The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

“Why the hell are you still standing here, Fletcher?” he bellows. “Go and finish the report.”

“See you at home, Mom,” Fletcher says. He turns and scurries from the office, and Tristan goes back to sit behind his desk.

We glare at each other for an extended time.

The air between us is electric—only this time it’s fueled by anger.

“I’m watching you,” I whisper.

“I’ll tell you who to watch: that middle child of yours. The wizard.”

“The middle child of mine is none of your concern,” I sneer.

The nerve of this man. This is exactly why I don’t want him anywhere near my kids; he’s cold and judgmental and lacks any type of empathy.

A fucking asshole.

“Goodbye, Tristan.”

He raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

“What?” I snap.

“Is that it?” He holds the pen in his hand. “Is that all you want to say to me?”

I narrow my eyes. Any minute I’m about to explode.

“I’ve got nothing more to say to you.”

He gives me a sarcastic smile. “Liar.”

Fucking hell. This man makes me thermonuclear. I want to dive over the desk and punch that sarcastic smile off his face.

Before I lose my temper, I turn and storm from the office with my blood boiling in my veins.

I can’t believe I was actually attracted to that jerk.

What a fucking joke.

The television drones on in the background. The children are squabbling among themselves as they sit on the floor doing a jigsaw puzzle. Woofy is chasing Muff around the house, and I’m curled up on the couch, pretending to read.

My mind isn’t here, though.

It’s in Paris . . . with him.

I hate that I’m thinking about such an asshole.

What’s worse is I can pretend that I don’t like him. I can lie to his face about my wants. I can act like being in his arms for six days didn’t mean a thing.

Because if nobody knows my inner fears, then they can’t come true.

I turn the page of my book on autopilot. I haven’t read a word, but the habit of pretending is strong and down to my bones.

I picture the roses that he left me in Épernay and the card that I have safely tucked in my purse.

WE HAVE UNFINISHED BUSINESS.

COME TO PARIS FOR THE WEEKEND.