The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)
Page 22
“Okay, when will you be back?”
“Monday, next week.”
“Yeah, of course. Listen, I’m in a meeting. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay.” I hang up and put my phone back into my pocket, and my eyes rise to watch Claire Anderson across the room once more.
This conference just got interesting.
Claire
“I’m just going to get a drink,” Nelson says. “Do you want another?”
“Okay, thank you.”
“I’ll be back shortly,” he replies, and I watch him as he walks over to the bar.
He’s a nice guy.
I’m surprised—this has actually been a great night. We had dinner, and then there was dancing. I’ve been chatting with everyone, being sociable. Marley would be so proud of me.
“Ahh, alone at last.” I hear a voice. I glance over to see Tristan Miles standing beside me. Great. I roll my eyes.
“Where did your disciple go?” he asks as he sips his drink.
“Who’s that?” I frown.
“The boring Goody Two-shoes.”
I bite the inside of my cheek so that I don’t smile. He hit the nail on the head. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Nelson Mandela or whatever his name is.” He waves his glass in the air toward Nelson.
Unable to help it, I smile. “I have no idea what his surname is, but I’m pretty sure it’s not Mandela, Mr. Miles.”
“I told you to call me Tristan.”
“And I told you to go away.”
“You know . . .” He pauses, as if getting the wording right. “If I wasn’t at a work conference and being professional, I’d have a lot to ask you.”
“Such as?” I question.
“I’m working,” he says as he straightens his tie.
Eager to know what he wants to say, I reply, “Consider yourself off the clock. Anything you say to me will be considered a private matter.”
“Why do you hate me so much?”
“Well, there’s a lot to dislike.”
“Such as?”
“You want my company, Mr. Miles.”
“No.” He sips his drink. His tone makes me think he’s annoyed. “I made an honest offer for your company, and you rejected it. End of story. I haven’t approached you since, and I have respected your wishes.”
Our eyes are locked. I can feel the energy, and it bounces between us. It’s almost as if our bodies are speaking to each other without words. I can pretend not to notice it all I want, but the truth is Tristan Miles is a sensory overload.