The Casanova (The Miles High Club)

by T L Swan

  “We aren’t just fucking, Elliot,” I whisper.

  “I know.”

  “What are we?” I whisper again.

  “Too tired for this conversation.”

  I frown.

  “Go to sleep, baby,” he murmurs, then kisses my cheek and holds me close.

  Questions roll around in my psyche and yet, here in his arms, I feel safe.

  Too tired for this conversation . . . What does that even mean?

  It’s like I’m swimming out to sea with no sight of land. I know it’s dangerous, but I can’t get out of the rip tide as I get swept along. Perhaps I wouldn’t, even if I could.

  The water is dark, but it’s too late. I’m too far from the shore to turn back.

  My dearest Pinkie,

  Tell me something interesting, my day is dull.

  Ed

  X

  I smirk and look guiltily around my office. I really shouldn’t be speaking to Ed while I’m working, but my day is pretty dull too. We’ve got into the habit of speaking numerous times a day. Completely platonic of course, but fun nevertheless. If it wasn’t for the sarky sense of humor, I couldn’t reconcile that he and Elliot are the same person at all.

  Dearest Ed,

  There are two body parts on a human that never stop growing.

  The nose and the ears.

  Pinkie

  X

  A reply bounces straight back.

  Pinkie,

  I must say, I’m let down with your so-called interesting fact. Another mundane piece of information I didn’t need to hear.

  Thankfully I’m blessed with perfection. Unfortunately I know that I can’t say the same for you.

  Perhaps you should update your profile picture from a cat to an elephant now to evade catfishing more poor unsuspecting suitors.

  I giggle. “You idiot.”

  I type:

  My dearest Pinocchio,

  I am a very busy woman, doing a very important job.

  Stop annoying me and go and tend to your garbage.

  I smile and click out of my email. Edgar Moffatt, my sweet distraction.

  Saturday night, Andrew drives through London; Elliot and I in the backseat.

  “Do we really have to go?” I sigh. “I hate the thought of walking into this thing alone.” I’m dressed in a long, black, fitted evening gown, my hair is curled, and my makeup is natural. Elliot approves—I had to fight him off before we even left home.

  “I told you already”—Elliot picks up my hand and kisses the back of it—“Miles Media have made a very generous donation and I have to be there for the presentation.”

  “I guess.” I exhale heavily as I stare out of the window.

  “I’ve arranged for us to be seated at the same table and we can leave as soon as the speeches are over.” He leans over and kisses me just below my ear to try and sweeten the blow. “Then we can go to your favorite restaurant.”

  “You mean, your favorite restaurant,” I whisper. We’ve been to the private dining room twice, and each time I’ve ended up giving Casanova Miles a lap dance with a happy ending. Something about that place makes me putty in his hands.

  Elliot gives me a slow, sexy smile. “Well, you do seem to enjoy yourself there.”

  My eyes flick to Andrew—can he hear us?

  I slide my hand up Elliot’s thick quad and dust my fingers over his crotch. His eyes hold mine and I feel a twinge beneath my touch as he flexes his dick.

  “Why can’t we walk in together?” I whisper.

  “You know why.” He kisses me softly.

  “How long is this going to go on for?” I murmur into his mouth.

  “You don’t want the attention that comes from dating me, Kathryn. Trust me on this.” He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “When it’s just me and you, nobody else can fuck this up,” he whispers.

  I smile; he’s right. I nod, feeling a little better.

  “Let me out here, Andrew, and drop Kathryn at the door please.”

  “Yes sir.” The car pulls up to the curb.

  Elliot takes a ticket out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and passes it to me. “Go inside, check the seating, and I’ll meet you at our table.”

  I nod, my nerves beginning to thump. “Okay.” He kisses me quickly and gets out of the car and Andrew pulls back out into the traffic; we go around the corner and up the street and he pulls into a large circular driveway. He turns and smiles. “Here you go, Kate.”

