The Do-Over (The Miles High Club Book 4)

Top floor, Miles High Building. The elevator doors open, and I stride out.

“Good morning, Sammia.” I smile. It’s good to see a familiar face.

“Christopher.” She gasps. “My god.” She stands, and I lean over the desk and kiss her cheek. “Miss me?” I ask.

“Definitely not.” She smirks.

Sammia and I have a strong friendship. Been play flirting for years. “Still married?”

“Yes, Christopher.” She rolls her eyes.

“Such a shame,” I reply as I walk past her. “One of these days,” I call as I walk away.

I hear her giggle, and I head down the corridor to Jameson’s. I walk in, and he’s on the phone. He glances up and stops midsentence. “I’ll call you back.” He hangs up without waiting for a reply and stands immediately.

I chuckle and hold out my arms, and he rushes me and pulls me into a hug. Emotion overwhelms me. I didn’t realize just how much I missed him up until this very moment. “I thought you weren’t coming until Friday?” he says as he regains his composure and steps back from me.

“Change of plans.”

He circles me as he looks me up and down. “Fuck . . . look at you.”

“What about me?” I smile.

“Tanned.”

I put my hands on my hips proudly.

“You’ve put on weight.”

“Fuck off, I have.”

He sits back at his desk, his eyes not leaving me for a minute, and he picks up his office phone. “Get in here. I have a surprise for you.”

I knew the three of my brothers were all in New York. There’s a board meeting at nine o’clock, and attendance by all is compulsory.

I walk to the bar and eye the assortment of all the alcohol I haven’t been able to afford. “Is it too early?” I ask.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” he replies casually.

I pour myself a scotch and hold up the bottle. He smirks with a subtle shake of his head. “I’ll wait till it’s five here.”

“Still boring, I see.” I sip my drink and smile as it burns all the way down. “Ahh.” I hold the glass up and stare at the amber liquid. “That’s the stuff.”

The door bursts open, and Tristan and Elliot come into view. They both laugh out loud and rush me with a hug. Elliot holds me a little longer than he should. “Let go of me, you creepy fucker.” I smile as I pull out of his arms.

He punches me hard. “Thank god that’s over.”

“Miss me?” I ask.

“No. Just sick of doing all your work.”

His eyes linger affectionately on my face, and I pull him into another hug. “I missed you.”

“London fucking sucks without you there.”

“Tell me everything,” Tristan says as he pours three glasses of scotch.

Jameson winces. “It’s eight thirty in the morning.”

“Stop being fucking boring,” Tristan huffs as he passes their glasses out. He holds his in the air to propose a toast, and we all raise ours too. “Together.”

My eyes well with tears. Fuck. I really missed them.

This is where I belong, with my brothers, running our company.

“Together,” we all repeat.

“So . . .” Tristan smiles. “Tell us everything. What’s been happening with gorillas in the mist?”

I burst out laughing. “Fucking hell, that was the night from hell, and to top it off, the witch stole my credit card.”

They all chuckle.

“The taxi driver.” Jameson smirks. “You. A taxi driver. That will do me . . . that’s the best fucking story I ever heard in my life. And when that dude vomited in the car, and then you vomited in sympathy.”

“Oh no.” They all groan.

“Don’t remind me.” I wince.

“When you were a bear and got punched in the nuts.”

The three of them burst out laughing as they imagine it.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh all you want.” I roll my eyes. “I can still taste blood.”

They laugh harder, and I drain my glass. “We’ve got to get moving. Meeting in ten minutes. Can we sign the trust documents tomorrow? What are we buying now?”

“A skyscraper on Fifth. I’ll call the lawyer and make an appointment. You all around tomorrow?”

“Yes, yeah, sounds good,” they all reply.

“Dinner and drinks tonight?” I ask.

“You’re on.” Tristan slaps me on the back, Elliot messes up my hair, and Jameson gives me a knowing smile. “I’m glad you’re home. No more cockamamie ideas.”

“I know.” I smile. “Good to be home.” We begin to walk to the boardroom.

Only it wasn’t cockamamie; it was great. Probably the greatest time of my life.

I was shown a different way of living, one where it was okay to be whoever I am.

