The Stopover

by Swan, T L

  I step forward as my anger resurfaces. “I know what you’re doing.”

  He glares at me.

  “You don’t scare me. It’s laughable how underhanded you have become.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Fuck off, Miles.”

  “If you think that underhanded criminal behavior can take down Miles Media, you can think again,” I sneer.

  He narrows his eyes.

  “Miles Media has been the market leader for thirty years, and we will continue to dominate. Tell me, does your father know what you’ve stooped to?”

  He lifts his chin in defiance. “Criminal behavior—what the hell are you talking about? That hit and run has left you delusional.”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  We glare at each other; hate hangs in the air like poisonous pollution.

  “I know what you’re doing,” I whisper.

  His eyes hold mine.

  “And as soon as I prove it, I’m going to fry your fucking ass in court.”

  “I’d like to see you try.”

  I stare at him as I remember how good it felt to hit this fucker. “Is your cheekbone broken?”

  He glares at me, and I know it is.

  “Let me tell you this—disrespect Emily Foster again, and next time . . . I won’t just break your cheekbone. I will kill you,” I sneer.

  He raises his eyebrow as if surprised by my statement. “Is that a threat, Miles?”

  “That’s a fucking promise,” I growl. “Leave her out of this.”

  I turn and get into my limo, and we pull away. I watch Gabriel Ferrara storm back into the building, flanked by his security.

  The day I bring that asshole down is going to be a sweet victory.

  I run down the street in the dark. It’s just midnight. I haven’t been here in a while, and for some reason, tonight I need to be.

  Emily’s apartment building.

  I count the windows until I get to her apartment, and I stare up at it.

  What’s she doing?

  Is she missing me as much as I’m missing her?

  I get a vision of ringing the doorbell and asking to come up, and we would hug, and I would feel happy . . . like I used to.

  But then I remember the hurt I felt last week when she lied to me, the out-of-control feeling that I have whenever I’m with her.

  The way my enemies are using her to get to me, the way she’s handing them the ammunition like candy.

  And I know that nothing could bring me undone . . . except her.

  She’s my only weakness.

  And weakness is something that I can’t afford to have.

  Not now, not ever.

  I stare up at her apartment for a long time, and then with a heavy heart, I turn and begin the depressing run home.

  I’ve never been so alone.

  Emily

  I stare at the coffee in front of me; the thought of drinking it turns my stomach. It’s been four days since I got the dreaded four-word text from Jameson.

  Move on, I have.

  Four days is a long time to walk around with a broken heart . . . it’s weak and barely clinging to life. I keep hoping and praying that he’s going to come back with a grand gesture and hold his arms out, and I run into them, and this nightmare will all be forgotten.

  If only that were true.

  My mind is clouded with memories of the man I thought I knew. The hole in my life seems so large, and I just don’t understand how you can fall so hard in love with someone in such a short period of time.

  I should have stayed with Robbie, because in hindsight, Robbie was safe.

  There was never a chance of him hurting me this deeply . . . but then, I wouldn’t have met Jameson and found out what it was like to have this all-consuming love inside of me. No matter how it ended, I wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything. Even if it was only mine for just a little while.

  The only thing keeping me going at the moment is Molly and Aaron. They’ve been wonderful. Cheering me on from the sidelines, reminding me of why I came to New York in the first place. It would be so easy to run home right now with my tail between my legs.

  “Are you going to eat the rest of that?” Molly gestures to my half-eaten sandwich.

  I crinkle up my nose. “No, do you want it?”

  “Just forget you ever met him, Em.” Aaron sighs. “No man is worth this heartache.”

  I force out a weak smile. “He’ll come back, Aaron. I know he will.”

  “You know you keep saying that, Em, but where is the fucking asshole?” Molly replies.

  “He’s just . . .” I shrug as I try to articulate my thoughts. “Lost at the moment.”

  “No, what he is is a self-absorbed fucking asshole,” she huffs. “Good riddance, I say; you dodged a bullet.”

