The Stopover

by Swan, T L

  “Hello.”

  “I’m Emily.” I hold out my hand, embarrassed that I haven’t introduced myself before now.

  “I’m Alan.” He smiles warmly as we shake hands. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” He opens the door, and I climb into the back of the car. He closes the door, and we drive through the New York night. This doesn’t seem real—me sitting in the back of a limo being driven to Jameson’s apartment by his driver.

  We get to his building, and he stops in the pull-up area and opens the door. “I’ll take you up.” He goes to take my bag from me.

  “It’s okay. I’ve got it. Thank you anyway.”

  He frowns. I see his disappointment.

  “Unless you want to carry it,” I splutter.

  “Thank you.” He smiles as he takes it from me. “I would prefer to.”

  Jeez. He got offended that I wanted to carry my own bag. What is this alternate universe?

  We get into the swanky elevator, and the attendant already knows what floor to take me to. He must know Alan.

  I hold my breath, nervous as we ride in silence. We get to the floor, and I tentatively follow Alan as he opens the door. “Mr. Miles shouldn’t be long. He’s still at the office. His call is going longer than he expected.”

  “Thank you.” I smile.

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, all good.”

  With a courteous nod, he closes the door and leaves me alone. I turn to see the lamps strategically on, creating a breathtaking canvas to the view. The twinkling lights over New York are nothing short of spectacular. I take my phone out and snap some pictures. I couldn’t be such a fangirl when he is here.

  I walk into the bedroom and put my bag into the empty walk-in closet, and then I walk into his. Suits and business shirts are strategically lined up, and there are rows and rows of expensive polished shoes.

  I run my hand over the sleeves of the suits as I look around. I open the top drawer of the dresser, and I smile at his over-the-top organization. His ties are all rolled and displayed as if this is a luxury men’s boutique. Watches . . . I count them. Ten expensive watches are lined up. And then I see something rolled up next to his watches. My heart stops when I see the initials.

  E.F.

  My scarf.

  He kept it.

  Not only did he keep it, but it’s also with his special things. I pick it up and hold it in my hands as I stare at it. My eyes close, and I inhale deeply; the faint smell of my perfume still lingers.

  I didn’t imagine it back then. He was right there with me. I smile broadly and put the scarf back where it was and carefully close the drawer.

  I don’t know what to do with this information, but I’m pretty damn pleased with my find. My heart is racing.

  He kept it.

  I walk through the apartment as I look around. I run my hand over the heavy marble countertops in the kitchen and smile at the sheer luxury of the place.

  I wonder if he has eaten.

  I open the fridge, but it’s surprisingly sparse. There is chicken and a few ingredients. I open the pantry and find some other things. I glance at the wine fridge and frown—it’s full.

  Of course it is.

  How often does Mr. Miles have a liquid dinner?

  Hmm, I need to get a grip on this stress of his.

  I pour myself a glass of wine, take out the ingredients, and look through the cupboards to find the pots and pans and chopping boards and knives. I search Spotify on my phone and put on some chill music.

  I begin to chop the chicken with a huge goofy smile on my face.

  He kept my scarf.

  Forty-five minutes later, I hear the front door open. “Em?” he calls.

  “In the kitchen.”

  “Hmm . . . something smells good.” He kisses me and wraps his arms around me from behind. “What are you cooking?”

  “Fuck bunny stew.”

  He laughs loudly, and it’s a beautiful sound. It does things to my insides. “Does your mother know you’re a cannibal?” He kisses my cheek from behind.

  I giggle as I stir the pot. “No, and don’t tell her.”

  “You didn’t need to cook. I would have taken you out.” He pours himself a glass of wine.

  “It’s Monday.” I frown.

  “And?” He sips his wine.

  “You don’t go out to dinner on a school night.”

  “I go out every night.”

  “What?” I frown. “You eat out every night?”

  “Yeah, of course. Why?”

