The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(85)

He gives me a sexy wink and slings his arm around the back of my chair. “Where’s Tris?” he asks casually as he looks around the room.

“On his way,” his father replies.

I look around at all the people filling the ballroom. The who’s who are here—not that I remember any of their names. I’m only going on what Molly and Aaron prepped me with today. Two of the managers I’ve seen upstairs on the top floor arrive with their dates. “Hello.” They all shake hands, and then the men frown when they see me.

“Have you met Emily, my girlfriend?” Jameson asks them.

“Oh yes.” They smile in an over-the-top way. “Hello, Emily,” the four of them splutter before shaking my hand and sitting down at our table.

Jameson sits next to me, and his father is on the other side of him, then his mother, then the other four. Two seats are to my left—must be for Tristan.

“Hello,” Tristan says happily from behind me. I turn and see that the blonde woman is with him.

“Hello,” everyone calls.

“Emily, this is Melina,” Tristan introduces me.

“Hello.” I shake her hand.

“Hello.” She smiles as she takes a seat beside me and looks around the table. “I just couldn’t decide what to wear tonight. How is everyone?”

The table instantly falls into chatter.

She’s confident and beautiful, and she looks like a high-fashion model rather than a . . . what does she do again?

I glance over to see Jameson and his father subtly roll their eyes at each other. Hmm, what’s that about?

Tristan begins to talk to a man at the table next to us and laughs out loud. He really is very friendly.

Melina takes out her phone and pulls a duck mouth and takes a selfie. She leans toward me. “Get in,” she says. “I’ll tag you.”

I pull out of her grip and lean away. “No thank you.” I smile. “I don’t do social media.”

“What?” she gasps as she looks me up and down in disgust. “Why on earth not? What’s wrong with you?”

Okay . . . this woman’s a rude pig.

“I don’t like social media, that’s all.” I shrug.

“What’s not to like?” She keeps taking her own photo.

I stare at her deadpan. “A misrepresentation of society with unrealistic images that portray a fake lifestyle with impossible ideals,” I reply as I sip my wine. Don’t piss me off, bitch.

Jameson smirks as he stares straight ahead. His finger circles on my bare shoulder.

“Oh God.” She rolls her eyes and takes another selfie.

I glance over, and Jameson’s mother smirks and winks at me.

I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. God, cut out the snarky bitch act, Emily, I remind myself. Just be nice for once.

Jameson and his father fall into conversation, and I sit quietly. The waiter comes over and goes to refill my glass. “No thank you.” I smile.

Melina talks to the other people at the table; she’s laughing loudly and loves attention. She’s not at all the type of woman I thought Tristan would go for.

“Emily, you must come and visit us in the Hamptons,” Jameson’s mother says.

“Thank you.” I smile. “That would be lovely.” I should try to make conversation. “Do you go on weekends?” I ask.

“We live there mostly now,” she says. “We still have our apartments here, of course, but the change of pace is lovely.”

“Oh.” I smile. How many apartments do they have here? Jeez, they really are from a different world. “Sounds great.”

“Jameson said you are from California?” she asks.

“Yes.” I fake a smile. He told them about me? “I’ve only been here a month.”

“And what do you think of New York?”

“I love it.” I smile. “It’s amazing.”

Jameson’s hand sits on my shoulder for moral support while he talks to his father.

“Jameson told us that you met each other more than twelve months ago,” Elizabeth continues.

“Yes.” I fake a smile. Oh dear God. What did he tell them about how we met? Please don’t let it be the truth, that we sat next to each other on a boozy flight and flirted like sex-starved fools and then had wild layover sex for twelve hours while I tried to suck every last drop of blood from his neck. I pick up my wine and tip my head back and kick Jameson’s foot.

Help me, fucker.

He smiles as if he already knows what’s going on in my head.

Tristan finally takes a seat, and Melina leans over and kisses him. “Let’s go mingle.”

He frowns as he takes his first sip of scotch. “No, babe. I’m staying here. Knock yourself out.”

Melina waves at a woman on the other side of the room and stands. “Back in a moment.” She smiles to the table as she practically runs to the woman and air kisses her two cheeks. “Darling,” she cries, and they fake gush over each other.

My eyes find Jameson’s, and he rolls his lips in amusement. It’s as if he can read my mind.

She’s a twit.

Jameson’s jaw tilts skyward, and his tongue runs across his teeth as if he’s angered. I follow his line of sight and see a group of men and women arriving at a table across from us. My eyes flick to his father and mother as they look on as well.