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

The deep buzz of my alarm cuts the silence, and I stretch out as I wake.

“Fuck, it feels like I was asleep for three minutes,” I murmur.

“I think we were,” Heidi whispers as she throws her leg over me.

I keep dozing with my eyes closed, and I feel lips on my neck from the other side. “Morning, Nicki,” I mutter.

She smiles into my neck as she cuddles in closer. “Good morning, Christopher.”

The three of us lie in comfortable silence for a few minutes more, and I know I have to make a move. I have a board meeting at nine. “Up.” I sigh.

The girls both grumble with resistance.

I sit up and look around the room. Clothes are strewn everywhere, and a bottle of wine and three glasses are still by the sunken spa in my bathroom. I bend and kiss Nicki’s hip. “Get up, wench.”

“Go away.” She rolls over.

I smile and slap Heidi on the behind. “Party’s over.”

“Ow,” she cries.

I climb out and stand at the end of the bed as I look down at the view. Seeing two beautiful women in my bed will never get old. “Come on, out.” I flick the blankets off them. “I have to go to work.”

It’s very easy to get them to come over, not so easy to get them to leave.

“What’s happening tonight?” Nicki asks.

“Nothing,” I reply as I walk around naked, picking up their clothes. “I’m busy.”

“Doing what?” Heidi asks as she leans up on her elbows. Her blonde hair is wild and messy.

“I have a date.” I throw her panties at her head. “With a good girl.” I widen my eyes to accentuate my point. “The exact opposite of you two hobags.”

They both laugh. “You love hobags,” Nicki says.

I lean down onto my hands and kiss them both; then I grab a handful of Nicki’s hair and pull it toward me so I can kiss her longer. She’s my favorite. “That’s true. I do.”

I lean over and kiss Heidi’s breast. She grabs a handful of my hair, and I feel a throb between my legs. When they grab my hair, I’m done for.

Stop it. I don’t have time for this. I pull out of her grip.

“So . . . you’ll call us on the way home from your boring date, then?” Heidi asks.

I smirk as I continue picking up their clothes. They know me well. “Probably.” I pull back Nicki’s bra like a slingshot and fire it at her head. It flicks her hard.

“Ow, cut it out.” She snaps it up.

I walk into the bathroom and turn the shower on. I look back to see them both still lying in bed, and I march back out there and put my hands on my hips. “Get up before I make you both do unspeakable things,” I demand.

“What’s new?” Heidi smiles playfully up at me. She’s all crumpled and just fucked.

Tempting . . .

“I have a board meeting at nine.”

I shower and minutes later walk out with a white towel around my waist to see them slowly dressing as I disappear into my walk-in wardrobe. I put on a navy suit and white shirt, a Rolex watch, black shoes, and a belt and walk back into the bathroom.

As usual, the girls both come in and sit on the vanity to talk to me as I do my hair.

“What’s on today, boss?” Nicki asks as she tightens my tie.

“Business stuff.”

“I love business stuff,” Heidi replies. “Say something boss-like to me.”

“You’re fired.”

They both giggle.

“Say something boss-like to me,” Nicki says.

“Bend over my desk.” I turn her away from me and lift her dress up over her ass.

A thrum of arousal runs through me as I stare down at her tight ass up in the air . . . ready and waiting.

Go to fucking work!

“Let’s go,” I snap as I rush from the bathroom.

I hear a voice come from the kitchen. “Good morning, Mr. Miles.”

“Good morning, Miss Penelope,” I call as I collect my briefcase from my office. I walk back out into the kitchen, and she passes me my coffee in a travel mug.

“You are undoubtedly the best housekeeper of all time.” I smile as I kiss her cheek.

“I know, dear.”

I’m not even joking. Miss Penelope truly is the best housekeeper of all time. If she wasn’t fifty-six years old . . . and already married, I would marry her myself.

The girls come around the corner. “Good morning, Miss Penelope,” they chime in unison.

“Good morning, girls.” She smiles. Her eyes come back to me, and I give her a playful wink.

Yeah, yeah, I know.

I’m bad.

We’ve established this a million times already.

“Time to go. Have a good day, Miss Penelope.”

“I will, dear. You too.”

We make for the door, and the girls chatter as we get into the elevator. When we get to the ground floor, I walk out the front of my building with them. Hans is waiting with my car. “Morning, Hans.” I smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Miles.” He dips his head.

“Can you take the girls home for me, please?” I ask him.

