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

We walk through the foyer and get into the elevator as the staff pretend not to notice us. I turn to face the doors and push the button to my floor.

“God, it’s been so boring without you in London.” The girls are models and, like me, live in London but frequent New York.

I smile, amused. I must say I’ve missed their playful nature too; they live completely in the moment, and it is so fucking refreshing. “I’m sure you’ve found some poor unsuspecting bastards to keep you company.”

Heidi runs her hand down over my behind and gives it a squeeze. “None like you, though, boss.”

“You’re in a league all of your own.” Nicki smiles. She stretches up onto her toes and comes in for a kiss, and I turn my head. “Ease up,” I warn her. “Wait until we’re in my apartment.”

She pouts her bottom lip as she fake sulks.

“Don’t pull that face, or I’ll wash your mouth out.” I raise my eyebrow. “And you know what with.”

She licks her lips as her dark eyes hold mine.

Fuck yeah.

My cock hardens, a dull ache forming between my legs.

I’ve missed my bad girls.

We get to the top floor, and I scan my fingerprint. Without missing a beat, Nicki bends and takes her dress off over her head and throws it to the side as she walks in front of me. My eyes drop down her hell-hot body and the black G-string she’s strutting.

“No bra?” I ask her.

“Thought I’d save you the time.” She bends and takes her G-string off with straight legs, like a stripper.

She slingshots it at me, and I smirk as I catch it. “Very thoughtful of you.”

Heidi follows suit. She unbuttons her shirt and slowly slides it off. My eyes roam over her large breasts in her black lace bra.

Hmm . . .

I begin to hear my heartbeat in my ears.

It’s the weirdest thing. Nicki’s body has always appealed to me the most . . . but tonight, it’s Heidi’s curves that are doing it for me. Why do I like curves all of a sudden?

Hayden.

Startled by my realization, I clear my throat. “I’ll get us a drink.” I stumble into my bar; another drink is the very last thing I need. I fill a glass and drain it down. I glance into the other room to see the two girls are now completely naked.

Heidi is on all fours on my couch, waving her ass around in the air.

Fuck.

I fill the glass so fast my drink sloshes over the sides, and I tip my head back and drain the glass again.

Keep it together, man.

I fill three glasses, and with a deep steeling breath, I walk back into the room to find Heidi on her back with her legs spread and Nicki lying beside her. Nicki’s fingers are parting the lips of Heidi’s sex for me, pink and wet. Ready and waiting.

“Come and get it, boss.” She smiles darkly.

Fuck.

My stomach roils, and I frown.

Huh?

I stare at them both for a beat, and if I do this, I know that it will mean the end of Hayden and me.

“What are you waiting for, boss?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“What?”

Fuck this.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. “You need to leave,” I reply.

“What?” Heidi sits up onto her elbows, seemingly shocked.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Nicki smiles as she begins to crawl toward me on her knees. She leans up and undoes my fly. She leans forward and breathes hot air onto my hardened cock through my boxers.

Warmth heats my blood . . . fuck.

Hayden.

I step back from her. “Now.” I zip up my fly and march to the front door and open it in a rush.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Heidi snaps.

“Everything,” I bark. “And I don’t appreciate the temptation. Don’t come back here.”

“Temptation?” Heidi’s face falls. “You’re with someone?”

Who the hell knows? Not me, that’s for sure.

I roll my lips, choosing to remain silent, because any answer I give would be a lie.

“So what? Big deal,” Nicki whispers as she sashays over to me. “I don’t give a fuck if you got married, as long as I get to have you. I won’t tell if you don’t,” she whispers sexily as she undoes my tie. “We can keep a secret . . . can’t we, Heids?”

I stare at her. It would be so fucking easy to have her . . . them, and she’s right: nobody would ever know.

Hayden.

I pull out of her grip and bundle up her clothes and throw them at her. “Get dressed.”

“What?” they shriek.

I march back into the other room and pour the drinks down the sink. “Leave. Now,” I call.

“Why did you bother bringing us up here if you didn’t want to see us?” Nicki calls.

“Brain snap,” I call back. Dick snap, more like.

Nicki tries again. “I can make you feel better.”

“For fuck’s sake, Nicki,” I yell as I lose my patience, “enough.” I point to the door. “Get out. Right now.” I grab Heidi’s dress and throw it at her and pick up the G-string and stuff it in her hand. “Please, I’m sorry.” I’m flustered and tripping over my words. This is the first time I’ve ever done anything like this. “Just . . . you really need to go.”

Nicki storms out the door, and Heidi hangs back. “You all right?” she asks softly.

My nostrils flare as I stare at her.

Do I look all right?

“Goodbye, Heidi.”

Her eyes hold mine for a moment longer than they should, and I know she actually cares.

Hayden.