  My mouth falls open, and I put my hand on my hip. “Jameson Miles, you have more money than sense. How do you relax if you go out to dinner every night?”

  “I sit in a restaurant and eat.” He shrugs. “It’s really quite easy.”

  I roll my eyes in disgust as I keep stirring. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.” He takes me in his arms and stares down at me. “Did you really miss me over the weekend?”

  I go up onto my toes and kiss his big beautiful lips. “I did, actually.”

  He holds me tight.

  “This is where you tell me that you missed me too,” I mutter dryly into his shoulder.

  “I don’t miss people.”

  “Ugh,” I huff as I pull out of his arms and go back to stirring the dinner. “Can you go out of the room so I can drug your food now?” I ask. “I plan on robbing your place.”

  He chuckles. “Only if you promise to take advantage of my body while I’m sleeping.”

  I giggle. “Deal.”

  I dish up our dinner, and we take seats at the kitchen counter. I hold my breath as he takes his first bite. “Hmm, delicious,” he hums.

  I smile proudly.

  “A fuck bunny who cooks.” He smirks around a forkful of food.

  “I love to cook. It’s my hobby.”

  He frowns and watches me for a moment. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Emily.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it. You’re very . . .” He pauses as he thinks of the right word. “Unaffected.”

  “Unaffected by what?” I smirk as I eat.

  He shrugs. “New York.”

  “You’ve never had a girlfriend who cooked for you before?”

  “I’ve only ever had one serious relationship, and she was a workaholic like me.” He shrugs. “We would both get home too late from work. Eating out was easier.”

  I sip my wine as I stare at him. I would love to blurt out a million questions about her . . . but I won’t. I’ll play it cool.

  He moves to get his wine, and he winces.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My back’s tight.” He stands and twists his upper body to stretch. “Somebody insisted on me firing my masseuse.”

  “Oh, her,” I scoff. “Don’t ruin my night. I’ll find you a new masseuse tomorrow.”

  He stretches some more. “Please do.”

  “Why does your back get so tight?”

  He sits back down. “When I get wound up, my back tightens.”

  “What else happens when you get wound up?”

  He chews his food as if contemplating his answer. “My temper gets the best of me.”

  I smile broadly.

  “What?” He smirks.

  “All this time I thought you were an asshole, when really you were just stressed out?”

  He chuckles. “And what’s your excuse for being a bitch?”

  I sip my wine. “Nothing. I really am just a bitch.”

  He holds his glass up to clink it with mine. His eyes have a tender glow to them.

  “Thank you for dinner. It’s delicious.” He leans over and kisses me. “Like you.”

  I remember something. “Oh, and you will be pleased to know, I brought my workout gear so I can come running in the morning.”

  “You did?” he asks in surprise.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I run fast.”

 
“Good, because I walk slow.”

  A few hours later we both laugh out loud into the darkness.

  “You did not,” he says.

  I giggle. “Uh-huh.” It’s late, and we are lying in bed, facing each other, and talking after making love.

  “What on earth?” He rubs his hand up over my stomach and then breast as he listens. His face is alight with mischief. “How?”

  “Well . . .” I think for a moment. “It was my first car, and I’d only had it a week. I was driving with my friend, and the day was as hot as hell. We were on our way to buy some cheap jeans from a market, and the temperature gauge started overheating.”

  He smiles as he listens.

  “We pulled into a service station, and I called my dad, and he told me to put oil in it.” I shrug. “But we didn’t know where the oil went, so we assumed it went in the little hole that you measure it from.”

  “The dipstick?” he gasps in disbelief. “How on earth did you get it in there?”

  I laugh. This is the most ridiculous story I ever heard of. “We borrowed a funnel and then poured it in, and it overflowed everywhere.” I shake my head as I remember it as clear as day. “We thought it was fine and started driving, and then oil we’d spilled on the engine caught on fire.”

  His eyes widen. “What happened?”

