The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

What the hell?

His son was just found asleep on my lounger, and he just plops him back into his own bed and leaves for the day. Who does that? Well, screw this, I’m going to go and check on him. He’s probably upstairs crying, scared out of his brain. Stupid men. Why don’t they have an inch of fucking empathy for anyone but themselves? He’s eight, for Christ’s sake!

I walk up into the main house. The lamp is still on in the living room, and I can smell the eggs that Mr. Masters cooked himself for breakfast. I look around and then go up the grand staircase. Honestly, what the hell have I gotten myself into here? I’m in some stupid rich twat’s house, worried about his child who he clearly doesn’t give a fuck about.

I storm up the stairs, taking two at a time. I get to the top, and the change of scenery suddenly makes me feel nervous. It’s luxurious up here. The corridor is wide, and the cream carpet feels lush beneath my feet. A huge mirror hangs in the hall on the wall. I catch a glimpse of myself and cringe.

God, no wonder he was looking at my boobs. They are hanging out everywhere, and my hair is wild. I readjust my nightgown over my breasts and continue up the hall. I pass a living area that seems to be for the children, with big comfy loungers inside it. I pass a bedroom, and then I get to a door that is closed. I open it carefully and allow myself to peer in. Willow is fast asleep—still scowling, though. I smirk and slowly shut her door to continue down the hall. Eventually, I get to a door that is slightly ajar. I peer around it and see Samuel sound asleep, tucked in nice and tight. I walk into his room and sit on the side of the bed. He’s wearing bright-blue-and-green dinosaur pajamas, and his little glasses are on his side table, beside his lamp. I find myself smiling as I watch him. Unable to help it, I put my hand out and push the dark hair from his forehead. His bedroom is neat and tidy, filled with expensive furniture. It kind of looks like you would imagine a child’s bedroom set out in a perfect family movie. Everything in this house is the absolute best of the best. Just how much money does Mr. Masters have? There’s a bookcase, a desk, a wingback chair in the corner, and a toy box. The window has a bench seat running underneath it, and there are a few books sitting in a pile on the cushion, as if Samuel reads there a lot. I glance over to the armchair in the corner to his school clothes all laid out for him. Everything is there, folded neatly, right down to his socks and shiny, polished shoes. His school bag is packed, too.

I stand and walk over to look at his things. Mr. Masters must do this before he goes to bed. What must it be like to bring children up alone?

My mind goes to his wife and how much she is missing out on. Samuel is so young. With one last look at Samuel, I creep out of the room and head back down the hall, until something catches my eye.

A light is on in the en suite bathroom of the main bedroom. That must be Mr. Masters’s bedroom. I look left and then right; nobody is awake. I wonder what his room is like, and I can’t stop myself from tiptoeing closer to inspect it. Wow.

The bed is clearly king size, and the room is grand, decorated in all different shades of coffee, complimented with dark antique furniture. A huge, expensive gold-and-magenta embroidered rug sits on the floor beneath the bed. The light in the wardrobe is on. I peer inside and see business shirts all lined up, neatly in a row. Super neatly, actually. I’m going to have to make sure I keep my room tidy or he’ll think I’m a pig. I smirk, because I am one according to his standards of living.

I turn to see his bed has already been made, and my eyes linger over the velvet quilt and lush pillows there. Did he really touch himself in there last night as he thought of me, or am I completely delusional? I glance around for the photo of me, but I don’t see it. He must have taken it back downstairs.

An unexpected thrill runs through me. I may return the favor tonight in my own bed.

I walk into the bathroom. It’s all black and gray, and very modern. Once again, I notice that everything is very neat. There is a large mirror, and I can see that a slender cabinet sits behind it. I push the mirror, and the door pops open. My eyes roam over the shelves. You can tell a lot about people by their bathroom cabinet. Deodorant. Razors. Talcum powder. Condoms. I wonder how long ago his wife died. Does he have a new girlfriend?

It wouldn’t surprise me. He is kind of hot, in an old way. I see a bottle of aftershave, and I pick it up, removing the lid before I lift it up to my nose.

Heaven in a bottle.

I inhale deeply again, and Mr. Masters’s face suddenly appears in the mirror behind me.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls.