The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

“Thank you.”

I wait, and then she answers. “Hello, Claire speaking.”

I close my eyes at the sound of her voice . . . sexy, husky . . . enticing.

“Hello, Claire. It’s Tristan.”

“Oh.” She falls silent.

Fuck . . . Marley didn’t tell her it was me.

An unfamiliar feeling begins to seep into my bones. “I just wanted to see if you were okay after our meeting. I’m sorry if I upset you.” I screw up my face . . . What are you doing? This is not in the plan.

“My feelings are no concern of yours, Mr. Miles.”

“Tristan,” I correct her.

“How can I help you?” she snaps impatiently.

My mind goes blank . . .

“Tristan?” she prompts me.

“I wanted to see if you would like to have dinner with me on Saturday night.” My eyes close in horror . . . what the fuck am I doing right now?

She stays silent for a moment and then replies in surprise. “You’re asking me out on a date?”

I screw up my face. “I don’t like the way we met. I would like to start again.”

She chuckles in a condescending tone. “You have got to be kidding. I wouldn’t go out with you if you were the last man on earth.” She whispers, “Money and looks don’t impress me, Mr. Miles.”

I bite my bottom lip . . . Ouch. “Our meeting was nothing personal, Claire.”

“It was very personal to me. Go and find a bimbo to wine and dine, Tristan. I have no interest in dating a soul-sucking cold bastard like you.” The phone clicks as she hangs up.

I stare at the phone in my hand. Adrenaline is pumping through my system at her fighting words.

I don’t know whether I’m shocked or impressed.

Perhaps a bit of both.

I’ve never been rejected before and definitely never been spoken to like that.

I turn to my computer and type into Google:

Who is Claire Anderson?

Read on for the first chapter of T L Swan’s backlist title, Mr. Masters, available to buy now!

ALINA MASTERS 1984–2013

WIFE AND BELOVED MOTHER. IN GOD’S HANDS WE TRUST.

Grief. The Grim Reaper of life.

Stealer of joy, hope, and purpose.

Some days are bearable. Other days I can hardly breathe, and I suffocate in a world of regret where good reason has no sense.