  “My beloved five-hundred-dollar car that I saved up for a year for was frigging totaled in just one week; that’s what happened.”

  We both laugh and then eventually fall silent.

  I lean onto my elbow as I look over at the gorgeous naked man beside me. “You must have done something stupid in your life, Jameson Miles.”

  He smiles softly over at me in the darkness. “Yeah. I have.”

  “What?” I smirk.

  He reaches over and cups my face in his hand, and his thumb dusts over my bottom lip. “I never asked for your number.”

  Chapter 14

  “Will you hurry up, woman?” Jameson calls from his running position up in front.

  I’m panting for dear life as I try to keep up. Oh hell, he’s trying to kill me.

  “What’s the rush?”

  He turns around and runs back to me.

  I frown as I watch him. “God, you’re so perky and energetic in the morning.”

  He laughs and sprints off as I keep shuffling along. I watch him do a loop so that he can still see me, and then he sprints back.

  “How do you run so fast?”

  He jogs backward in front of me as we talk. “Well, what I do is I imagine someone is chasing me with an ax.” He’s hardly even out of breath.

  “What?” I frown. “Are you kidding me?”

  He shakes his head with a cheeky grin.

  “Your relaxation tool is to imagine someone is chasing you with a fucking ax.”

  He laughs as he jogs backward. “It works. I run much faster that way.”

  “This is all making sense now,” I puff. “The puzzle is falling into place here.”

  “What puzzle?”

  “Your back is tight because your masseuse continually puts it out so she can fuck you again.”

  He grins.

  “Your relaxation exercise is to be chased by an ax murderer.”

  He laughs.

  “And you go out seven nights a week. No wonder you’re stressed out, you crazy bastard.”

  He pulls me to him by my T-shirt and kisses me on the lips. “Lucky I have you to fuck me calm, then, isn’t it?”

  “Damn straight,” I pant. We need to stop talking. I can’t run and talk at the same time. What kind of Olympic athlete does he think I am?

  “What exercise would you recommend I do? For relaxing, I mean,” he asks as he falls in to jog beside me slowly.

  I think for a moment. “Aqua aerobics.”

  “Ha.” He laughs. “I’m not that old.”

  “You’re pretty old,” I pant.

  “Do you want to race me?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that murderer has his ax in my lungs, and I’m about to die at any second. I hope you know resuscitation.”

  He chuckles. “Wimp.” He takes off at high speed, and I shuffle along and smile as I watch him loop Central Park as he always keeps me in sight.

  Jameson Miles is extremely fit . . . and extremely hot.

  And luckily for me, I’m his fuck bunny.

  I stand in the foyer as I wait for Ava and Molly. We’re just going on our lunch break, and Molly is talking to one of the security guards. I think she’s a little sweet on him.

  “You coming out this weekend?” Ava asks.

  “Um, I’m not sure what I’m doing yet. I might be going home.” Jeez, I don’t really want to go out with her again. She’s only interested in men if they have money. That’s just so left field for me that I can’t deal with it.

  One of the elevators opens, and Tristan steps out and then Jameson. They have two other men with them. Wearing a navy suit and a crisp white shirt, he is the epitome of gorgeous man. Dark hair, square jaw, and those piercing blue eyes. It’s hard to believe that just six hours ago, he was deep inside my body in the shower. He took me twice when we got home from our run this morning. The man’s an animal. His dick is out of this world.

  I’ve died and gone to CEO heaven.

  “Oh my God,” Ava whispers. “Look who’s coming.”

  Jameson is deep in conversation with the men as the four of them stride through the crowded foyer. Everyone stops and stares. I stand still as he walks past, and at the last moment he glances up and catches sight of me. His step falters, and I give him a subtle shake of my head. I don’t want anyone to know about us. He nods once as if in understanding and keeps walking as he falls back into his conversation. We watch as they leave through the front doors and disappear up the street.

  They must be going out for lunch.

