The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

“Michael, this is Claire, my partner,” he introduces me.

“Hello.” I fake a smile as I shake his hand.

“And these are my boys, Fletcher, Harrison, and Patrick.”

The hairs on the back of my neck rise. His boys.

They are Wade’s boys.

“What a beautiful family you have.” Michael smiles as he leads us up the path toward the house.

“Yes, I do.” Tristan smiles proudly. He’s holding Patrick’s hand and has his other hand on Harry’s shoulder protectively. Fletcher walks with them as they go into the house.

I begin to see red. Why is he showing me houses? I’m not fucking moving from Long Island. I own my house. I’m comfortable there . . . we’re comfortable there.

It’s our home.

It’s what Wade wanted.

I begin to hear my angry heartbeat in my ears as I trail behind.

Calm down . . . calm down . . . calm down. You’re just stressed; calm the fuck down.

The house is huge and set on a large plot of land in a leafy suburb about twenty minutes out of New York. Michael begins his sales pitch. “This is the foyer.”

It’s about the size of our current living room and has a grand sweeping staircase that splits into two near the top level.

Tristan smiles and takes my hand excitedly. “I’ll show them around, Michael,” he says.

My eyes flick to him in question. What? He’s been here before?

How long has he been looking for a house on the sly? I begin to fume inside.

“Of course.” Michael smiles. “I’ll wait outside.”

Michael disappears out the front door, and Tristan smiles proudly. “Pretty sweet, right?”

“Hmm,” I reply as I look around.

“Out here is the kitchen.” We walk through to a large kitchen, and I roll my lips in annoyance. “Wiz and I could cook up a storm,” he says. Harry’s eyes widen in excitement.

I hate it.

Wade has never lived here; his memories are in our current house.

I don’t want new ones without him.

I don’t want to erase everything that he stood for. Why doesn’t Tristan get that?

My pulse begins to throb in my temples, and I feel like I’m about to explode.

I am now seeing red. I can’t deal with this.

“This is the living area,” he gushes.

The boys run to the back windows. “Oh my God, look at the pool,” Patrick cries.

“It has a pool bar, Mom,” Fletcher gasps.