Our Way

“So . . . don’t you fucking dare”—I slam my hand on the table as my eyes fill with tears—“sit there with that smug look on your face and threaten me. Because believe me . . . Mr. Miles, wh

atever you’re dishing out isn’t half as bad as losing him.” I stand. “I’ve already been to hell and back, and I will not have some rich, spoiled bastard make me feel like shit.”

He rolls his lips, unimpressed.

“Don’t call me again,” I snap as I push back my chair.

“Think about it, Claire.”

“Go to hell.” I begin to storm to the door.

“She’s just having a bad day. We’ll definitely think about it,” Marley splutters in embarrassment. “Thanks for the cake—it was yummy.”

I angrily wipe the tears from my face as I run down the stairs and out the front doors. I can’t believe I was so unprofessional. Tears fill my eyes again. Oh well, at least I stood up to him, I guess.

Marley runs to keep up with me. She wisely stays silent and then looks up and down the street. “Oh, screw this, Claire—let’s not go back to work. Let’s go get drunk instead.”

Tristan

I stand at the window and stare over New York. My hands are in my suit pockets, and a strange feeling is burning a hole in my stomach.

Claire Anderson.

Beautiful, smart, and proud.

No matter how many times I’ve tried to wipe her out of my mind over the last three days since our meeting, I can’t.

The way she looked, the way she smelled, the curve of her breasts through her silk shirt. The fire in her eyes.

She is the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in a long time, and her heartfelt words are playing on repeat.

“So . . . don’t you fucking dare sit there with that smug look on your face and threaten me. Because believe me . . . Mr. Miles, whatever you’re dishing out isn’t half as bad as losing him. I’ve already been to hell and back, and I will not have some rich, spoiled bastard make me feel like shit.”

I take a seat at my desk and roll a pen beneath my fingers as I mentally go over what I need to say. I have to call her and follow up on our meeting, and I’m dreading it. I exhale heavily and dial her number. “Claire Anderson’s office.”

“Hello, Marley. It’s Tristan Miles.”

“Oh, hello, Tristan,” she replies happily. “Are you after Claire?”

“Yes, I am. Is she available?”

“I’ll put you straight through.”

“Thank you.”

I wait, and then she answers. “Hello, Claire speaking.”

I close my eyes at the sound of her voice . . . sexy, husky . . . enticing. “Hello, Claire. It’s Tristan.”

“Oh.” She falls silent.

Fuck . . . Marley didn’t tell her it was me.

An unfamiliar feeling begins to seep into my bones. “I just wanted to see if you were okay after our meeting. I’m sorry if I upset you.” I screw up my face . . . what are you doing? This is not in the plan.

“My feelings are no concern of yours, Mr. Miles.”

“Tristan,” I correct her.