“Yes, sir.” He smiles. “Of course.”

“Morning, Hans.” The girls both smile as he opens the back door of the limo. I kiss them each goodbye on the cheek, and they happily bounce in. I watch the limo pull out and walk back into my building and take the elevator down to the basement. I get into my black Porsche and pull out of the parking lot and into the long line of cars.

Ugh . . . London traffic. Is there anything worse?

Three hours later

“And this right here.” He points to a line on the graph. “This trend is what we’re following. See how the overflow of the population . . .”

I yawn, hardly able to keep my eyes open.

“Are we keeping you awake, Christopher?” Jameson barks.

You are, actually.

I clear my throat to stop myself rolling my eyes.

“Sorry,” I apologize.

Two of my brothers, Jameson and Tristan, are here in London to meet with Elliot and me for our quarterly board meeting. The shit we have to talk about is seriously boring. Jameson begins to speak again and goes on in great detail about some spiraling trend, and I yawn again.

Jameson glares at me.

“Sorry,” I mouth, trying not to interrupt him again.

For fuck’s sake, focus.

I can hardly keep my eyes open. I glance at my watch. How long is this meeting going to go for?

Elliot begins to talk. “I’ve been watching the outcomes on this, and I’ve found . . .”

He goes on and on and on . . . I yawn again.

“Will you cut it out!” Tristan snaps. “You are not the only person in the room who’s fucking tired.”

I glance up to see the attention of all three men fixed on me.

“I bet Christopher’s way of getting tired was more fun than yours.” Elliot smirks.

“One hundred percent,” Tristan mutters dryly. “I slept on the floor while the kids slept in my fucking bed.”

“Why?” Jameson frowns.

“The girls have decided that they don’t want to sleep anywhere but in their bedrooms at home.” He fakes a smile. “Traveling is so much fun these days.”

“More fool you.” I give a disgusted shake of my head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tristan snaps.

“Just . . .” I cut myself off.

“Just what?”

“Just that I thought you were the parent,” I reply casually as I sip my water. “Why on earth you would let your child sleep in the bed while you sleep on the floor is beyond me.”

“Summer isn’t herself; she has a cough,” Tristan justifies himself.

I wince back from him. “Don’t breathe on me, then, you germy prick.”

“If you had kids of your own, you would understand,” Tristan snaps.

Elliot chuckles. “As if that’s ever going to happen.”

Tristan laughs. “I know, right?”

“Can we focus on the fucking topic here?” Jameson taps the whiteboard.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I fire back as I look between them. “I’ll have kids of my own one day.”

“Nope.” Jameson writes on the whiteboard as if remembering the next topic. “There’s no chance in hell you’ll have kids.”

“What?” I shriek in outrage. “That’s bullshit. You have no idea.”

Tristan rolls his eyes as if I’m clueless. “It’s you who has no idea.”

“You’re way too selfish to have a wife and kids. It’s never going to happen.” Elliot smirks.

“He’ll still be gangbanging chicks when he’s ninety,” Jameson replies casually as he draws a graph on the whiteboard.

The boys both laugh.

“For your information . . . I do not gangbang chicks.” I readjust my tie in annoyance. “I encourage group activities where everyone is treated equal.” I square my shoulders. “There’s a big difference.”

The three of them laugh, and I begin to see red. “You three are awfully judgy, seeing you used to be exactly the same as me.”

“No, we weren’t,” Elliot snaps. “Nowhere close. You’re broken.”

“I’m not fucking broken.” I gasp in outrage.

“You are thirty-one years old and never had a girlfriend. Not one,” Tristan says.

“You take nice girls on token dates to try and kid yourself into believing that they stand a chance, and that’s beside the fact that you only fuck women in pairs so that there is no chance you can fall for one of them,” Jameson replies flatly.

My mouth falls open in horror. “This is how you see me?”

“This is how you are,” Jameson replies. He begins to tap the whiteboard. “Now . . . back to the tracking,” he continues.

My angry heartbeat bangs hard in my ears as I look between them. I can’t believe this. “I am not broken.”

“Spoiled,” Elliot adds.

“How am I spoiled?” I gasp in horror.

Jameson screws up his face. “Oh, please.”

“I am not fucking spoiled.”

“Yes, you are,” Elliot replies.

“Name one way,” I snap.

