The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

She’s snuggled into my chest, and I smile into the darkness.

She loves me.

For the first time in my life, I feel at home.

We walk down the bustling street. “That went well,” I say. We just had a meeting across town, and a price was agreed to on a company we have been trying to get for over twelve months.

“It did,” Fletcher replies.

“Watch what happens now,” I say. “They will suddenly be urgent for the takeover to happen.”

“Why is that?”

“This is what happens—they resist and resist so that by the time we take over, they are so over it that they just want to get out.”

“No way,” Fletcher gasps as he stops in front of a shop window. He takes out his phone and takes a photo of something.

“What?” I ask as I go back to see what he’s looking at.

“That’s Harrison’s screen saver.”

“What is?” I frown.

“The rocket. It’s a model that you have to build.”

“Huh?” I peer into the shop to see a huge red-and-gold rocket with all the bells and whistles on display. “Harry likes this kind of thing?” I frown.

“This is his ultimate. Mom won’t buy it for him because she says he won’t be able to do it. It’s way too hard. He’s asked for it two Christmases in a row.”

I stare at the model as my mind races. Hmm . . . “Very interesting,” I mutter under my breath.

“Wait till I send him the pic. He’s going to go batshit crazy,” Fletcher whispers.

I smile as I stare at the elusive spaceship. “That’s a normal state for him, isn’t it?”

Fletch shrugs. “I guess.”

“Let’s check it out.” I walk into the store, and the bell goes off over the door. This is very old school.

“Can I help you?” an old man with white hair asks. He looks a little like Santa Claus.

“Yes, I was interested in the spaceship model in the window.”

“Oh.” He twists his hands together. “That’s for experienced modelers only. I doubt you would be able to complete it.”

I stare at him deadpan. Don’t assume you know what I can do. “And what makes you think we wouldn’t be able to do this?”

“Well.” He gives me a condescending smile. “I can see you are not a modeler.”

“How so?”

“Well.” He holds his hands up toward Fletcher and me. “Your suits tell me you are in big business.”

Fletcher and I exchange a glance. Don’t piss me off, old man. “We’ll take it,” I snap.

“I must advise—”

“Wrap it up,” I cut him off.