  “Thank you.” I get out of the car and walk up the oversized sandstone steps, hand my ticket to the doorman, and walk through the large archway. The ballroom is huge and extravagant, with big, round, candlelit tables and beautiful fresh flowers in arrangements. I walk through to the seating map and make my way to the table.

  The table is already full except for three seats. “Hello.” I smile as I sit down beside a kind-looking couple.

  “Hello,” everyone replies happily, and they all introduce themselves one by one. The waiter walks past with a silver tray full of glasses of champagne. I take one—hell . . . just leave the entire tray, please.

  “Hi.” A man across the table smiles at me. He’s around thirty, with fair hair, very good-looking, actually. “Are you alone?” he asks.

  “Yes.” I clutch my purse with white-knuckle force on my lap. Damn Elliot, this is the first and last time I’m doing this.

  “Me too.” Without a word the man gets up and swaps his name tag with Elliot’s.

  He slinks into the seat beside me. “That’s better.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Charles.”

  I smile and shake it. “Kathryn.”

  He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. “Lovely to meet you, Kathryn.”

  I feel him before I see him. Elliot slinks into the chair opposite, his eyes find mine and I pull my hand from Charles’s lips.

  Crap.

  “Mr. Miles,” someone from the side splutters. “How lovely to see you again.”

  Elliot turns and fakes a smile. “Hello.” He does the honors and shakes everyone’s hands at the table.

  “Charles.” The man reaches over to shake Elliot’s hand.

  Elliot raises an eyebrow in a silent you’re in my seat signal. “Elliot Miles.”

  “I know who you are.” Charles smiles broadly. “Doesn’t everyone.”

  Elliot rolls his lips as he stares at him flatly, clearly unimpressed.

  Awkward.

  I tip my head back and take a gulp of champagne.

  “I switched seats with you,” Charles jokes. “I saw beautiful Kathryn here and simply had to sit next to her. You snooze, you lose, old boy.”

  Elliot’s eyes hold his and I bite my bottom lip to hide my smile—oh, this is priceless.

  Charles turns his attention back to me. “So, Kathryn, we were meant to meet tonight. I feel like the gods have shone down on me—tell me all about you.”

  Good grief.

  My eyes flick to Elliot, who raises an eyebrow as he takes a sip of his champagne.

  What’s going through that control-freak head of his?

  I tip my head back and skull again.

  Help.

  Oh what hell it is to ride on a charity ball tonight.

  At first I thought teasing Elliot with Charles was a little fun, harmless flirting, but as the night goes on . . . not so much.

  Charles is now openly flirting with me and I don’t want to be rude, but with Elliot in earshot it’s my worst nightmare. Elliot is talking to other people at the table, but I know he’s listening to my and Charles’s every word.

  I’m deflecting compliments and sidestepping his flirting, but with every new tactic he tries, and he’s fucking trying them all, my blood pressure rises a little more.

  At any moment I’m expecting Elliot to go bat-shit crazy, and dive across the table and punch Charles straight in the nose, because that’s who he is.

  But to my surprise, he’s being calm and collected, his public persona firmly in plac
e.

  It’s very unsettling.

  His eyes hold mine as he lifts his Scotch to his lips and takes a sip, emotionless and cold.

  He’s fucking pissed.

  Out-of-control Elliot Miles is manageable. Cold and calculating Elliot Miles is a completely different story. This situation is a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

  “Elliot.” We hear a sexy voice with a German accent, and I look up to see a drop-dead gorgeous woman in an ice-pink, strapless evening gown. She has long, dark hair and a body to die for.

  Elliot glances up and then says something to her in another language. I can tell by the look on his face, it’s flirty . . . I know that look all too well.

  She laughs on cue.

  Huh?

  What did he just say?

  She replies in . . . I think it’s German.

  He gives her a sexy smile and stands and holds his hand out for her. He says something else to her in German and she throws her head back and laughs out loud.

  What the fuck?

  “Who is this?” Charles asks.

  Excellent question, Charles . . . you giant dickhead.

  “This is Varuscka.” Elliot replies as he looks at her all adoringly. “And we’re dancing.” He leads her by the hand to the dance floor and takes her in his arms. I glare after them as my blood begins to boil. Varuscka Vermont, the woman he gave a lift home.

