The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

It would make sense. I mean, since he told me he wants me, we’ve moved forward in leaps and bounds. Every touch I feel him let me in a little more. Is it because he can finally verbalize things now?

I exhale heavily as I clap for an award. My mind is far from here. I’m fixed on the complex man I’ve fallen for, as I try to unravel his inner demons.

Maybe Jay needs to talk about the company. Maybe he needs someone he doesn’t have to pretend with that he has everything under control.

He’s the CEO of Miles Media. The family is looking to him for guidance. Waiting for him to rectify the situation.

Of course he’s stressed.

The reporter in me wants to deal with this situation, find the leak, and fight our way back to the top.

The lover in me wants to steal my Jay away and take him to an island in the Bahamas and let him live a peaceful, relaxed lifestyle . . . where the only thing he has to worry about is pushing his children on a swing.

His children.

I feel my chest constrict as I get a peep into the future with Jameson.

Will his children bear this stress? Will they be able to feel their father’s worry through his touch?

They’d have to—I know I do.

God, I need to wind him down so that he can deal with all of this crap. How do I do that? I think for a moment and clap on cue as another award is announced.

He needs to get out of New York. Yes, that’s it. A weekend away. Somewhere crazy different. I smile as the idea takes shape in my mind.

“And now for the major award for the night,” the MC announces. “The Diamond Award for exceptional media coverage goes to . . .”

The drum rolls.

He opens the envelope and smiles with a shake of his head. “Well, well . . . it seems we have a changing of the guard.”

The crowd falls silent.

“Ferrara Media.”

The crowd applauds, and the Ferrara table erupts into cheers. Jameson clenches his jaw and sips his drink.

“Fuck,” Tristan mutters under his breath.

Our table stays silent as we watch Gabriel Ferrara take the stage to accept the award. He holds it up in the air, and the people in the crowd all laugh and cheer, and he takes the microphone.

“Thank you.” He looks around the room. “It means a lot. Commiserations to Miles Media, who have won this award consecutively for the last sixteen years.” He blows a cheeky kiss to Jameson and then waves down to our table.

Jameson glares at him. His tongue runs across his teeth as sheer contempt drips from his every pore.

“I think it is safe to say”—Gabriel smiles sarcastically—“that in the last twelve months we have led the market with our cutting-edge news delivery.” He holds up his finger. “We are now the number one media empire in the world.”

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.