The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

I drag my hands through my hair as I begin to perspire . . . no . . . no . . . no, this can’t be happening.

The elevator slowly goes down, and the doors open. A heap of people are standing there waiting. “Sorry.” I slam the button to close the doors. “No time for you.”

The door closes as their faces fall. I get to the ground floor and sprint through the foyer and run out into the street with my arm in the air. “Taxi!” I call as a cab drives past.

Another man is waiting on the curb for a cab too.

“Oh my God,” I cry to him. “This is an emergency; my boyfriend is leaving me.”

He winces.

“Because I’m selfish,” I pant as I run up the street, arm stretched high. “Now he’s flying to Paris without saying goodbye.”

He rolls his eyes. “You are not getting my cab.”

“I don’t want your damn cab,” I bark. A cab pulls up, and I dive into the back of it like a maniac. “I’ve got my own. The Miles Media building, please,” I stammer.

“Hey!” the man calls as he watches me drive off. I give him a half wave.

“Bye.”

I crane my neck to look at the traffic jam ahead.

“Can you drive fast, please? This is an emergency.”

“Okay, lady.” He swerves and turns down a side street.

My phone rings, and the name Fletcher lights up the screen. “Hello,” I stammer.

“He’s gone, Mom.”

My face falls. “What?” I stare out the window. I don’t believe this. “Which airport is he going to?”

“Hang on.” He puts the phone down and asks someone, “Which airport?”

“JFK,” I hear a woman reply. “Terminal two.”

“JFK,” Fletcher snaps. “Terminal two.”

“Okay, I got it.” I hang up. “Change of plans!” I yell to the driver. “JFK Airport. Terminal two. Please hurry; this is a life-and-death situation.”

The driver does a sharp U-turn, and I hold on for dear life.

Thirty minutes later we arrive. I throw him the money and get out and run.

The check-in area is busy and bustling, and I look around frantically.

Where is he? Where . . . I turn a full 360-degree circle. Where is he?

I dial Fletcher’s number.

“Hello,” he snaps.

“Where is he? I can’t find him. I’m at the airport. Call him, and find out where he is,” I cry as I look around frantically.

“Okay. Sammia, call him and find out where he is.” He comes back to me. “Stay on the line, Mom.”

I hold the phone really close, and I hear Sammia talking to Tristan in the background.