No expectations, no deadlines . . . just me . . . and her.

Sadness twinges, and my face falls. Elliot catches it and frowns. “What’s wrong?” he whispers as we walk.

“Nothing.”

His eyes hold mine.

“Drop it.” I brush past him.

I’m not in the mood for his psychobabble bullshit.

HAYDEN

“You slept with him?” Bernadette shrieks.

“No.” I brush past her into the shower. The girls are back from Portugal unexpectedly. Their backpackers’ hostel got closed down because there was an electrical fault and it had no power. They couldn’t get in anywhere so came back here.

“Then why did he leave?” She follows me.

“He had to sign something at home,” I reply.

“Did you kiss him?”

I hesitate.

“You did.” She gasps. “I knew it.”

“He’s not coming back. You know that, don’t you,” Kimberly says as she turns on the shower in her stall.

“He’ll be back,” I snap as I put my head under the water.

“What makes you so sure?” Bernadette calls.

“Because . . . I know him.”

“Did you know he was going to leave before you kissed him?”

“I knew he was going to freak out, if that’s what you mean.”

“Then why did you kiss him?” she demands. She’s angry that we kissed. She adores Christopher. In her mind, I’ve pushed him away.

“Because there is no way around it. He has to get over this and come back of his own free will.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“He will.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“You don’t know him like I do.”

“Don’t be a fool. He left and took all his things. Can you hear yourself right now?”

“I know this sounds stupid, but I know we have something. And it’s real . . . and I’m trusting it,” I call.

“You’re right, that does sound stupid. A man doesn’t run when he sleeps with a woman unless he doesn’t want to see her again. He got what he wanted, and now he’s out of here.”

Am I being stupid?

No.

I’m trusting him. I trust in us.

“We didn’t sleep together, and he has some shit to work through, that’s all.”

“Has he called you?”

“No.”

Why hasn’t he called me?

“What if he sleeps with someone else while he’s gone?” Bernadette asks.

My heart sinks because I know that’s a real possibility. Scared people do dumb things. “Then it’s over between us.” I sigh. The thought makes me sick to my stomach. “He will tell me if he did. Christopher is a lot of things. A liar isn’t one of them. He will know if he’s fucked up, and he’ll tell me. He’s not a sleazebag.”

“That’s if you ever see him again.”

“I know he’ll be back.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Eddie is here.”

“So?”

“He would never leave him without saying goodbye.”

“But . . . he would leave you . . .”

“Just leave it, Bernadette,” I snap as I lose the last of my patience. “I’m not discussing this anymore.”

“Broken heart coming right up,” Kimberly mutters.

“Right,” Bernadette agrees.

I exhale heavily. I hope they’re wrong.

God, I hope they’re wrong.

I walk out of the bedroom to shower. “Good morning, Miss Hazen.”

I turn to see Eduardo patiently waiting by my door. “Good morning, Eddie.” I smile. Damn, this kid is the cutest human of all time. “What are you up to?” I ask as we walk to my locker.

“I’m here to help you today.”

“That’s not necessary, honey. Go and relax. I don’t need any help.”

His face falls as if he’s disappointed, and he twists his fingers nervously in front of him.

I correct myself. “That’s if you have something else to do. I am going to the market. You could come and keep me company if you like?”

His face lights up. “Okay, I can do that.”

“Give me ten minutes to shower and we will go.”

“Where will I wait for you?” he asks excitedly.

“Wherever you want.”

He gives me a big beautiful smile, and my heart skips a beat. I know why Christopher is so smitten with this boy. I’m pretty smitten myself.

I shower and dress and walk out to find Eddie sitting on the floor by my door. “You don’t have to sit on the floor, honey,” I say. “You could have waited in the lounge area.”

He shrugs as he climbs to his feet. “I don’t mind the floor.”

He’s telling the truth. He doesn’t mind anything and never complains. He is the most hardworking, intelligent little boy I have ever met. His grandmother must be so proud.

Well, he’s not so little, but you know what I mean.

We walk out of the hostel and down the street. The sun is shining, and the weather is warm and balmy. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.” He smiles as he looks around.

We walk in silence for a while. “I want to buy some fresh fruit today and some tomatoes and lettuce.”

