The Casanova (The Miles High Club 3)

He didn’t call me, I didn’t hear from him, and I have no fucking idea what’s going on between us, but it’s not okay how he spoke to me yesterday.

“Look at this,” Daniel snaps.

He holds a folded newspaper up in front of my face.

“What?” I frown.

“Fucking look at it.”

I screw up my face as I focus my eyes and read the headline.

Elliot Miles leaves gala night with Varuscka Vermont.

Huh?

I sit up and snatch the paper from him.

My eyes read the headline again and I look at the picture.

Elliot is in black tie, and he and a dark-haired beautiful woman are in the back of his Bentley . . . Andrew is driving.

“When was this photo taken?” I ask.

“Last night.”

My horrified eyes meet Daniel’s. “What the fuck?”

Chapter 15

I storm up the road like a monster, my inner rage at an all-time high.

How dare he?

How fucking dare he?

Okay, so he didn’t want anything more . . . man up and tell me, you fucking spineless dipshit.

Last time I checked, when you spend most of a week inside someone’s body, you at least owe them a simple conversation.

Ugh, I’m furious. I can feel my blood boiling under my skin.

I guess this is the mission accomplished, given that I dated Elliot to try and feel something.

And I feel something for sure: thermonuclear atomic rage.

I march into my building.

“Good morning, nice day.” The doorman smiles.

Is it?

I fake a smile and keep walking. I can’t even make myself lie and agree with him.

Stay out of my way world, I want blood.

At 1 p.m., my email pings.

Kate,

I would like to see you in my office immediately.

Elliot.

Ha, I bet you would . . . you stupid fuck.

I reply:

Elliot,

Sorry, I am too busy.

Please email me your request and I will attend to it as soon as possible.

Kate.

A reply bounces straight back.

Kate,

Whatever you’re doing can wait.

Get up here now!

Now . . . exclamation mark . . . What?

How dare he?

My eyes nearly pop from their sockets.

I hit the keyboard so hard I almost break the damn thing.

Elliot Miles.

Go fuck yourself!

No, I sound like a child. I delete my message and I try again.

Elliot.

Are you so incredibly stupid that you can’t see out of your . . .

No, I delete.

Don’t give him the satisfaction of stooping to his level. I close my eyes and inhale deeply as I try to calm myself down. Don’t let him get to you . . .

Just ignore the stupid email.

I get back to work and half an hour later my email pings again.

Kate.

Are you on your way?

I’m waiting.

My pressure cooker boils to the breaking point. I write back.

I’m not coming.

As I told you, I’m busy. Please forward your request via email.

Stop wasting my time with unreasonable demands.

I hit send.

I don’t know who this guy thinks he is?

How dumb can a human being be?

I get up and walk to my filing cabinet and I slam it open, put the file in, and slam it shut.

“Stupid asshole twat-head,” I mutter under my breath. I sit back down and hit my computer keys. “Stop turning off, fucker.”

I exhale heavily, calm . . . calm . . . calm. Keep fucking calm.

My stomach is churning and, honestly, I haven’t felt this out of control and unstable for a long time. I can’t do this to myself, I already know that this isn’t a healthy relationship for me. I can’t let myself be pulled back down into darkness by a toxic man.

My office door opens and clicks closed and I glance up: Elliot stands before me. Perfectly fitted grey suit, square jaw, and dark hair. His presence instantly takes over the small space. Damn him for being so attractive. It really is infuriating. I drag my eyes back to my computer screen.

“What are you doing?” he snaps.

Don’t give him the satisfaction of reacting.

“Working,” I reply calmly as I keep my eyes to the front.

“I asked to see you.” From my peripheral vision I see his hands go into his trouser pockets as he waits for my reply.

“And I said, email me your request. Now if you don’t mind, I’m very busy, Elliot. Please close the door on your way out.”

“I gave her a lift, nothing more.”

My eyes rise to his.

“She had a fight with her date and was waiting for a cab, I simply offered her a lift.”

I stare at him . . . is that true?

I turn back to my computer. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

He stays silent for a while as if assessing the situation. “What’s with the attitude?”

Fury bubbles dangerously close to the surface and I turn back to him. “It’s called work ethic, Elliot, and there is no attitude.”

“Good.” He tilts his chin to the sky in approval. “I’ll have Andrew pick you up tonight, around seven.”

A frown crosses my brow. Give me strength. I turn back to my computer and print out a spreadsheet. “I can’t tonight, sorry. I have something on.”