The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

“Call me Mrs. Anderson.”

“Why are you being so rude?”

“I’m not being rude; I’m being honest. Would you prefer that I lie?”

Well . . . blow me down.

“Maybe,” I reply.

“It’s so lovely to see you, Tris. Let’s hang out and sing ‘Kumbaya’ around a campfire. I’ve missed your good looks and witty charm,” she replies without missing a beat. She smiles sweetly and bats her eyelashes for effect.

I smirk and clink my glass with hers. “Cheers. That’s more like it. Glad you’re getting into the spirit.”

She moves her chin in a come-here gesture, and I lean in, waiting for what she has to tell me. “Go away, Mr. Miles,” she whispers.

I chuckle, excited for the first time in a very long time. “No.”

Her gaze goes in front of her again. “I see you’re still as annoying as ever.”

“And I see you’re still taking those bitch pills.”

“Ah, yes.” She sighs. “Let’s blame my distaste for you on meds, shall we? There couldn’t possibly be another reason why you repulse me, could there now?”

My eyebrows rise in surprise. Women just don’t speak to me like this. “Repulse is a rather strong word, isn’t it?” I say as I join her in staring straight ahead. “I think the word you meant to use is fascinate.”

Her mouth curls up at the corners, and I know she’s struggling not to smile. “Go away, Mr. Miles,” she repeats.

“Do I fascinate you, Claire?”

“Call me Mrs. Anderson,” she whispers. “And you don’t have what it takes to fascinate me.”

Our eyes lock, and for the second time tonight my stomach flutters.

She has this aura surrounding her, elusive and enticing.

Controlling.

I bet she’d be fucking wild in bed. I get a vision of us together, naked, and I feel the throb of arousal between my legs. I purse my lips to hide my delight.

“Goodbye.” She walks off through the crowd, and I stare after her.

All right . . . I’ll admit it.

That woman is insanely fucking hot.

I watch her walk across the room as I troll my mind for a plan. This is possibly the only place I am going to see her. Hmm . . . what to do.

I take out my phone and call my brother. He answers after the first ring. “Hello, Tris.”

“Jameson,” I say as I watch her strike up a conversation with another man. “Change of plans.”

“How so?”

“I was only going to stay at the conference for the opening day.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve decided that I’m staying on for the week. There is an . . .” I pause as I search for the right wording. “Opportunity . . . that I would like to investigate further.”