“I can carry those,” he suggests.

“Okay,” I reply. “That would be great.” I smile hard on the inside; every minute I spend with him, he pulls me more under his spell.

“You probably should get some apples and bananas too,” he says.

“I think I will.” I smile.

His phone rings, and he digs it out of his pocket. “It’s Mr. Christo,” he says.

“I’m not here,” I stammer. “Pretend you’re not with me.”

“I can’t lie.”

“Yes, you can,” I snap. “Do it.”

“Hello,” he answers. He listens and then smiles broadly.

I stand and watch him on his new fancy iPhone.

“Yes, I’m good.” Eddie smiles. We begin to walk again while I’m listening like a hawk.

“Miss Hazen?” Eddie’s eyes flick to me. “She’s good.” He listens again. “No, she didn’t go to Portugal. The others are back here now too. Their hostel closed.”

Eddie listens again and he frowns. “Last night? I don’t know what she did last night.”

“I went out,” I mouth.

“She went out,” he lies for me. His eyes flick to me again. “Who with?” he repeats Christopher’s question.

“Men,” I mouth.

Eddie frowns as he holds his hand up. “What men?” he mouths back.

“All of them,” I mouth.

Eddie nods, finally understanding the game. “A big bunch of guys. Good-looking dudes too.”

I smile goofily as I listen.

He cares.

“What did she wear?” Eddie frowns as he repeats the question. His eyes meet mine, and he scrunches up his face.

“White dress,” I mouth.

Eddie lies for me again. “I don’t know, a white dress.” Eddie listens and then rolls his eyes. “I’m not cutting up her dress.”

I put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing.

“I’m not sure,” Eddie replies. He listens a bit. “Okay, I’ll try.”

“What?” I mouth.

He waves his hand in a don’t worry sign.

“I’m good.” He smiles. “No, it’s sunny.” He listens again. “I start at three. I’m going to the market with Miss Hazen this morning to buy fruit.” He frowns, and his eyes meet mine. “Don’t tell her you called? Why not?”

My heart sinks as I wait for the reply.

“Oh . . . I see.” He listens, and then eventually, he smiles. “Okay, bye.” He hangs up.

“What did he say?” I blurt out.

“Not to tell you he called.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know . . . I forget,” he lies.

“You’re covering for him?” I gasp.

“He’ll call you, don’t worry.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, is he calling you back?” I ask him.

“He said he’ll call me tomorrow.”

“Oh . . .” I go over the conversation they had, desperately trying to work out what it all means, and we walk in silence for a while.

“He likes you,” he says.

My eyes flick up. “Did he tell you that?”

“He didn’t have to.”

“Well then, how do you know?”

“Men know these things . . . and besides, how could he not?”

I smile. This adorable young man is everything and more. I link my arm through his, grateful for his friendship. “Let’s get an ice cream on the way home too.”

Eddie smiles broadly. “Okay.”

CHRISTOPHER

The restaurant is busy and bustling, loud music is playing, and in typical New York style, everyone is out on a Monday night.

The city that never sleeps.

My brothers laugh and chat, and with every moment that I spend with them, I feel a little more myself.

Jameson holds his hand and makes a fist. I’ve seen him do it a few times today.

“What’s up with your hand?” I ask.

“Fuck knows.” He opens his hand and makes a fist again. “My two middle fingers are sore, like, aching.”

I sip my scotch. “Did you injure them?”

“No.” He opens his hand again. “It’s in the knuckle and up into my fingers and down into the palm of my hand.”

Elliot winces. “That can’t be good.”

“RFI,” Tristan replies casually into his glass.

“What’s RFI?” I ask.

“Repetitive fingering injury.”

I snort my drink up my nose. “What?” I cough.

“No shit,” Tristan says in all seriousness. “It’s hard work keeping these women satisfied.”

“Right,” Jameson agrees. He opens his fist and closes it again.

Tristan holds out his two middle fingers and curls them up, simulating his fingering action. “Does this hurt?”

Jameson does it, and he winces. “Yes. It does.” His eyes flick around the table. “I do fucking have it,” he snaps, horrified.