  There is absolutely no love lost between Aaron and Molly as far as Jameson is concerned. “Maybe.” I sigh sadly.

  “Come on; we have to get back.” Aaron stands. “Lunch break is over.”

  We make our way back out onto the street and are walking toward the Miles Media building when Molly stops on the spot. “Fuck,” she whispers.

  “What?”

  “Look.”

  We all glance up and see Jameson walking down toward us with a woman. He’s in his customary navy suit and looking all immaculate, and they are deep in conversation.

  “He’s at work today?” I frown as I stare at him. I didn’t even know he came back to work yet. He hasn’t seen us and is talking as he walks. “Who’s the woman?” I ask. She looks familiar, but I can’t place her.

  Molly grabs my arm with a sense of urgency. “Come on; let’s go this way.” She tries to pull me into a shop.

  “Who’s the woman?” I repeat as they get closer.

  “Claudia Mason.”

  The air leaves my lungs . . . his ex.

  He’s with his ex?

  I begin to hear my heartbeat in my ears as the ground sways beneath me.

  “Let’s go; we don’t want him to see us,” Molly urges as she grabs my arm once more. I pull out of her grip and stand strong.

  As he gets to us, he glances up and sees me. His step falters, and then he clenches his jaw and doesn’t make eye contact.

  Tears well in my eyes as I watch him walk past.

  He stops with his back to me, and I hold my breath.

  Turn around . . . turn around.

  After a moment, he falls back into stride beside the woman and disappears up the street without looking back.

  A searing pain lurches through my chest as I fight tears. I drop my head in sadness.

  There’s my answer.

  That’s it . . . we’re done.

  It’s Friday night, and I slide down in the seat of my rental car as I peer across the darkened street. I’ve completely throw myself into solving the case, if not for any reason other than to distract me. I’m outside Hayden’s apartment, and I know that I’m probably clutching at straws by being here, but what else am I going to do?

  Crying and staring at the wall is getting old. A text comes through on my phone, and I glance down and see the letter J.

  I read the text and nearly drop the phone in shock.

  One last stop over.

  JFK Airport. Sat, 8pm.

  JFK Clubhouse Bar.

  I need to see you.

  J

  xxx

  I sit up. What?

  He needs to see me . . . he needs to see me?

  Hope blooms in my chest. Oh my God. I immediately call Molly.

  “Hello,” she answers.

  “Jameson just texted me. He wants to meet tomorrow night!” I blurt out in a rush.

  “What?” she snaps. “Did you tell him to go fuck himself?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because.” I try to think of a perfect explanation. “Maybe seeing Claudia snapped him out of this, and I want to see him too, Moll. This is what I’ve been wanting all along.”


  “Oh God, can you hear yourself? Why would you want to see him? He’s been a complete douchebag.”

  “I know, but he’s been under so much stress, Molly. I just need to talk to him.”

  “For the record, I think this is a bad idea.” She sighs.

  I smile. She’s wrong . . . this is a great idea. I text him back.

  See you there.

  x

  I smile goofily out the windshield and look over to see Hayden talking to that same girl who used to work at Miles Media.

  Lara Aspin . . . something is up with her too. I want to know more about her; so far, I’ve been unable to dig up anything, not even an address. She finishes her conversation with Hayden and begins to walk down the street. My eyes flick between her and Hayden. Shit, what do I do?

  I watch Hayden disappear into his building.

  Well, I already know where Hayden lives. If I let her go, I may never find her again.

  I really do need to know where she lives.

  I watch her as she walks down the street. Damn it. I jump out of the car and cross the street and fall in behind her on the sidewalk.

  She walks down the subway stairs, and I hesitate. It’s dark, and God knows where she’s going . . . shit.

  I watch her disappear down the stairs, and I brace myself. Damn it. I have to follow her. We wait on the platform for a while, and then she gets onto a train, and I get on after her. I stand by the doors and stare out the window while I keep her in my peripheral vision.

