The Casanova (The Miles High Club 3)

“Like what?”

Ignoring him, I stand and open the top drawer of my filing cabinet, and he swiftly puts his hand over mine and closes it, causing it to slam. “Like what?” he growls.

“Washing my hair,” I snap as I lose the last of my patience.

“So, you are angry?”

I sit down in a rush and twist back to my computer screen.

“What was I supposed to do, leave her on the street?” he replies.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“This is why relationships and me don’t work. There is always fucking drama. It was a lift.”

“We are not in a relationship. You have already made that crystal clear and I really don’t care if you want to take Varuscka Vermont on your stupid Miles jet. This has nothing to do with giving someone a lift home. Get out.”

“So?” Amusement flashes across his face. “You did see the story.”

“Elliot, I’m not interested in this game. I’m tired of it already.”

He puts his hands on his hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means . . .” My voice trails off.

“We had a deal.”

I roll my eyes. “Do you mean the deal about you not being seen or photographed with me but it’s perfectly fine for you to be seen leaving with another woman, or do you mean your deal of nobody knowing about us and you speaking to me like a piece of crap whenever you feel like it? Newsflash, it isn’t that appealing, Elliot, excuse me if I want to pass.”

“I had a stressful day on Monday,” he barks.

“I’m having one now,” I growl back.

His eyes hold mine. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you may as well go out with Varuscka. This arrangement isn’t going to work between us.”

“What?” he explodes.

My door opens without warning. “Do you want a coffee?” Kellie asks.

“Knock before you enter an office,” Elliot snaps.

Kellie’s eyes widen as she looks at us. “Sorry,” she whispers as she swiftly closes the door.

Elliot glares at me, his nostrils flaring as he grapples for control. “Are we done here?” he sneers. I can feel his anger as it radiates out of him.

“Stop being a drama queen.” I keep staring at my computer; I don’t want to look at him.

“Kathryn,” he bellows.

“Do not speak to me like that and then barge in here with demands. I’m unsure how things work for you with other women, but I can assure you, it doesn’t cut it with me.”

I can almost feel the atomic bomb as it goes off. Tangible fury radiates out of him.

Without another word he storms from my office and slams the door. The windows rattle from the bang.

Beep, beep.

The horn sounds out on the street. I peer out of my bedroom window and smile and wave when I see the small truck.

Excitement fills me: I get my brother to myself for a whole twenty-four hours. I’ve taken some leave. We’re going back to Mum and Dad’s to pick up what’s left of our things—Elanor has put them into a storage unit for us. Brad has hired a removals truck and I’ve booked us a hotel to stay at tonight.

We’re going to go out for dinner and chill and hang out. Spend some much-needed family time together.

After the shitty week I’ve had, this weekend is a welcome distraction. Elliot Miles is the epitome of cold. He hasn’t looked at me since that day in my office, let alone made eye contact, not once.

And it’s not that he hasn’t had the chance; he’s walked by me in the corridor without any acknowledgment and even caught the same elevator as me this morning, and still not a word.

It’s like I imagined the whole damn thing, and maybe I did?

I don’t know, but I’m sick to death of myself overanalyzing it. If he can move on so easily, I really did do the right thing.

Not that it hurts my feelings or ego any less.

I grab my things and make my way downstairs. “Bye, I’m going,” I call.

Daniel comes out of his room. “Have fun, darling.” He kisses my cheek. “And forget all about Douchebag Miles.”

I smile up at him as I flick the hair out of his eyes. “Who’s that?”

He taps my nose. “That’s the spirit.”

“Where’s Beck?” I ask.

“In the shower.”

“Okay.” I head toward the door. “Say goodbye to her for me.”

“I will . . . oh, and I’ll be here to help you unload tomorrow if you need me.”

“It should be okay, Brad will help. Have a good night,” I call as I head out of the door. I’m hit with the icy conditions and I wrap my jacket around me tighter. “Fuck off, snow,” I mutter under my breath.

I run across the road and climb into the truck. Brad is wearing a trucker cap and he flexes his arm muscle. “Gangster as fuck, in the truck.”