“It’s all downhill from here,” Elliot says. “You’ll never get laid again if there is a kink in the warm-up chain.”

“Fucking hell,” Jameson mutters under his breath. “The warm-up chain is already well and truly fucked up by the three cockblockers who live in my house rent-free.”

“You mean . . . your children?” Elliot mutters dryly.

Jameson narrows his eyes as he crunches a piece of ice.

I smirk, amused.

“I’m hearing you, man. I got a huge-ass lock . . . so now instead of barging in, they just stand out there banging, screaming, ‘Open the door!’” Tristan curls his lip in disgust. “And now, with the RFI kink in the warm-up chain . . . I’m basically fucked.”

“And not in the right way.” Elliot smiles.

Jameson rolls his eyes and drains his glass. “This wasn’t in the brochure.”

The table erupts into laughter, and I look around the table at my three happily married brothers. “What was in the brochure?” I ask them.

“What do you mean?” Tristan asks.

“How did you know you’d met the . . .” I pause.

“The one?” Elliot asks.

“Yeah.” I shrug. “For interest’s sake.”

“Hmm.” Jameson runs his fingers over his stubble as he thinks back. “I didn’t really know at the time. Like, there wasn’t a lightning-bolt moment when I knew, as such.”

“Yeah, me too,” Tristan agrees. “But there was something different about her.”

“Like what?” I ask, my interest piqued.

“I guess . . .” Tristan pauses. “She was like this really cool friend who was way cooler than me that I desperately wanted to fuck.”

I chuckle.

“For me it was different. I didn’t . . .” Jameson purses his lips as he thinks. “I just wanted to be near her all the time. Like, I was obsessed with her, but different obsessed.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“I hated going home with her not there and would avoid it at all costs.”

I listen intently. This is all news to me. I thought they’d had this primal urge to marry their women the day that they’d met them.

“I felt more at home in her tiny apartment than I did in my penthouse,” Jameson adds.

What?

“Me too,” Tristan agrees. “I missed her. When I wasn’t with her, I missed her. I found myself rushing to get home and cook her dinner and watch television on her couch . . . and suddenly, somehow, it wasn’t about sex anymore.”

“Which is helpful now that you have RFI and a useless lock on the door.” Elliot holds his glass up toward Tristan.

Tristan chuckles. “Facts.”

“So what you’re saying is your sex life is shit.” I frown.

“Not at all,” he replies. “The sex is ridiculously good, but more than that, I wanted to talk to her because she was the first person who actually listened. My life became better because she was in it.”

My heart begins to hammer.

Sounds familiar.

“I guess my biggest thing for me was”—Elliot chips in—“I didn’t want to sleep with anyone else. I lost all attraction to other women overnight.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. I haven’t had sex in two months.

It’s like the urge has completely left my body. I would rather lie on my bed and watch Hayden read than have sex with another woman. I end most days jerking off in the shower and then happily cuddling her back.

Fuck.

“What’s wrong? You look like you saw a ghost,” Tristan says.

“All good.” I fake a smile.

The conversation changes subject, and I sit still as their words of wisdom roll around in my head.

My life became better because she was in it.

I glance over to see Elliot’s gaze fixed firmly on me. He raises an eyebrow, and I snap my eyes away.

Don’t even.

“Christopher?” I hear a female voice call. I glance over to see Heidi as she approaches our table. Nicki is with her too.

My two favorite girls.

My eyebrows rise in surprise and I stand. “Heidi.” I kiss her cheek and turn and kiss Nicki. “Hello.”

“You’re back? Why haven’t you called us?” Heidi smiles sexily and looks me up and down.

The girls and I have a thing going, a very good thing. Had, I correct myself.

“I just got in.” I glance down at my brothers, who are all goofily smiling up at them. Yeah, yeah. I get it: they’re gorgeous. “These are my brothers, Jameson, Elliot, and Tristan.”

Heidi gives a sexy little wave with a playful sashay. “Gentlemen, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Hello.” They all smile up at her as if she’s Aphrodite herself.

“What are you doing after?” she asks. “Let’s catch up?”

“Ah . . .” I frown as she puts me on the spot. “I can’t tonight.” I gesture to my brothers. “I’ll call you?”