  Seeing him and her together now . . . maybe there was more to it.

  What the actual fucking fuck?

  I pick up my glass and drain it, then refill my glass so fast that it sloshes over the side.

  “Steady on.” Charles laughs. “Don’t want to get drunk and disorderly, do we?”

  I glare at him, shut up, shut up. This is all your fault, you fucking idiot.

  He’s playing games . . .

  He just wants to pay me back for talking to Charles all night, it’s obvious.

  Calm, calm . . . keep fucking calm.

  With a shaky hand I lift my glass to my lips and I glance over to the dance floor. Elliot is holding her close in his arms, his back to me. Tall, dark, and handsome in a black dinner suit, he looks orgasmic, a standout in the crowded room. He’s talking in her ear and by the look on her face it looks like he’s telling her how many ways he could lick her to heaven.

  My eyes begin to glow red as adrenaline pumps through my bloodstream.

  Are you kidding me?

  He brings me here, makes me pretend I’m alone because he can’t be seen with me, then gets pissed when someone hits on me . . . then flirts in German with God’s gift to men to pay me back.

  Asshole.

  The song finishes and they dance again, she’s laughing and chatting, looking up at him all adoringly. Her eyes are all love-heart shaped with a rose-colored blush on her face.

  I know that look, I’ve seen it in the mirror many a time.

  Have they slept together? Is she one of the nine and a half million women that he’s slept with?

  Casanova fucking Miles.

  Charles is still rattling on and I’ve filled my glass three times. Will you shut the hell up, Charles! I am not in the mood to hear your fucking crap. I’ve got enough of my own crap to deal with here.

  The song finishes but, instead of coming back to the table, Elliot goes to the bar with Varuscka.

  What?

  My blood boils and the last of my sanity snaps.

  That’s it . . . it’s go time.

  You want a fight, fucker? You just got one.

  He gets two drinks at the bar, one for Varuscka and one for him, and he stands facing me in among the crowd as they talk.

  I glare at him and he glares right back, raises his glass of Scotch to me in a silent salute.

  I throw my napkin on the table and push my seat out. Fuck this, I’m out.

  How dare he?

  “I’m going,” I say to the table.

  “Oh, so soon,” Charles cries. “The night is young.”

  “I have to work in the morning,” I lie with a fake smile.

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  “Not necessary.” I smile through gritted teeth. “Nice to meet you all.” I grab my clutch and give the table a weak wave and walk toward the door.

  “Nonsense,” I hear Charles call from behind me.

  I burst through the doors and out into the lobby. Damn it, my coat is in the cloakroom. I don’t want to wait but the coat is my favorite, so I dig out my ticket and stand in line.

  Charles runs as he catches up, puts his hands in his pockets as he waits beside me. I stare at him and, funnily enough, in any normal circumstances I would have thought this guy was gorgeous. I mean, he is.

  He’s just not him.

  Ugh, I’m infuriated. Why do I have such shit taste in men?

  “Let’s go and get a drink somewhere,” Charles says. “I want to get out of here, too.”

  “The only place you’ll be going is to the fucking morgue,” Elliot growls from behind us.

  Charles turns. “Mr. Miles,” he stammers.

  Elliot glares at him. “Get out of my fucking sight.”

  Charles eyes widen as he looks at us in turn. “I mean—”

  “Now!” Elliot barks. “And don’t you dare contact her again.”

  Oh, hell.

  “Next,” the coat girl calls. I step forward in a rush and hand over my ticket, so angry I can hardly see straight, and in my peripheral vision I see Charles practically run back into the ballroom.

  Wimp.

  I get my coat and march to the door, Elliot hot on my heels. “Go away,” I whisper angrily.

  “Fuck off,” he snaps as he follows me.

  My eyes nearly bulge from their sockets. I barge through the doors and see the black Bentley parked and waiting for us.

  “Get in,” Elliot barks.

  “Go to hell.” I begin to march along the pavement.