“You have never had a job interview but have your dream job. You have penthouses in New York, London, and Paris, staff all around the world. You have a sports car collection worth ten million dollars. Somehow people think you are stupidly good looking, and you only have to look a woman’s way and she drops her panties . . . regardless if she’s married or not,” Jameson says calmly.

I open my mouth to defend myself, but no words come out.

“And . . . you won’t date an average girl because they are below you,” Tristan adds.

“Nobody wants to date an average girl,” I cry, outraged.

Jameson looks me fair and square in the eyes. “Name the last time you had to work for something, Christopher.”

“Fuck off,” I huff.

“No, I’m being serious. When was the last time you set yourself a goal and didn’t have it the same night?”

Elliot smiles as he rocks back on his chair, and I look between them as they all wait for my answer.

“He’s got nothing. Not one single time.” Tristan smirks.

“I have goals I haven’t achieved yet,” I stammer, embarrassed.

“Sleeping alone?” Elliot suggests.

They throw their heads back and laugh out loud, thinking this is the funniest thing they’ve ever heard.

Betrayal washes over me.

This is how they see me?

“Fuck you.” I stand. “And fuck your stupid meeting. I’m not staying here and listening to this bullshit.” I storm from the office and slam the door hard.

“Get back here, wimp,” Jameson yells from behind me.

I hear them burst out laughing once more . . . fuckers.

I march past reception, and the secretaries all glance up at my angry demeanor.

This is probably a first. I’m never angry.

“Everything all right, Christopher?” Victoria frowns.

“No. It’s not,” I huff. “Those fuckers in there think that I’m spoiled.” I throw my hands up in the air as I march past. “Can you fucking believe that?”

“No. Not at all.” Victoria rolls her lips to hide her smile.

I narrow my eyes in a silent warning and continue marching for my office. I hear the secretaries all snicker from the reception area.

I see red.

The world’s gone mad. I begin to pack my briefcase with force.

I.

Am.

Not.

Spoiled.

I take offense at this accusation. How dare they? Do they even know what spoiled is? I really don’t think so.

I walk back out to the elevator, and the girls all look up, surprised.

“I’m leaving,” I announce.

“To go where?” Victoria frowns.

“Wherever I want to.” That sounded bad. I point at her. “Because I’m pissed off, not because I’m spoiled.”

Victoria widens her eyes to accentuate the point.

“Shut up, Victoria,” I spit.

“Yes, sir.” She smiles.

“And don’t patronize me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

I fume some more.

The girls all drop their heads to hide their giggles.

“Stop laughing or I’m firing you all,” I demand.

They all burst out laughing hard this time. I’m usually the funny guy of the office. Never the cranky one.

“That’s it!” I explode. The elevator doors open, and I storm inside and push the button hard. “No Christmas bonuses.”

They laugh harder again.

Witches . . . I take the elevator to the ground floor and walk out to the parking garage and look around. My car isn’t where I parked it.

I march over to the parking attendant. “Where’s my car?”

His eyes widen in horror. “Um . . .” He looks around nervously. “We weren’t aware you were coming to collect it, sir. We put it on the bottom level to make room for other cars that are leaving before you.”

What?

I raise my eyebrow, infuriated.

“When I park my car in a reserved parking spot, I expect that the fucking car will be left where I put it.”

The attendant opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again before saying anything.

“What?” I bark.

“That’s why we have your keys, sir, so that we can move cars around to suit the schedule. We do it every day.”

“Does this look like it is suiting my schedule?” I bark. “What am I supposed to do? I need my car. Now!”

“There it is,” I hear someone mutter. I turn to see Elliot standing to the side, listening.

What’s he fucking doing here?

“Never mind,” I snap as I march back toward the elevator. “I’ll catch an Uber.” I straighten my tie as I try to regain some control. “Because I’m flexible.”

The parking attendant frowns and looks to Elliot.

“Flexible,” Elliot mouths.

“Go back upstairs, Elliot, before I have my Uber driver run over you,” I snap as I bang the button to close the elevator doors.

Elliot runs and gets in alongside me, and the doors close. “Calm down,” he says. “We’re just having some fun.”

I clench my jaw as I stare straight ahead.

“You are not spoiled.”

I lift my chin in defiance.

“You’re entitled.”

My eyes bulge from their sockets. “Entitled to knock you out, right now,” I growl. The elevator doors open, and I march out through the foyer and onto the street. Elliot is hot on my heels.

We both stand on the curb, and he looks over at me. “What time is he coming?”

