The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2) - Page 40
I walk through the chairs and slink into a chair in the back row. Damn it. I want the earth to swallow me up. I look so unprofessional.
I glance over to see Tristan biting his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling as he listens intently to the lecture. His eyes don’t come to me at all. Completely cool, calm, and collected, as usual. Wearing a dark-gray suit, he looks like he’s just stepped off a modeling shoot. Clean shaven, perfectly put together. His dark wavy hair is well kept, with not a hair out of place.
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from smiling like a loon.
I know what’s under his suit, and it’s pretty fucking delicious.
We sit at the café and drink our coffee during the afternoon tea break.
Tristan is sitting with his three groupies, and I’m talking to Nelson and Peter, one of the other guys.
Tristan hasn’t acknowledged last night at all, and I’m beginning to wonder if I imagined the entire thing. Mind you, we haven’t been alone at all, but still.
Not even a glance my way.
“So, Tristan,” Saba says in her sexiest voice. “Are we on for tonight? You’ve been promising to party with us girls.”
Tristan’s eyes flick guiltily to me. “No. I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m busy.”
I sip my coffee as I watch him navigate this. It’s fun watching him squirm.
“Doing what?” Saba frowns.
“I have a project to finish with Claire. We started it last night, and it still needs work.”
The girls’ faces fall in disappointment.
“No, that’s fine, Tristan,” I interrupt. “I finished the job myself after you left.”
He blinks in disbelief and then narrows his eyes. “Is that so?”
“Uh-huh.” I sip my coffee, acting innocent.
He glares at me.
“Yeah, that’s probably why I slept so well. Felt so good to finally get the project done, you know?”
“I would have done it better,” he replies flatly.
“Oh, well, you didn’t.” I smile sweetly. “I saved you the job. You should go party with the girls. I’m sure they’re going to be great fun.”
“Yes.” The girls all giggle on cue, and he looks at me deadpan.
The bell rings for us to return, and everyone stands and leaves us alone.
“Finished the job, did you?” he whispers.
I shrug casually. “It had to be done.”
He stands and does his suit jacket up with one hand, unimpressed. “You’re a smart-ass, Anderson.”
“Have fun with the girls tonight,” I whisper. “Although, I really don’t know how you would handle three?”
“You’re going to fucking get it.” He marches off toward the conference room, clearly annoyed, and I smile after him.
I feel a flutter in my psyche; it’s as if the playful part of my personality is waking up from her deep sleep.
The long-forgotten piece of me.
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