The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(88)

The crowd claps and cheers.

He holds the trophy in the air.

The Ferrara table goes wild.

“You’ve got to be joking,” I scoff, unable to help it.

The Miles family glares at Gabriel as he stands on stage . . . and I can feel their anger because I have it too. I can feel it growing inside me like a pulsing disease.

It’s one thing to lose your crown, but to have it taken by a thief who’s stealing your work is a completely different ball game.

Gabriel bows and then takes a seat back at his table. He kisses the trophy as the photographers snap away. This win will be headlining tomorrow’s news stories across the country.

Fury and silence sweep around our table. Nobody says a word.

I stare at him across the room and want to wipe that sleazy smile off his gorgeous face.

And I will.

Prepare yourself, Mr. Gabriel Ferrara. I’m taking you down.

I gasp for breath as I watch Jameson lap me in Central Park. It’s six o’clock, and the sun is just rising. He’s running particularly fast today . . . and I’m letting him.

I get it now; his responsibility is not something he can just switch off at the end of the day. I feel it for him too now. Last night, however infuriating it was, taught me a valuable lesson on his competitors.

They have no morals and no fear, and that makes them very dangerous players indeed.

Jameson turns and sprints back to me. He’s always careful he keeps me in his sight.

He was quiet when we came home last night, deep in thought. We had a shower and made love, and then he finally relaxed a little. I made us a snack, and we lay on the couch in each other’s arms and watched a movie for a while. We went to bed late, but we needed the time together to wind down.

Neither of us brought up the award ceremony. We didn’t speak of it at all—there’s nothing to say.

It is what it is. No amount of conversation can take away the fact that Ferrara Media has been rewarded for being deceitful. It’s eating me alive; I can only imagine what it’s doing to Jameson.

He comes to a stop in front of me, panting heavily. “You’re especially slow this morning,” he teases.

“You’re especially fast today. That ax must be big.”

He chuckles as he leans in to kiss me. “Fucking huge.” We turn and begin the slow jog back home. “I’ll organize Alan for the weekend to get your things?” he says as he runs.

“About that . . .”

“Yes?” he pants, still exhausted from his sprinting.

“I have a proposal for you.”

He stops running. “Such as?”

I turn and take his hands in mine. “I’ll move in with you on one condition.”

“What?” He stares at me as if already annoyed by my bartering.

“I’ll move in with you if we can get out of New York on the weekends.”

“What?”

“Well, not every weekend.” I shrug. “But enough that we can relax.”

“New York is my home. I am relaxed. What are you talking about, woman?”

I smile and start jogging again.

He catches up with me. “What?”

“It’s impossible to relax here, Jay. This city is hectic. The energy of this place could be seen from space. Sirens sound all night, cars and traffic and millions of people all buzzing at a million miles an hour.”

He watches me as he listens.

“We don’t have to go far out of the city. I’ve already booked a surprise trip away for us this weekend.”

“Since when?”

“Since yesterday.” I’m totally lying through my teeth here, but whatever. “Think about it. We live in your apartment through the week and work hard. Then on the weekends, we completely switch off. No phones, no internet. Just us.”

“What?” He frowns. “That’s impossible. I need to be online at all times, Emily.”

“No,” I pant as we run. “What you need is to recharge so that you can be the best CEO you can be. A tired, stressed-out version of you won’t be half as switched on.”

We run until we hit the street, and then we look both ways as we wait to cross.

“And besides,” I pant, “this way I get the best of both worlds.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m utterly in love with my Jim, the man I met on the plane.”

He listens.

“And I’m learning to love the stressed-out CEO who takes over his body sometimes.”

Jameson smiles as he runs, finally putting the pieces together.

“This way . . .” I pant. God, why do I insist on talking as I run? “This way I get to spend time with both of my men.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me back to him; his lips take mine as he clutches my face in his hands. His tongue swipes through my lips, and his kiss is electric with just the right amount of suction. We kiss again and again, and my hands go to his hips. What must we look like, making out on the street corner?

My eyes search his. “Do we have a deal?” I whisper. “Am I moving in?”

He trails his fingers down my face. “I guess we can come to some kind of weekend arrangement.”

I smile.

“Only because both of your men love to fuck you.” He grabs my hips and bounces them off his.