  Adrenaline is surging through my body, and I have to admit, this is actually kind of fun. I should have been a cop.

  We go four stops, and then she gets up and stands by the door. The stop is Central Station, and I let out a sigh of relief—at least it’s safe there.

  We get off the train, and I drop back so she doesn’t get suspicious. We walk, and we walk, and we walk . . . damn it, where is she going?

  She disappears into a crowd, and I jump up to see if I can see her. I walk farther, and I can’t see her. She’s disappeared into thin air.

  Damn it.

  I turn and look back down the street we just came from. Where did she go?

  I walk back a little way, and then I catch sight of her in a shop.

  Thank God.

  I duck in and then notice it’s a pawnshop. I pretend to look at something in the back as she talks to the man on the desk.

  “Well, it’s not worth much,” he says.

  “I would like five hundred dollars for it. It’s in perfect working order,” she replies.

  “You’re dreaming. No way.”

  I peer through a gap in a bookcase and see a MacBook. Shit . . . she’s selling her computer.

  Why would she be selling a computer?

  My mind begins to race as the two of them haggle over the price. The shop attendant wins in the end, and he hands over two hundred dollars. I watch her disappear out the door, and I wait for a moment and go to the desk.

  “Hello.” I smile casually.

  “Hey,” the overweight pawnshop man mutters as he counts his till up.

  This may just be the craziest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done some pretty crazy things in my life. “I would like to buy that computer, please.”

  He frowns as he glances up. “What one?”

  I point to the one she just sold him.

  “Nah, I haven’t cleaned it up yet. Go to the cabinet on the left, and find another one.”

  “No, it has to be that one.”

  “Not for sale yet. Come back in two days.”

  If I come back in two days, it will be wiped. “Name your price,” I assert, feeling brave.

  He stills, and his eyes come to mine. “A thousand dollars.” He raises an eyebrow in a silent dare.

  “You just paid two hundred for it—are you crazy?” I stammer.

  He shrugs and goes back to what he’s doing.

  I stare at the computer on the desk, and I don’t know why, but my gut is telling me to buy it. “Damn it, okay, fine. As it is, right now, for a thousand dollars.”

  He smiles a slimy grin. “Okay, honey.”

  I hand him over my mother’s credit card, the one I have for emergencies . . . sorry, Mom.

  I pay the thousand dollars and take the computer and walk out the front door.

  My phone rings. Tristan’s name lights up the screen. Perfect timing.

  “Hello,” I answer.

  “Sorry I took so long to get back to you. That girl’s name is Lara Aspin, and get this—she used to work in accounts,” he blurts out.

  “What does that mean?” I frown.

  “She had access to the bank account details.”

  “Oh my God, Tristan,” I whisper as I look around guiltily. “I just followed her on the train, and she sold her computer to a pawnshop, and I know this is crazy, but I just bought it for a thousand dollars.”

  “What? You have it? You actually have her computer?”

  I smile proudly. “Uh-huh.”

  “Where are you? I’m coming to get you now.”

  I walk through the airport with my heart in my throat. I’m pulling my small carry-on suitcase so that I look the part of a tired traveler . . . or perhaps I’m just trying to pretend to myself that this isn’t a bad idea.

  Because I know it is; deep in my gut I know that I shouldn’t be playing this dangerous game with him. I should be sitting down and having a civilized grown-up conversation.

  But desperation has brought out my weakness, and I’m hoping that tonight Jameson and I can talk . . . and he can apologize and beg for me to come back, and then I can punish him, and we can begin to get back on track.

  I haven’t seen Claudia again, so I have no idea what is going on with her, but the fact that Jameson wanted to see me tonight tells me that it’s nothing.

  I hope it’s nothing . . . God, I hope it’s nothing . . . stop it.

