The Stopover

by Swan, T L

  I pant as I stare at the door. A visual of me lying across his desk with my legs open swirls through my head. How am I supposed to string two thoughts together after he says that?

  “Yes, sir.” I begin to walk to the door.

  “Oh, and Emily,” he calls in his commanding voice.

  I turn.

  “I will be announcing today that we are in a relationship.”

  I frown as I stare at him. Confusion swirls around in my head. “Why?”

  “Because I hate speculation.” He pauses as his eyes hold mine. “And I want everyone to know that you’re mine.”

  I stare at him. Huh?

  His.

  I have no words . . . rendered completely speechless. “Oh.” I stare at him. “Okay?” I turn and walk toward the foyer. “Goodbye,” I mutter, distracted.

  Either Jameson Miles has gone completely crazy, or I am in a parallel universe.

  Two hours later, I sit and stare at my computer. I was too freaked out to talk about this morning’s Twilight Zone encounter in Jameson’s office when I returned. It’s taken me this long to get my head around what he said.

  I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s obviously jet lagged to holy hell and is suffering some kind of delusion. My phone dances across my desk, and my favorite letter appears.

  J.

  I smile as I answer. “Hello, Mr. Miles.”

  “How’s my girl?” his sexy voice purrs down the line.

  “Are you feeling all right?” I frown.

  “I’m feeling great. Why?”

  “You just seem very . . .” I pause as I think of the right word. “Odd.”

  He laughs his deep velvety laugh, and I feel it all the way to my bones. “I don’t feel odd.”

  “You’re acting odd.”

  “I’m just calling to tell you that we have a dinner tomorrow night.”

  “What dinner?”

  “The Media Awards,” he replies calmly.

  “The Media Awards,” I repeat.

  “Yes, that’s what I said.”

  I look around at my two work friends, who are completely oblivious to the crazy shit that’s coming out of my running partner’s mouth. “Where is it?”

  “Here in New York. My entire family will be there. You’ll get to meet everyone.”

  My eyes widen in horror. “Well, what’s the dress code?”

  “Black tie.”

  I feel the blood drain from my face. “I don’t have any evening dresses here,” I stammer. I don’t have any at home either, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  “That’s okay. I’ll have some things delivered home tonight, and you can pick what you want to wear.”

  I scratch my head in confusion. “I’ll just come to the next one,” I say. “I’ll wait at home in bed for you. The Media Awards aren’t really my jam.”

  “Emily,” he says calmly.

  “Yes.”

  “You are coming with me.”

  “Jay,” I whisper as I feel nerves rise in my throat.

  “I’ll see you tonight. I’ll be a little late as I have a conference call. Alan is going to meet you out the side entrance at five with the keys to the car and the apartment.”

  “Okay.” I puff air into my cheeks. “See you then.”

  I hang up and put my head into my hands.

  “What?” Molly asks.

  “Jameson has gone insane.”

  “Why?”

  “He told me this morning that I’m moving in with him, and now he wants me to go to some awards dinner with his entire family tomorrow night.”

  Aaron’s and Molly’s eyes widen. “What?”

  “And he gave me his car to use, but I don’t even know where a grocery store is in New York.”

  “Oh, you would go to the one on Fifth.”

  “Well, how do I get there?” I frown.

  “It’s on my way. I can go with you if you want, and I’ll get on the subway from there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I haven’t got the kids this week anyway. It’s not like I’m doing anything.”

  It’s five in the afternoon, and we have just finished work. “Where did he say it would be?” Molly asks as she links her arm through mine as we exit the Miles Media building through the front doors.

  “Around here to the side exit.”

  “What are you going to cook?” she asks.

  “Hmm, rib eye with a mushroom sauce, honey carrots, and broccolini.”

  “Hmm, yum. Lucky bastard. Wish someone was coming over to cook that shit for me.”

  “True.” We turn the corner and look up and both stop dead on the spot. “What the fuck?” I whisper.

  Alan is standing next to what looks like a time machine, and my eyes widen in horror.