  “Seriously, where do we find men like the Miles brothers?” Ava sighs.

  “Right?” I watch the street they disappeared up.

  “One of these days,” she whispers. “One of these days.”

  I wonder if Jameson had a long and boozy lunch, and more importantly, did he bring back cake? It’s getting to that time of the day where my mind is fixed firmly on something sweet to have with my coffee. “Hi, Emily, have you got your stories we are running with tomorrow?” Hayden asks.

  I smile up at him. Hmm. “I didn’t think they were due until four, and it’s only three.”

  Hayden is the person who I turn the news in to, and he then passes them on to the next stage.

  “I know, but I like to get a head start,” he says casually.

  Head start on what? Is he the one selling the stories? Is that why he wants them early, so he can get them off to the highest bidder?

  “They’re not ready yet.”

  “Okay, cool.” He smiles. “Email them over as soon as you get them sorted.”

  My eyes hold his. “Sure.”

  I watch him walk back to his desk and fall into conversation with the person who sits next to him.

  I’m watching you, asshole.

  I look around the office with renewed determination. I’m watching all of you. Every single one.

  It’s just now four, and I email Jameson.

  Hi,

  I booked you a massage with a physio. They will be at your place at seven. Hope this suits your plans.

  FB

  xoxoxo

  A few moments later, a reply bounces back.

  Dear FB,

  Please define “they.”

  J

  xx

  I roll my eyes. I knew this was coming.

  Dear Mr. J,

  They . . . aka . . . male physiotherapist professional, nonsexual-act-performing masseuse. Specializes in back treatment and hella expensive.

  FB

  xoxoxo

  I wait for a few moments, and a reply bounces back.

  FB,

  Fine, can you let them in
to my apartment, please? I’ll have Alan pick you up at seven. I’ll meet you there, maybe fifteen minutes late.

  J

  xox

  I smile broadly as hope blooms in my chest. I write back.

  Are we seeing each other tonight?

  He replies.

  Yes. I’m away for the week next week, therefore, I’m taking next week’s meetings too. See you tonight.

  Jay

  xox

  I probably should play a little hard to get and pretend I have something going on . . . but I just don’t have it in me. I email back.

  Jay,

  I’ll make dinner. What do you want?

  FB

  xoxo

  A reply bounces back.

  The only thing I want to eat tonight is you. Now get back to work before I bend you over your desk.

  xox

  I smirk as I feel my face flush, and I click out of my emails. He is undoubtedly the hottest man on earth.

  I feel like a master chef in Jameson’s fancy kitchen. It’s just now seven, and I turn the gas on and lift the pot of water onto it. I like having dinner ready for him. I know he’s never had it, so it feels special to do it for him.

  The security buzzer sounds, and I look around. Shit. Where’s the intercom?

  I see a phone and screen near the front door. I pick up. “Hello?”

  “Hello, this is Matthew, the physio. I’m here for a massage therapy session.”

  I smile as I stare at the screen. Matthew is good looking, has the whole Scandinavian thing going on. “Come up.” I push the button and release the door for him, and he disappears into the elevator. Moments later, he knocks on the door. “Hello.” I smile.

  “Hi.” He walks in wearing a white uniform and carrying a fold-up massage bed.

  Wow . . . Matthew is really hot. Maybe I should get a massage too?

  “Where do you want me to set up?” he asks.

  “Umm.” I frown as I look around. Where do I want him to set up? “Just hang on a minute.” I walk down the hallway and peer into the rooms. There’s a room at the end with a treadmill and weight bench. “Just down here at the end, please.”

  He saunters down with his sexy walk and begins to set up. Suddenly I’m reminded that this is the exact scenario that Jameson had with Chloe . . . only they really did have sex. My stomach rolls at the thought.

  Stop it.

  “I’ll be out here if you need me.” I walk nervously back out into the kitchen. Shit, is it safe to leave him down there alone? Should I be watching him or something?