The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

“I’m very busy today. Can you tell Mr. Miles that, unfortunately, I won’t be able to make it?”

“He told me that your attendance is mandatory, and he’s already spoken to your manager to get clearance.”

I roll my eyes. Stupid twat. “Fine. I’ll be there. Thank you.”

Knock, knock. I tentatively knock on Jameson’s door.

“Come in,” his strong voice calls.

My stomach flips with nerves, and I open the door. Jameson sits alone at his desk. His eyes rise to meet mine.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, please take a seat.”

I drop to the chair as I clasp my hands together with white-knuckle force.

His eyes hold mine. “How are you?”

“Good, thanks.” I drop my eyes to the desk. I’m not looking at those beautiful blue eyes. He’s like the snake from The Jungle Book—one look in those hypnotic suckers, and your panties drop to the floor.

“Look at me, please,” he commands.

“What do you want, Jameson?” I snap. “I don’t have time for your games.”

“I want you to look at me.”

I drag my eyes to his.

“Why don’t you want to look at me?”

I stare at him for a moment. “Because I just find your face really . . . punchable.”

He smirks and leans back in his chair, clearly amused. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, it is.” I look around his office. “Can we talk about work?”

“Later. Right now I would like to talk about your tantrum on Friday.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“She’s my masseuse.”

“Like you said, it’s none of my business.” I glare at him, my resting bitch face in full swing.

“I was going to call you last night.”

Now it’s my turn to be amused. “Don’t waste your time. I wouldn’t have answered.”

He runs his thumbnail back and forth over his bottom lip as he watches me, as if fascinated. “Why are you so snarky?”

“I’m not snarky. I’m just not about to put up with shit from an entitled asshole. You may be a CEO here, but . . .”

He sits back and raises his chin as if angered. “Finish what you wanted to say.”

“No. I’m good.” I clench my teeth together to stop myself from elaborating.

“I may be the CEO here . . . but what?” he demands as he swivels on his chair.