  Black, low slung, and the sportiest looking car I’ve ever seen. The mag wheels alone probably cost more than an average car.

  Alan smiles warmly. “Hello, Emily.”

  I look at the car and then at the people walking past as they stare at it. “Hi.”

  He passes me the key and then a card. “This is for the car, and this is your new key to the apartment.”

  I stare at them in my hand. “This is the car?” I whisper as the blood drains from my face.

  He chuckles at my reaction.

  Molly puts her hands over her mouth and begins to laugh nervously, reminding me that she’s here. “This is Molly, my friend,” I introduce her.

  “Hello.” She smiles.

  “Mr. Miles asked me to make a time with you to move your things out of your apartment.”

  My eyes nearly pop from their sockets. “What?”

  “Would Saturday morning suit you? I can arrange a packing service.”

  My eyes flick to Molly as she stares wide eyed at me. Okay, what the actual fuck is going on here? “I’ll get back to you on that,” I reply.

  He smiles kindly. “Okay.” He opens the car door. “So you know how to drive a manual, obviously.”

  “Can you just hold on a minute.” I hold my finger up. “Just a minute.”

  I turn my back on them and dial Jameson’s number.

  “Hello,” his sexy voice purrs.

  “What the hell kind of car is this?” I whisper.

  “A Bugatti.”

  “What’s that?” I whisper as I turn back and look at it.

  “A Bugatti Veyron. It’s a limited edition.”

  “I can’t drive this,” I whisper angrily.

  “Why not?”

  “Well.” I look around in a fluster. “I’m not a very good driver, Jameson. I’m going to crash this thing for sure.”

  He laughs, and it’s deep and velvety and makes me smile.

  “I assure you, Emily, anyone can drive this car. It practically drives itself. Relax. You’ll be fine.”

  “When you said you had a car, I thought you meant you had a Toyota . . . like a normal person,” I stammer. “What if I crash it?”

  “As long as you’re not injured, I don’t care.”

  “Jameson,” I whisper.

  “Babe, I’m in a staff meeting right now with twenty people sitting here. Get what you need, and I’ll meet you at home,” he says calmly.

  “Oh my God,” I cry as I get an image of all his staff listening. “Goodbye.” I hang up in a rush.

  I come back to Alan and Molly, and they both wait for me to say something. “It seems Jameson has gone completely crazy,” I whisper as I stare at the time machine.

  Alan chuckles, and Molly stares at the car in disbelief.

  “I thought it would be a Toyota.” I wince.

  Alan smiles and opens the driver’s side door. “Mr. Miles doesn’t do Toyota, Emily.”

  I get in, and Molly sits in the passenger seat.

  “Where are you going?” Alan asks.

  “Vegas.” Molly laughs. “We’re going to Vegas. How much is this car worth, Alan?”

  “It came in at around two million dollars, I think.”

>   “Holy fuck,” Molly shrieks. “Get in, Alan; we really are going to fucking Vegas.”

  I put my head down on the steering wheel and burst out laughing. “This is unbelievable.”

  “You’ll be fine.” Alan laughs as he leans in and starts the car. It purrs like a kitten. “Blinker, brake, reverse.” He points to all the dials and knobs. “Take it slow. It flies.” He closes the door, and I put the blinker on.

  I slowly take off into the traffic to the sound of Molly screaming and laughing in excitement, and as soon as I get out of sight of Alan, I burst out laughing too. “What the fuck is going on?” I cry.

  Two hours later, I pull into the underground parking lot of Jameson’s building. I know why he takes the damn limo—finding a parking spot in this city is insane. In the end, I made Molly sit in the car in the parking lot and wait for me while I grabbed what I needed, and then I drove her home. I was petrified someone was going to steal it. Alan is waiting, and he guides me into the garage, where I park.

  “Thank you.” I smile as I get the groceries out of the trunk. “This is a poser car,” I stammer.

  He smirks as he takes the bags from me, and we begin walking to the elevator.

  “Did you lock the car, Emily?” he reminds me.

