Back in a moment.” I smile.

I turn and take off up to the bedroom, and I burst into the bathroom to find Jay washing under the shower. “What the hell is going on?” I whisper in a panic.

“What?” He frowns, totally oblivious.

“Two Penthouse Pets are out there with a load of dresses that are way too exotic for me, and I’m driving around in a fucking space machine, and you’re saying I’m moving in, and I’m freaking the fucking hell out, Jameson,” I blurt out in a rush.

He smirks as he turns the taps off. “Just go out there, and pick what you like, Emily. Don’t overthink this.”

“Don’t overthink this,” I whisper. “It’s overthunk already.”

“Overthunk isn’t a word,” he says casually as he dries himself.

“Oh my God,” I stammer in a fluster at his lack of care, and I storm back out to the stylists. “Sorry,” I say as I stand next to the rack of clothes. I twist my fingers nervously in front of me.

“Tell me about your style.” The blonde smiles. “What makes you pop?”