“You promise?” She smiles as she leans in and pecks me on the lips.

I step back from her. “Sure.”

They turn and walk off through the crowd, and we all stare after them. Heidi in her hot-pink tight dress and figure to die for: nothing is left to the imagination. And Nicki is just a walking wet dream, every man’s fantasy.

I drop back into my seat, deflated.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tristan whispers. “Go and bend them over the bar, right now.”

“Totally,” Jameson agrees.

I scratch my head, flustered. I pick up my drink and drain the entire glass.

They did look good . . .

Fuck.

I glance over, and Elliot raises his eyebrow again.

“What?” I snap angrily.

He holds his two hands up in surrender. “Nothing.”

“I’m not in the mood, okay?”

He widens his eyes, realizing he’s hit a sore point.

Tristan’s phone rings on the table, and he answers. “Hey, dude. Yeah, I’m ready.” He glances at his watch. “Pick me up on your way through.” He listens. “Okay, see you then.” He hangs up. “Harrison just finished work. He’s picking me up on the way home.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to get going too,” Jameson says as he puts his hand up for the bill.

“Let’s have another one,” Elliot says.

I nod, feeling more unstable than ever. “Get the whole fucking bottle.”

Jameson’s eyes rise to meet mine, and he frowns. “What’s wrong with you? You’re acting weird.”

“Yeah,” Tristan says. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Nothing,” I snap.

Elliot leans back in his chair. His knowing eyes hold mine, and he signals to the waiter. She comes over. “We’ll have two more scotches, please.”

Hayden would have had a margarita.

“Actually”—I cut him off—“I’ll have a margarita . . . make it two.”

“Margaritas.” Elliot winces. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Four,” I say to the waiter.

“No scotch?” she asks Elliot.

“No,” I reply for him.

Jameson chuckles and slaps Elliot on the back as he stands. “Good luck with that one. Christopher left his taste buds in Spain.”

Tristan stands too. “Thank fuck I’m not staying. I can’t handle that shit.” He pulls his jacket on. “What time we signing contracts tomorrow?”

“Nine,” Jameson replies.

“See you then.” I fake a smile. They amble off through the restaurant, and my eyes come back to Elliot. He’s now leaning on his hand, his finger steepled up along his temple, his gaze fixed firmly on me.

“Who is she?”

“Nobody,” I lie.

“Cut the shit. Who the fuck is she?”

“Just drop it.”

“I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”

I stay silent.

“Listen, dickhead . . . don’t lie to me. I know there is something going on with you, and I want to know what it is.”

“Four margaritas.” The waiter puts them down on the table in front of us.

“Thanks.” Elliot picks his up and takes a sip. He winces. “The first one is always so rough.” He licks the salt from his lips. “Christ almighty,” he mutters under his breath. “Tastes like fucking shit.”

I exhale heavily. “Her name is Hayden Whitmore.”

“Nice name.” He smirks as he takes another sip. “Sounds like a character from a Jane Austen book.”

I smirk and take a sip too. “She is.”

He watches me and waits for me to elaborate.

“Kind, loving, innocent, and . . .” I pause. “Different to the women I know. Curvy and sweet, intelligent and witty. She’s fucking perfect.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know.”

He frowns. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I literally don’t know.” I tip my head back and drain my margarita glass until it’s empty.

He takes another sip and holds his drink up and studies it. “It’s tasting better now. Those first few mouthfuls were . . .” He fakes a shiver.

“It is.”

“How do you know her?”

“She’s one of my roommates in the hostel. We’ve been traveling together for three months.”

He nods. “And how long have you been sleeping with her?” he asks.

“I haven’t slept with her.”

He screws his face up in confusion. “What?”

I shrug and drain my other glass. “I know.”

“So . . . let me get this straight. You haven’t even slept with this woman?”

I shake my head.

“So you’re not even with her?”

“Well . . . technically, no.”

“How is there a technically in that sentence?”

“Because I am with her. I spend every minute of every day with this girl and follow her around like a puppy, and she doesn’t sleep around and hasn’t been interested in me at all, and then we kissed and fooled around, and I freaked out and came home.”

He stares at me. “Define fool around.”

I puff air into my cheeks. “There was a head job involved.”

