The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

Please find the attached financials and spreadsheets that you require for the due diligence.

Your first offer will be accepted.

Sincerely,

Claire Anderson

I stare at the email, void of emotion. How long has she been struggling to keep her business afloat?

Why didn’t she tell me?

My mind goes back to the first time we met and how aggressive I was with her.

I was so hell bent on taking her company that I didn’t care about anything else, no matter how much I was attracted to her—it was the company acquisition that I wanted.

I remember how determined she was to fight to the end.

The fire she had inside of her was so bright that I could feel it. It was the thing that drew me to her. Determination like that is so rare these days; it’s not often I come across it.

That very same determination to be independent has now driven a wedge between us. It has all along, if I’m honest.

I had to fight to be in her life, and now I have to choose between what I know I deserve and what she wants. Both things should be the same.

It’s heartbreaking that they aren’t even on the same page. I exhale heavily as these depressing thoughts fill my soul.

How did it get to this?

What must it be like to lose something that you fought so hard for so long to keep? I imagine how gutted she must be. The timing couldn’t be worse.

“Claire,” I whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I exhale heavily and click open the financial spreadsheets.

Time to separate business and pleasure . . . or in this case, business and heartbreak.

There will be no winner here.

Claire

“Can we go away with Uncle Bob this weekend fishing?” Harry asks.

I smile in relief. This is the first time Harry has talked to me all week. “Where’s he going?”

“Down to Bear Mountain. He called and asked if Patrick and I could go.”

“Oh.” I stare at him for a moment. “You really want to go away fishing now?” I ask. Typical kids—don’t understand that I need them close right now. “Is Fletcher going?”

“No, Fletcher said he didn’t want to after working all week.”

“I’ll think about it,” I reply.

He stares at me for a beat, as if waiting for me to say something.

“Do you want to talk about Saturday?” I ask.

He puts his hand on his hip with attitude. “Are you going to call Tristan and apologize?”

“I already went and saw Tristan, Harry.”