“Who?”

“The Uber.”

I frown.

“You ordered it . . . right?”

“Of course I did,” I snap.

How the fuck do I do that?

“I’m not catching an Uber,” I announce as I go up onto my toes while looking around at the street. “I’m catching a cab. I support old school.”

“Oh . . .” Elliot smirks. “Good for you.”

I see the moment of horror as the doormen all notice me. “Mr. Miles.” They run over. “How can we help you, sir?”

“I . . .”

Elliot cuts me off. “He’s fine, thank you.” He smiles at them. “Thank you, anyway.”

The doormen slowly go back inside, and I glance over at Elliot, who is watching me. “Go on, then,” he says.

“Go on what?”

“Catch a cab.”

“Do you honestly think I can’t get a cab on my own?”

“When was the last time you did it?”

“When was the last time you went to the hospital for being beat up?” I narrow my eyes.

Elliot holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying . . .” He walks back inside, and I watch him as he disappears into the elevator.

I stare after him, and determination fills me. I will catch my own fucking cab. I walk out onto the street and see a cab coming down the road. I put my arm up.

It speeds past with a passenger in the back seat.

Hmm . . .

Another cab comes, and I put my arm up. He drives straight past me. “Fucker,” I call after him.

For five minutes I stand on the side of the road. No cabs are stopping.

What in the hell is wrong with them? Don’t they know I have somewhere to go?

This is discrimination.

I hear a voice. “Mr. Miles.” I turn to see that Hans has parked the limo. “Is everything all right, sir?”

“Umm . . .” I glance around. No cab is stopping, and I could be here for eternity. I peek inside to make sure Elliot has gone. “Take me home, please.”

Hans gives me a kind smile and opens the back door for me, and I climb in. He pulls out into the traffic.

“How did you know I was here?” I ask him.

“Elliot called me.”

“Elliot called you?” I fume.

“Yes, said that I needed to rescue you.”

Asshole.

“I had a wonderful time.” She swoons.

“Me too.” I fake a smile. It’s all I can do not to check my watch as we stand on the street saying goodbye. How long is this going to take?

This has been the worst date in all history.

Boring . . .

So fucking boring.

Carly is beautiful, smart, and sweet, with a body to die for. She’s everything I should want. And yet, as usual when I’m out with a girl one on one, I’m bored as fuck. I even considered asking the waiter to poison my food so that I’d have a legitimate reason to leave.

Tristan’s and Jameson’s words from today run through my mind for the millionth time.

You are thirty-one years old and never had a girlfriend. You take nice girls on token dates to try and kid yourself into believing that they stand a chance, and you only fuck women in pairs so that there is no chance you can fall for one of them.

Carly frowns up at me. “Is everything okay?”

I stare down at her looking up at me, all kiss-me-like. “I’m just . . . I have a headache. I’m sorry, I . . .” I cut myself off before I lie to her more.

“That’s okay.” She smiles. “Some people just don’t click, do they?”

Intriguing . . . I click with everyone.

“Do you click with most people?” I ask her.

“I do.”

“Why do you think we didn’t click?”

She shrugs. “Lots of reasons.”

“Name them.”

She laughs. “I don’t think you want to hear what I have to say.”

“Trust me, I do.”

“Well, for a start, you’re too perfect.”

I frown. “What?”

Her face falls. “Look . . . I didn’t mean to offend. That came out wrong.”

“No, please . . . ,” I reassure her. “Explain it to me. How can I get better if I don’t know what’s wrong with me?”

“You don’t need to get better. You just need to . . .” She pauses as if choosing her words wisely. “You have no substance.”

“What?” I put my hand on my chest. “Me? No substance?” I gasp, shocked. “I am high-quality fucking substance!”

She laughs. “That’s the problem. You will never understand what I mean, Christopher, and it’s okay—you don’t need to. It’s not relevant to your life.”

I frown as I stare at her. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Your life has been so perfect that you’ve never had to dig deep to find out who you really are.”

I put my weight onto my back foot, affronted that this is the second time today I am hearing this. “I disagree. Why do people think that only hardship builds character? Why would I have to dig deep to find out who I am when I already know?”

She goes up onto her toes and kisses my cheek. “Because diamonds are made under pressure.” She turns and begins to casually walk up the street.

“What does that mean?” I put my hands onto my hips in disgust. “I am a fucking diamond, Carly.” I hold my arms out wide. “Do you know how many women would love to have a diamond like me?”

