The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

“Because then I’ll be the groupie who fucked the lecturer at the conference.”

He lies down and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You are the groupie who fucked the lecturer at the conference.”

“This isn’t funny,” I whisper. “Quick. Get out.”

“You’re hurting my feelings, Anderson.” He smirks as he climbs out of bed. “Kicking me out of bed in the middle of the night. I’ve never heard of such coldheartedness.”

“Shut up,” I whisper. “Go.” I point to the door. “Get out.”

He smiles and pulls his trousers up. “How dare you use my body in this manner?”

I flop back down on the bed. “You’re such an idiot.”

He leans over the bed and smiles down at me. “And you’re fucking hot.” He kisses me. “Good night, Anderson.”

I smile up at him. “It’s morning.”

He stands and puts his jacket on and turns toward the door.

“Mr. Miles.”

He turns back toward me.

“I believe it was you that moaned my name first,” I say sweetly.

He rolls his eyes. “That’s debatable.” The door clicks closed behind him, and I smile goofily up at the ceiling.

That was . . . surprisingly fun.

Chapter 6

I wake with a jump and notice it’s light—too light for early morning.

Huh?

I scramble for my phone on the nightstand: 8:45 a.m.

What the hell? We started at eight o’clock this morning. My eyes widen in horror.

Oh my God. I dive out of bed and run to the shower.

Shit.

And my clothes need ironing—oh, this is a disaster. Why am I not more organized?

I shower in record time, grab my clothes, and run around like a lunatic dressing. I hop around, putting my makeup on while looking for my shoes.

Tristan’s briefs are in the middle of the floor, and I scoop them up and shove them in my suitcase. I look around for my room key. Where is it?

Oh, damn it, I’ll get another one from reception this afternoon. I grab my handbag and run.

Ten minutes la

ter I rush into the conference room to find everyone sitting and listening to a woman speak.

I’m puffing and panting, and everyone in the room turns to look at me. “Hi,” I huff. “I don’t know . . . my alarm didn’t go off.” I shrug. “I’m sorry I’m so late.”

The lecturer gestures to a chair. “That’s quite all right, dear. Please take a seat.”