The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

As I see it, I have three options. The first is to walk away from Miles Media so that I can be a man worth being with. The second is to let Emily leave my life forever. My stomach twists as I imagine living my life without her.

The third is to try to be both . . . is it truly possible to live as two men?

I stand, and for the first time in a long time, I have crystal-clear clarity.

Fuck this.

I’m going to try, and if I can’t make it work, I will leave Miles Media.

I’m getting my girl back.

She comes first.

Chapter 25

Emily

I close down my computer and pack up my desk and make my way to the elevator. I’m one of the last to leave the office. It’s been a long day, but I achieved a lot. It’s the weirdest thing—blocking Jameson yesterday was the most satisfying thing I’ve done since I murdered his roses.

In some kind of sick and twisted way, being mean to him is releasing some of my anger. Hurting him is like the best kind of therapy. I must really be messed up at the moment; either that, or payback is just surprisingly satisfying. I watched the movie John Wick last night, and I smiled the whole way through it . . . that in itself says a lot about my current headspace.

I take the elevator and walk out onto the street. It’s dark and cold, and I pull my heavy coat around my shoulders for protection.

“Emily,” I hear a voice from behind me.

I stop on the spot . . . shit. Jameson . . . what’s he doing here? I put my head down and keep walking.

“Emily,” he repeats.

I spin toward him. “What, Jameson?” I snap.

“Can I talk to you?”

“No. Go away.” I turn away from him and start to storm to my bus stop.

He follows me as I walk. “I just want five minutes of your time.”

I stay silent.

He runs to catch up with me. “I know I fucked up . . . bad.”

I glare at him as I imagine punching his stupid, handsome face. I get a vision of his head snapping back as I connect the hit.

“Please,” he stammers as he runs after me. “I need to explain why.”

“I’m not interested.” I march forward.

He follows me for a while longer as if not sure what to say. “I’m going to follow you until you talk to me. Can we get a drink or something?”

“No.”

“Dinner?”

“Go. Away. Jameson.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he stammers as he runs to keep up with me.

“You already did. Get out of my face.”