His eyes widen in horror. “You made her go down on you and then flew the coop?”

“No,” I stammer. “It wasn’t a good time for her, and . . .” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yes.”

He stares at me.

“We’re friends, like, best friends, and she’s all I can think about, and then I’ve gone and fucked it up,” I blurt out.

“Why have you fucked it?”

“Because I’m . . .” I try to search for the right terminology. “Me.”

He drains his glass, too, and puts his hand up to signal for more drinks. “I need more tequila for this conversation.”

We sit in silence for a while.

“So . . . you don’t want her?”

“That’s the problem. I do.”

He screws up his face. “So why aren’t you pursuing this?”

“Because I already know I’m going to fuck it up, and she’s the one person I can’t hurt.”

“Why do you say that?” He frowns.

“I’m not good enough for her.”

“That’s fucking ridiculous,” he scoffs.

“Is it?” I reply. “I’ve thought long and hard about this, and the reality is, Elliot—and you and I both know this is true—I can’t hold a relationship for even a week. I get bored. I have a wandering eye. I’ve never been able to take something to the next level.” I try to articulate myself better. “I’m just not built to be with one woman. I don’t want anyone depending on me.”

“Because you’ve never been in love before,” he snaps.

What?

My face falls.

“You’re scared.”

“I am not fucking scared,” I fire back.

“Bullshit. You’ve fallen in love with this girl, and you’re fucking shit scared.”

“I am not in love with her,” I fume. “I couldn’t be. We don’t even sleep together.”

I drain my other margarita.

“And yet . . .” He holds his hand out toward me. “Look at you.”

I drag my hand down my face in disgust.

“Look, I know that you have always said to me that when it’s time to get married, you will pick someone and just do it. But let me tell you a secret, little brother . . . it doesn’t happen like that. It isn’t a conscious decision that you make. One day a woman will weave her way so deep under your skin that you will have no choice but to follow your heart.”

I stare at him, my mind a clusterfuck of confusion. “I can’t be divorced, Elliot.”

His face falls. “Why would you even say that?”

“Because I can’t.” Anxiety tightens in my chest. “I would rather be dead than be divorced. A failed marriage is something that I couldn’t forgive myself for. If I can’t do it right, I don’t want to do it at all.”

“That’s ridiculous.” He screws up his face. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

The waiter puts another four margaritas down in front of us.

“Thanks.” Elliot nods. We fall silent, both lost in our own thoughts.

“What do you think is going to happen?” he asks. “If you pursue this, what do you think is going to happen?”

“I know what’s going to happen.”

“What?”

“I’ll fuck up . . . and she’ll leave me. I’ll be brokenhearted and see my kids every second weekend. They were her words, not mine.”

“But . . .”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I snap. “I’m not going there with Hayden. She was the dream that I can’t have. I’m coming back to London. My backpacking days are over. Trust me, she’s better off without me.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he snaps.

I drain another glass and slam it on the table. I feel myself get fuzzy. “Less talking.” I hold my hand up for another round. “More drinking.”

Four hours later Elliot and I stumble out of the bar and roll into the back of our waiting car.

“I’m margarooted,” Elliot slurs to our driver.

I laugh hard. “That’s true, he is.” We carry on laughing in the back seat, and finally the car pulls to a halt outside Elliot’s apartment.

He opens the door, and I put my foot on his behind and kick him out of the car. He stumbles onto the sidewalk, and I laugh. “Drive,” I tell the driver.

We drive off, and ten minutes later we pull up in front of my building. I get out and stumble inside, and as I walk through the foyer, the concierge smiles. “Good evening, Mr. Miles.”

“Hello.” I smile.

“Your guests are waiting in the bar, sir.”

“Huh?”

He gestures to the private lounge area, and I walk in to see Heidi and Nicki waiting. Their eyes light up when they see me, and I stop on the spot.

They both rush me and slide in and put their arms around me. Heidi leans up onto her toes and kisses my neck. “We’ve missed you, darling.”

I look between the two beautiful women, and my cock tingles.

It’s been a long time.

“Shall we take this upstairs?” She smiles darkly.

My eyes drop to her lips. “Yes, we shall.”