She laughs out loud and turns back toward me. “The women that you spend time with just want rich coal. They don’t even know what a diamond is. It’s coal meet coal.”

My mouth falls open in horror.

She blows me a kiss and turns and walks off into the night. I run my hand over my stubble as I stare after her.

That was weird.

Hmm, and . . . I hate to admit it . . . interesting.

I walk down the street and into a bar and take a seat at the bench by the window.

“What will it be?” a waiter asks me.

“Scotch,” I reply, distracted.

It starts to rain, and I watch it fall through the window. “Here you go,” the waiter says as he places my drink down in front of me.

“Thanks.” I sit and drink alone.

I’ve had a shitty day, and I hate to admit it, but it seems there’s a part of my personality that others can see that I can’t.

The women that you spend time with just want rich coal.

I drag my hand down my face in disgust. Is that true? I tip my head back and drain my glass.

You are broken.

It’s been a weird day full of revelations. Are they right?

How will I ever find my diamond if I’m only rich coal?

I hear a voice. “It can’t be that bad.” I glance up to see a waitress wiping down the table beside me.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, you’ve been sitting there for three hours looking completely miserable.”

“What?” I glance at my watch. One thirty a.m. . . . shit. “Sorry,” I splutter as I stand and dig out my wallet.

She rings up my tab. “Did you get dumped?” she asks.

I frown, confused at the concept. “No, nothing like that.”

“Did you dump someone?”

“No.”

Mind your business.

“Fired?”

I’m not in the mood for talking, and I just want her to shut up. “Yes. Fired,” I lie.

“Well, that’s great.” She smiles. “I love crossroads.”

This woman’s a bona fide idiot.

“How is being fired great?”

“Because you get to start again. You can design who you want to be.”

I frown as I stare at her.

Design who you want to be.

“Like a do-over . . . ,” I whisper to myself.

“Yeah.” She begins to wipe the counter down again.

“What would you do?” I ask her. “How would you start again?”

She smiles dreamily. “I’d disappear and travel the world. See it through new, untainted eyes.”

I stare at her as my mind begins to run a million miles per minute. Not the first time I’ve heard this. I thought of this concept years ago myself.

“I mean, not that anyone can realistically afford to do it.” She shrugs. “But wouldn’t that be something?”

“It would . . .” I pay her, and deep in thought, I walk around the corner to the taxi stand. There’s one waiting, and I get into the back seat.

“Where to?” the driver happily asks.

I smile. See . . . I can catch a cab by myself. In fact, I’m sure I could do anything that I set my mind to. I’d show those fuckers what I’m really made of.

But no money?

Ugh . . . that’s tough.

I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling of my darkened bedroom.

I have this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that won’t leave me alone.

Ever since the idea of a do-over came to me, I can’t stop thinking about it.

But do I really need to become invisible so that I can be seen?

Am I overreacting?

I don’t want to fall into the trap of money dictating my life, if I haven’t already.

I hate how my brothers see me. I hate how Carly thinks I’m coal. The worst thing is, I know that she’s right. As I am right now, I’m 100 percent coal.

I don’t even know how to find substance, and I hate the thought of it.

I’m better than this. I know I am.

There is more to me than my surname . . . but how do I find what it is?

If I lived a year without money, how would it feel?

I imagine the possibilities and the risks and the feeling of pride I would have at the end, knowing I’d done it.

I haven’t been out this week; for the first time ever the thought of socializing isn’t something I can stomach.

I don’t want to be out there . . . I want to disappear.

Monday morning

After the longest sexless week in history, I’ve come to a decision. I step out of the elevator with purpose. “Good morning, girls.” I walk past them.

“Good morning, Christopher.”

I walk down the corridor and into Elliot’s office. Jameson and Tristan are leaving for New York tonight, and I know that I need to do this now, while we are all together.

“Can I speak to you for a minute in my office?” I ask.

Elliot looks up from his computer and frowns. “What about?”

“Just get Jay and Tris and come down and see me.”

“Okay.”

I walk down to my office and turn my computer on. I have a lot to do.

“What’s up?” Jameson asks. He walks into my office and flops onto the couch.

Elliot and Tristan follow. “What’s going on?”

“I’m taking a year off Miles Media,” I announce.

“What?” Jameson frowns. “What for?”

“I’m going off the grid.”

“How?”

“I’m going backpacking.”