The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

Jameson Miles is fucking mean when he’s stressed. I see why he runs—probably keeps him out of jail. Who knows what would happen if he didn’t exercise?

I walk out to the reception area and then through to the other side of the building, and I knock on Tristan’s door.

“Come in,” he calls.

I smile when I hear how much he sounds like his brother. I open the door. “Jameson asked me to . . .” I pause as I try to make it sound nicer than how it came out.

“He wants to see me?” Tristan smirks.

“Yes.”

He

stands. “Everything okay?” he asks casually as we begin to walk back to reception.

“He’s . . .” I shrug as I try to think of a description. “Agitated.”

“Hmm.” He frowns as if concerned. “He has a lot going on, but you already know that.”

“Yes.” I smile as my eyes hold his. Does he know?

He winks as he walks down the corridor toward Jameson’s office. “Catch you later.”

What was that wink? Was that code for “I know you fuck him”? Does he know we are back together?

Shit.

The receptionist isn’t at her desk, and I glance down the hallway toward Jameson’s office. Damn it, what’s going on in there?

The door opens. Shit, I don’t want them to see me. I duck behind the reception desk, and then I hear Jameson’s sharp voice as he says something, and I wince. Jake storms past and gets into the elevator and hits the button with force.

The doors close, and my eyes widen as I peer out from behind the desk. What the hell did he just say?

Jameson

I inhale deeply through my nose as I try to calm myself down.

“For God’s sake, Jameson,” Tristan snaps. “Tone it down. The poor bastard is doing the best he can.”

“Bullshit. He’s useless. He’s been here a week and hasn’t a fucking clue what’s going on. He’s more interested in chasing the damn girls around downstairs.” I go to the bar and pour myself a scotch and then walk over to the window and stare at the city below.

“It’s ten o’clock,” Tristan says dryly as he watches me.

“So?” I snap as I sip the scotch and feel the warmth of it roll down my throat.

“And the damn girl downstairs wouldn’t happen to be Emily Foster, would it?”

“Don’t fucking start.” I roll my eyes. I’m fucking livid that she went out with him on the weekend. “Have you got the management report?” I snap to change the subject.

“No, it’s in my office.” He heads for the door. “I’ll go get it.” He disappears as I stare out over New York.

“Hi.” I hear a soft voice from behind me.

I sigh as my gaze stays out the window. “Go back to work, Emily.”

“Are you all right?” she says as she walks toward me.

“I’m fine.” I clench my jaw to stop myself from looking at her.