The Best Next Thing ((Un)Professionally Yours 1)

“And don’t get me started on how he feels about captive lobsters in restaurant tanks. The man is borderline militant on the topic. He’s patient, kind, sweet, understanding. He’s also intelligent, funny, companionable, and passionate about the things he loves. He’s fantastic in bed. He made me feel safe and—”

“Cherry, stop!” Even though her family tried very hard to refrain from using that nickname, they occasionally slipped up. But Charity found herself minding less and less. They loved her, they could call her anything they damned well pleased. Blaine had taken enough from her, and she had decided that this was something he could no longer have. “If you feel this way about him, why aren’t you grabbing him with both hands and holding on tight?”

“He’s there. I’m here. It’s long-distance or one of us moves. That’s if he even wants to start anything serious with me.”

“Oh, I saw the way that man looked at you. He wants it alright.”

“And I thought the next part of my life shouldn’t be about a man. It should be about me.”

“Admirable. But why can’t it be about both? Why can’t you have your career, your independence, and the man you love? Why can’t you have everything? You fucking deserve it!”

Faith’s questions made her pause, and her brow puckered as she contemplated the words. Words she had never allowed herself to even consider before.

Could this be just another way she was allowing her past with Blaine to manipulate and influence her future? Miles had strong feelings for her. She knew that. She hadn’t dared asked him for clarification on those feelings because she didn’t want to know. She feared that it would weaken her resolve to be more.

Be better.

But what she hadn’t considered was that she was already better. Better on her own and better with him. She had nothing to prove to anyone except herself, and after three years of near isolation, making herself mentally and physically strong, she already possessed that proof.

Miles had afforded her the emotional support she hadn’t even known she needed. Without him, she could very well have remained stuck in that safe chrysalis for many more years. But his strength had bolstered hers and had encouraged her to emerge and fly.

She didn’t need him to make her whole. But…she damned well wanted him.

Give Stormy a hug and kiss from me. Tell her I miss her.

Miles—who had been lounging on an uncomfortably overstuffed sofa in his study—choked on the thirty-year-old Richard Hennessy he had been sipping when the message materialized on his screen. He sat upright carelessly spilling the liquid gold as he gaped at his phone in disbelief.

He blinked few times, but the message didn’t disappear. Stormy, the world’s most spoiled dog, lifted her head from her plush cushion on the sofa beside him, to watch him quizzically. He lifted the phone to show her, before recognizing how nuts the gesture was.

He went back to staring at the message, not sure if he should respond or not. Surely she had sent him the message expecting some kind of response?

He set aside the crystal snifter, and impulsively lifted Stormy into his arms. He took a few selfies of himself hugging and kissing the dog. He sent them all with the accompanying text: She misses you too.

After he sent the message, he started fretting like a teenage girl. Had he responded too quickly? Seemed over eager? Three months of zero communication, and he responded to her first text within seconds.

That had to reek of desperation.

Worse, he now found himself fixedly staring at the screen, waiting for a response.

This was ridiculous. He was a grown man, he had better things to do than sit at home mooning over his bloody phone.

Only…he really didn’t. He hadn’t done anything remotely social since returning from Riversend.

Work, eat, walk Stormy, sleep, repeat.

Vicki often popped by to visit him at his luxurious Knightsbridge apartment. Hugh and his mother were regular visitors as well. But he knew his mum wasn’t wholly comfortable in this place. In fact, given how often she complained about its lack of warmth, Miles would go so far as to say she hated it quite passionately. He was never sure if she meant the heating or the monochromatic décor.

Vicki and Hugh shared a three-bedroomed apartment in Hammersmith. One of Miles’s many properties. And their mother lived in a cozy flat that Miles had bought for her in her old neighborhood in Kensington. Miles liked that they all lived in close proximity of one another.

He could keep an eye on them, make sure they were safe. They all had security details. His mum’s more discreet. So discreet she had no idea they were there. Tyler Chambers was still on Vicki duty and would be for the conceivable future. His sister hated it, and Chambers didn’t seem overly impressed with the situation either. Miles imagined that watching an eccentric florist create animal bouquets all day long wasn’t quite on par with the level of excitement the guy must have been expecting from his work.

But Miles didn’t care. He trusted Chambers to do the job, regardless of boredom or personal preference. And judging from the amount of complaints he received from his sister every day, the man never dropped his guard when they were in public.

He was allowing his mind to wander because it stopped him f

rom obsessing over that fucking message. Stopped him from checking his phone every five seconds.

He got up and prowled the length of the room, intentionally leaving the phone on the glass coffee table. Stormy watched him for a few moments, before sighing and dropping her head back on her cushion. She was curled up in a tight ball, with her nose practically buried in her arse.