The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

“Oh God, can you imagine?” Molly rolls her eyes. “She’ll be your new bestie if she knows you are with him. She’ll be stuck to you like glue if there’s a chance she will get to his brothers.”

“Well, she can’t have Tristan.” I tut as I turn on my computer. “He’s way too nice for her.” I shrug. “He’s taken, anyway, I think.”

We begin to work, and Aaron’s phone rings. “It’s Paul,” he stammers in a panic.

“Decline,” I say without looking up.

“But I want to see what he has to say.” He picks up the phone, and Molly snatches it from him and hits decline.

“He says ‘fuck me on Grindr’ to the whole world. Will you stop being pathetic? Kick this asshole to the curb,” she snaps.

Aaron’s shoulders slump sadly.

I rub his back in sympathy. “It will get easier, babe.”

“Yeah, when we set fire to his sleazy ball sack,” Molly whispers angrily.

I giggle. “Set fire to his sleazy ball sack—you speak with such articulation, Moll.”

“I know, right? This is why I’m a reporter.” She stands. “I’m going to make us coffee. You both want one?”

“Uh-huh.”

Aaron blows out a deflated breath. “Can you find us some cake too? Surely it’s somebody’s birthday around here.”

Molly looks around. “Yep, where’s that Uber guy when we need him?” Her eyes come to me. “Oh my God, was that cheesecake last week sent from Jameson?”

I smile broadly.

Aaron puts his head down and pretends to hit it on the desk. “He even sends cheesecakes. The man is a for real fucking god.”

Buzz goes my door buzzer. “Hello.” I smile.

“Hello, Ms. Foster. This is Alan, Mr. Miles’s driver.”

My face falls. “Oh. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, Mr. Miles asked me to collect you and take you to his apartment. He’s been delayed on a conference call and will be joining you shortly.”

“Oh, okay. I’m on my way.” I grab my overnight bag that I packed, and with one last look around my apartment, I head downstairs.

I walk out onto the curb to see the driver in his customary black suit standing next to the limo. “Hello,” I say nervously as I approach him.

“Hello.”

“I’m Emily.” I hold out my hand, embarrassed that I haven’t introduced myself before now.

“I’m Alan.” He smiles warmly as we shake hands. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” He opens the door, and I climb into the back of the car. He closes the door, and we drive through the New York night. This doesn’t seem real—me sitting in the back of a limo being driven to Jameson’s apartment by his driver.

We get to his building, and he stops in the pull-up area and opens the door. “I’ll take you up.” He goes to take my bag from me.

“It’s okay. I’ve got it. Thank you anyway.”

He frowns. I see his disappointment.

“Unless you want to carry it,” I splutter.