  I duck into the bathroom to give myself one last pep talk. I reapply my red lipstick, Jameson’s personal favorite, and I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My long dark hair is out and wavy. I wanted to wear a dress but didn’t want to seem too eager, so I finally decided to wear black fitted capri pants and a black silk shirt with the top button strategically undone. My black lace bra is just peeking through if I move the right way. I’m wearing his favorite fragrance and think I look sexy without trying to be sexy . . . is that even a thing?

  God knows. I guess I’ll soon find out.

  Don’t be needy . . . don’t be whiny . . . and don’t be overdramatic, I remind myself. Be sexy and alluring . . . like I was when we first met.

  Right, I can do this.

  I drop my shoulders, take a deep breath, and steel myself for the night ahead. This is literally a make-or-break situation. I need to remind him why he fell in love with me in the first place . . . how the hell has he forgotten?

  That in itself is an issue . . . I close my eyes in disgust. Stop overthinking this.

  I walk down the corridor and into the Clubhouse Bar. It’s busy and bustling. I walk in and take a seat in the corner at a bench-seat table for two. If he wants to see me, then he can find me. I’m on a stopover and totally oblivious to anything around me.

  I take out my laptop and open my emails.

  “Can I get you a drink?” the waiter asks as he approaches my table.

  “Yes, please.” I smile as I hand him my credit card. “A top-shelf margarita, please.”

  He smiles and, with a cheeky wink, walks away. Damn it, that Jameson Miles has spoiled me. I seem to have an addiction to top-shelf shit, and it just rolls off my tongue a little too easy now.

  I turn my attention back to read my emails and pretend that they’re fascinating.

  They’re not.

  And what I really want to be doing is giving this place the once-over with an eagle eye . . . is he here?

  The waiter returns with my drink. “Here you are, a top-shelf margarita.” He places it down onto the table. “And the gentleman at t
he bar asked that I deliver these to you.” He places a large bowl of strawberries and a dipping bowl of hot chocolate on the table.

  My eyes rise to where he gestures, and I see Jameson sitting at the bar. He’s wearing dark denim jeans and a white shirt that I bought him. His dark hair is messed to perfection. Our eyes lock, and he raises his glass and then takes a sip.

  My stomach rolls in excitement. He hasn’t looked at me like that in a long time.

  “Thank you,” I reply to the waiter, completely distracted by the beautiful specimen at the bar.

  I sip my margarita as I try to keep the goofy smile from my face, and I turn back to my emails to act uninterested.

  Strawberries with hot chocolate; there’s no way to eat them without slurping them up and looking like an animal.

  I smirk . . . maybe that’s what he wants?

  Game on.

  With my eyes locked onto my computer screen, I pick up a strawberry and dip it into the hot chocolate and lick it and then place it seductively in my mouth. I suck the chocolate and rub it back and forth over my lips.

  I take a sip of my margarita and then repeat the move.

  I smile to myself . . . what the actual hell am I doing? I’m in an airport bar when I’m not flying anywhere, pretending not to know someone while he watches me go down on a fucking strawberry. This really is beyond bizarre.

  If Molly and Aaron could only see me now.

  The waiter arrives with another margarita. “Compliments from your friend at the bar.”

  “Thank you.” I keep my eyes down as I play the game and refuse to look at him.

  Ten minutes later, I take the final sip of my margarita and allow my eyes to drift to the man at the bar; his dark eyes are on me, and heat blazes between us.

  I know that look . . . I’m going to fuck you . . . so damn good.

  I feel my arousal begin to thump, and with my eyes locked on his, I pick up a strawberry and lick it.

  He stands as if summoned by my tongue. With our eyes locked, I suck, and he walks toward my table. “Mind if I take a seat?” his deep, sexy voice purrs.

  “Not at all.” My eyes drop to the bulge in his pants, and I raise my eyebrow.

  “Don’t judge.” He smiles as he falls into the bench seat beside me. “I just watched the best damn strawberry porn that I’ve ever seen.”

  “Really?” I smirk. I feel the heat from his close proximity, and I have to fight not to lean toward him.