  “Get. The. Fuck. In. The. Car.” He opens the back door.

  I look up to see people are stopping and staring, I don’t want a scene. Fuck’s sake.

  I get in the back of the car and he gets in behind me.

  “Hello.” Andrew smiles as he pulls out into the traffic.

  “Take me home.”

  “My house,” Elliot growls.

  “Let me out of the car.” I lose control and I don’t give a damn any more. “You fucking asshole,” I scream.

  Andrew’s eyes flick up to me in the mirror.

  “Drive to my house,” Elliot demands, punching the seat in front of us. “You do not play fucking games with me. Do you hear me, Kathryn?” he screams.

  “Oh, but you can flirt in German?” I yell. “Do me a favor and go back inside to her, you self-centered fucking asshole.”

  Andrew grips the steering wheel; I can tell he’s unsure where to drive to.

  “Do not fucking tempt me,” Elliot yells as the car slows at the traffic lights.

  What the actual fuck . . . he didn’t just say that.

  My anger hits a crescendo, I go to open the car door to get out and it’s locked. “Open the door,” I yell.

  “Do not open the door,” Elliot orders.

  Andrew’s nervous eyes flick up to the backseat. He’s unsure what to do.

  “So help me God, Andrew, drive me to my house or I’m having you charged with kidnapping,” I scream.

  Andrew’s eyes widen and he makes an instant U-turn.

  Elliot punches the seat in front of him again.

  The car pulls up at my house and the door lock releases. I get out and slam the door.

  Elliot does too, and he follows me up the steps to my house. “Get the fuck away from me,” I snap. “How dare you.”

  “How dare I what?” He holds his hands out wide as if shocked. “You’re the one that’s carrying on.”

  “Don’t tempt you to go back to her? Be my fucking guest, Elliot. I dare you,” I spit.

  He narrows his eyes.

  “You’re the one who doesn’t wa
nt to be seen with me.”

  “That’s not it and you know it,” he yells. “I don’t want drama, cut your shit.”

  “Well, I don’t want to be your unpaid fucking prostitute any longer. If you’re ashamed to be seen with me in public, don’t see me in private.” I unlock the front door and push it open with force. Thank God nobody’s home, we’re screaming the house down here.

  “Don’t fucking threaten me, Kathryn,” he growls.

  “It’s not a threat.” I slam the door in his face. “It’s a promise,” I scream through it.

  He punches the door and it rattles the front of the house.

  “Leave!” I yell.

  He punches it again and it echoes through the whole house.

  “You are going to break the fucking door, Elliot. I mean it. Go. Away!” I put the deadlock on, and march up the stairs.

  I peer out of the window and see him pacing on the pavement. Andrew is out of the car talking to him, obviously trying to calm him down.

  My heart is pounding as I wait for his next move. Angry Elliot Miles is a beast to behold, and damn it, I don’t want to deal with him tonight.

  Please . . . just go.

  Ten minutes later, I hear his door slam, peer through the crack in the curtains, and watch the car slowly pull away. Relief fills me and I drop onto my bed. “Ugh,” I fume. “What a fucking asshole.”

  Chapter 20

  ELLIOT

  I sit in the bar and sip my Scotch. I went to work this morning, but left early.

  Not in the mood for work today. Not in the mood for anything, really.

  I have a lead ball in my stomach, one that isn’t going away. I screwed up on Saturday night . . . bad.

  But in my defense, she’s fucking infuriating. Did she really think I would sit there all night and watch someone come on to her without consequence?

  I glance at my watch, it’s 2 p.m. I haven’t heard from her and I know that I’m not going to.

  Typical fucking Kathryn Landon, stubborn as all hell.

  I go over my options: there aren’t any. I either have to grovel or kiss her goodbye. I know she isn’t going to come looking for me anytime soon.

  I exhale heavily and scroll through my phone, find the number I’m looking for and give a disgusted shake of my head. This is a first, I’ve never done this before. I’m usually glad when they leave. Sucking up to a woman is a new kind of uncharted-territory hell.