  “Oh yeah.” I turn and hold the remote up, and it blips as it locks. I giggle. “Oops.”

  We get into the elevator, and he stays silent and looking straight ahead.

  “How long have you worked for Jameson?” I ask.

  “Ten years.”

  “Oh.” I frown. “That’s a long time.”

  He smiles. “Yes, he’s very good to me.”

  We get to the top, and Alan opens the door and walks in and puts the groceries on the counter. “Do you need anything?” he asks. “Mr. Miles is still in his meeting. He will be at least another half an hour.”

  My eyes hold his, and I want to ask him a million questions about the enigmatic Mr. Miles. “Do you speak to him often throughout the day?” I ask.

  “No.” He smiles at the suggestion. “I am in constant contact with his PA.”

  “Oh.”

  “His masseuse is expected here at seven.” He glances at his watch. “Would you like me to wait for her?”

  “Her?” I frown.

  “Oh.” He corrects himself. “It’s a him now, isn’t it?”

  Something tells me that Alan knows a lot more about Mr. Miles than he makes out.

  “No, I’m fine. I’ll let him in.” I fake a smile. “Thank you.” I show him to the door.

  “Call me if you need anything.” He smiles.

  “Okay, thanks.”

  I walk back to the kitchen and begin to put the groceries away, and the doorbell chimes. “Hello,” I say as I push the intercom.

  “Hello, I’m here for the massage.”

  “Come up.”

  I open the door and wait for him to arrive. “Hello.” He smiles. “Same room as last time?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He takes off down the hallway to set up.

  The door clicks open, and Jameson comes into view. Every time I see him in a suit, I am reminded of exactly who he is. Power personified.

  “Hello.” He smiles as he takes me into his arms.

  “Hi.” His lips dust mine, and I melt into his touch. “Your car is ridiculous.” I smile.

  He chuckles as he takes my jaw in his hand; then he kisses me deeper, and my hands go around his broad neck.

  The intercom sounds again.

  “For God’s sake, this place is like an airport,” I whisper, annoyed that my kiss is being interrupted.

  “Oh, that’s the stylists with your dresses,” he says.

  “Your masseuse is set up in the end room.”

  He kisses me again. “Let them in, and choose what you want.”

  “Jay,” I whisper as my eyes search his. This change in him is confusing me.

  “Get a few.” He grabs my behind. “I’m going to take a quick shower.” He disappears up the hall, and I open the front door.

  My face falls when I see the two gorgeous women pushing a huge garment rack of gorgeous dresses. “Hello.” One is tall with long dark hair, and the other is blonde and beautiful. Both have that trendy, confident vibe.

  “Hello, Mr. Miles ordered some dresses,” the blonde says. “I’m Celeste, and this is Saba.”

  “Yes, please come in,” I whisper, embarrassed. “I’m Emily.” We shake hands.

  God, don’t tell me they are going to watch me try this shit on? How mortifying. “Just in here.” I show them to the living area, and they start to unpack shoes and accessories as I watch awkwardly. This seems all very over the top.

  “Back in a moment.” I smile.

  I turn and take off up to the bedroom, and I burst into the bathroom to find Jay washing under the shower. “What the hell is going on?” I whisper in a panic.

  “What?” He frowns, totally oblivious.

  “Two Penthouse Pets are out there with a load of dresses that are way too exotic for me, and I’m driving around in a fucking space machine, and you’re saying I’m moving in, and I’m freaking the fucking hell out, Jameson,” I blurt out in a rush.

  He smirks as he turns the taps off. “Just go out there, and pick what you like, Emily. Don’t overthink this.”

  “Don’t overthink this,” I whisper. “It’s overthunk already.”

  “Overthunk isn’t a word,” he says casually as he dries himself.

  “Oh my God,” I stammer in a fluster at his lack of care, and I storm back out to the stylists. “Sorry,” I say as I stand next to the rack of clothes. I twist my fingers nervously in front of me.

  “Tell me about your style.” The blonde smiles. “What makes you pop?”

  I stare at her. Oh jeez. What the fuck is this bullshit? “Umm.” I look at the dresses on the rack.

