The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

g that he won’t put up with my laziness or sloppiness, and if I have no desire to learn, then I may as well leave Miles Media right now.”

My mouth falls open in surprise. “What? Over a pen?”

“Mom, that’s not even the half of it. He yells at me the entire day. Everything I do is wrong.”

Anger simmers in my stomach. “He yells at you?”

“Screams the fucking place down. Even Jameson, the CEO, had to come and rescue me today. He told him to settle down.” His eyes widen. “And Jameson Miles is known for screaming at everyone all the time, Mom, so I know Tristan mustn’t scream at anyone else like he does me.” He throws his hands up in the air. “Sammia, Jameson’s PA, even bought me a cupcake today. She feels sorry for me too. She told me not to worry about him—that I was doing a good job.” His shoulders slump. “He just hates me.”

My eyes narrow as I feel anger twist in my gut. “Just ignore him, buddy.” I fake a smile. “He’ll settle down.” Or else. “Just keep your head down, and do your job.” I cut him a piece of cake and hand it over.

“Cake before dinner?” He frowns.

“Cake for dinner, if you want.” I watch him eat it and stare into space as adrenaline surges through my body.

Tristan fucking Miles . . . don’t push me.

“What do you think, Marley?” I ask. “Should I be worried?”

“Hmm, it’s a tough one.” She sips her Coke. We are at a restaurant eating lunch. “On one hand, you want Fletch to be taught the right way.”

“Yes, but he’s screaming at him, Marl. In what job is that okay?”

“It’s not; I agree.” She shrugs. “It’s so not okay in any workplace.”

“God, I’m going crazy over this. What if he just hired him to put him through hell for the way they met? What if he’s purposely being nasty to teach me a lesson for ending it?”

“It’s completely possible.” She shrugs again. “But this job will set Fletch up for life, so more fool him, you know?”

“But at what point is it enough? Like how far do I let it go?” A text comes in. It’s from Fletcher.

Hi.

I smile. “Fletch is on his lunch break.” I text back.

Can I call you?

He texts back.

Yeah.

I dial his number, and he answers on the first ring. “Hi, Fletch.” I smile. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty shit.” He sighs.

“Why?”

“Well, apparently now I’m stupid.”

My hackles rise. “He called you stupid?”

“Yep.”

“That’s it.” My anger explodes. “Don’t go back after lunch.”

“Mom.”

“I mean it,” I snap. “He can’t call you fucking stupid, Fletcher; that is unacceptable.”