The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

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

That was so cool.

I find myself smiling goofily into space. He asked me out. Tristan Miles asked me out, and I know it was just so that he could try to schmooze his way under my radar, but damn it felt good knocking him back.

“Claire Anderson.” I hear a voice from the stage.

Huh?

I look up to the stage in horror. Wait . . . did he ask me something?

How can he see me?

He’s moved and is now on another stage and in my line of sight.

Shit.

He holds his hand in the air, palm up. “Please share.”

“I beg your pardon.” I frown. “I didn’t hear th

e question.”

A trace of a smile crosses his face as his eyes hold mine.

“I asked everyone to recall a time when they felt satisfied. A time when they were really proud of themselves.”

“Oh.” My eyes widen.

“And, judging by your grin, I’m assuming you recalled something amazing.”

I stare at him.

“Please.” He rolls his hand out in an overexerted way. “Let us share in your pride.”

Asshole.

I glare at him. Is he for real?

He puts both hands into his suit pockets and begins to pace. “We’re waiting, Claire,” he says in a condescending tone. I feel my underarms heat with perspiration as everyone in the room waits for my answer. Holy shit, this man is infuriating.

“The last time I felt really satisfied was when I refused a date with a cold, soul-sucking bastard. Even if he was the last man on earth,” I announce.

Our eyes lock, and he raises an eyebrow.

Game on, asshole . . . don’t fuck with me.

“Ah . . . but, Claire, how sad that the best thing you recall about your own life experiences is one that revolved around another. I think that says a lot more about you than it does him. I want a real answer this afternoon. Reflect on it until then.”

He smiles out at the audience, completely unfazed.

I step back, infuriated. What in the actual fuck does he think I’m going to learn from reflecting on what kind of person I am? I know who I am, and I’m completely happy with her.

Jerkoff.

This conference is just so typically him.

“And besides.” He gives me a slow, sexy smile as he continues to pace back and forth across the stage. “You’ll probably be begging that soul-sucking bastard to ask you back out one day . . . not that he ever would.”