  “What makes you come alive and feel sexy?” the brunette gushes. “When are you living your best life?”

  Oh, Jesus . . . not this. “I’ll just”—I gesture to the rack of clothes—“see what I like.”

  I begin to flick through the dresses. Wow . . . they’re all beautiful.

  “Anything you like, sweetheart?” I hear Jameson’s deep voice purr from behind me.

  I turn to see him with a white towel around his waist. His hair is wet, and his tanned muscles are bulging. He looks fucking edible.

  The two bimbos’ eyes bulge from their sockets. “Hello, Mr. Miles,” they both stammer as their eyes drop down his body.

  “Hello.” He smiles sexily.

  I look at him deadpan. Is he for real? “I’m not sure. I like everything,” I snap as I turn back to the rack.

  In a fucking towel . . . what next?

  Ugh.

  He comes behind me and puts one hand on my hip as he goes through the rack. “We’ll take this one, this one . . . this one.” He scans the rest of the rack. “And all of these from here on.”

  “Yes, sir,” they both gush.

  His eyes go over the shoes and lingerie they have laid out on the coffee table.

  “We’ll take all of the lingerie and whatever shoes Emily chooses.” His eyes come to me, and he smiles and leans in and kisses me. “Done.”

  The two women hold their breath as they watch.

  His hand drops to my behind, and he gives me a firm squeeze. “Nice to meet you, girls,” he says before he saunters up the hall for his massage.

  I turn back to the girls as they watch him disappear in awe.

  Good grief.

  I think I just met the real Jameson Miles . . . in all his glory.

  Chapter 17

  I stir the mushroom sauce with my mind in overdrive.

  Jameson’s different . . . I’m talking Twilight Zone different. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or the beginning of the end for us. Just when I get used to his old weirdness, he ups the ante.

  The masseuse has just left, and he’s in the shower again as he washes the oil off. I�
��m not going in there because we will end up having sex, and dinner is nearly ready . . . and I want to talk to him without my arousal high clouding my brain cells.

  It happens a lot with him.

  He walks back out in his towel, and his eyes find me across the room. He gives me a slow, sexy smile.

  “Can you not walk around in a towel when we have visitors, please?” I snap.

  He smirks.

  “Those two ditzy shoppers are at home going to town on their vibrators at this very moment as they picture you in that white towel.” I roll my eyes. “Living their”—I hold my fingers up to accentuate my point—“best life.”

  He chuckles as he takes me in his arms. “Jealous?”

  “Yes, I am, actually. I don’t like other women looking at you. It makes me stabby,” I snap as I stir the sauce. “Cut it out with the sexy smiling around other women too.”

  His lips come to my neck as he holds me from behind, and I can feel his erection up against my behind. “Let’s go to bed.”

  “No, you’re eating first.” I point to the kitchen counter. “Sit.”

  His eyes dance in delight, and he does as he’s told. I place his dinner in front of him. “Hmm, looks good.” He smiles.

  I sit beside him and watch him for a moment as he eats. “Why did you ask Alan to move my stuff in here?”

  He chews his steak. “Because I want you to move in.”

  “Since when? We haven’t discussed this at all.”

  “Yes, we have.” He swallows his food. “We talked about it this morning.”

  “When?” I frown.

  “When I told you that I wanted to do this, and you said me too.”

  I stare at him, my mind a clusterfuck of confusion. “Jameson, doing this is in my mind holding hands in public and dating. Maybe meeting each other’s families.”

  He frowns as he watches me.

  “What’s with the sudden change? Last week you got angry with me for falling in love with you. I couldn’t even look at you after sex without you getting upset with me.”

  He sips his wine, obviously annoyed. “You said you didn’t love me. Are you saying that now you do?”

  “That’s not the point. You know what I mean.”

  “I want us to make a go of it.” He shrugs. “So today I moved forward with my plans.”

  “Plans?” I frown. “I’m not a business transaction, Jameson. You don’t move forward with your plans without talking to me first. They aren’t just your plans, you know.”