I turn and walk to the window and stare out at the city below. I hear the door quietly click closed, and regret swims deep in my stomach. I close my eyes, ashamed of myself. What the hell is wrong with me?

I’m fucking losing it.

I walk into the office at eight thirty sharp, and Jameson and Elliot are standing in reception. “Morning.”

Jameson cringes when he sees me. “You look like shit.”

“Margarooted.” I march past them. “I hold you responsible,” I say to Elliot.

Elliot chuckles. I walk down the corridor and into my office. I slump into my seat.

Fuck, I feel bad.

Headachy, nauseous . . . embarrassed.

Heartsick.

What must Heidi and Nicki think of my literal prick teasing last night?

Knock, knock sounds on the door.

“Come in,” I call.

The door opens, and my mother appears. “Hello, darling.”

And there she is, the most glamorous woman in New York. Dressed to the nines in a camel-colored designer dress and heels, hair done to perfection, with a ramrod-straight back. I smile. “Hi, Mom.” I stand and kiss her cheek. “You look lovely.”

She smiles up at me. “I’ve come to take you to breakfast.”

Fucking Elliot.

“I’m too busy today, Mom.”

“Nonsense.” She smiles. “I have only seen you for two hours since you got back. I need more time, sweetheart.”

“I already ate.”

“Come.” She walks out of my office, ignoring everything I just said to her. “I’m stealing Christopher,” I hear her announce to my brothers.

I trudge down the hall to see Elliot and Jameson still hanging around reception, chatting, and I narrow my eyes at Elliot. “You’re fucked,” I mouth as I walk past him.

He smiles and waves with his fingertips. “Have fun,” he mouths back.

It’s blatantly obvious Elliot has tattletaled on me, and I am not in the mood for this today.

We get into the elevator, and she links her arm through mine. “Tell me about your trip.”

“It was great.”

“Was?” She frowns up at me. “Does that mean you aren’t going back?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” The elevator doors open, and she keeps her arm linked through mine as we walk through reception.

“Where do you want to have breakfast?” I ask her.

“I’ve got a table booked at Lamberts.”

“That’s too far. Let’s just eat across the road in the café.”

“Good lord, no. Have you tasted the coffee in that place?” Her driver opens the back door of her black Mercedes, and she climbs in. “Thank you, Roger.” She smiles.

I exhale heavily and climb in after her. The thing is . . . you can’t argue with my mother. She is the boss of everything. She says jump, and we all ask, How high?

Twenty minutes later, we are sitting in her favorite breakfast restaurant, and I smile over at her drinking her coffee out of a pink-and-gold fine-china cup and saucer.

Her eyes hold mine, and she smiles knowingly. “So . . . darling.”

I roll my eyes. Here we go. “Spit it out.”

“I don’t spit. I’m not a camel, Christopher.”

I smile broadly, and there it is, her obnoxious wit. I think we boys are all more like her than we are like Dad.

“Elliot told me you are having a few issues.”

“Nope,” I lie. “He got it wrong.”

“Now, darling.” She stares at me, unrelenting. “We are not leaving this restaurant until we discuss this.”

“There’s nothing to discuss, Mother.”

“You don’t want to talk about the little gold digger you met.”

“She is not a gold digger,” I snap. “She thinks I don’t have a cent to my name.”

“And there it is.” She smiles sweetly. “I knew that would make you spit it out. Tell me all about it.”

I narrow my eyes. Damn this calculating woman.

“So . . . she thinks you’re broke?”

“Yes.”

“And from what I hear she’s not that attractive.”

“What?” I scoff. “She’s fucking beautiful.”

“Language,” she reminds me with a knowing smile.

We stay silent for a moment as we both sip our coffee.

“You know”—she puts her fancy pink cup down in its matching saucer—“she’s not the girl for you.”

I feel my hackles rise. “What makes you say that?”

“She’s backpacking in filthy hostels and taking you for granted. She’s obviously hurt you in some way if you’ve had to come scurrying home. Probably sleeping around on you, and I bet she won’t commit to a relationship either.”

“It’s the other way around, Mom,” I snap. My face falls. “Wait . . . you know I’m backpacking?” I ask.

“Do you really think I was born yesterday?” she replies as she watches me. “The stories about your fake course in Paris are fascinating, though. Definitely give your father and me a chuckle.”

“Fucking hell.” I drag my hands through my hair. She’s just said that entire thing to catch me out.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” she urges.

My eyes hold hers, and I roll my lips, the closest to tears I’ve been in my adult life.

“I fucked it up, Mom.”

“What happened?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Why did you leave?”

“I don’t know.” I stare across the restaurant as I go over the last few months. “We’re friends, and she’s just . . . so beautiful and sweet and everything I’m not, and then we kissed, and . . .” I shrug.

She smiles softly as she watches me.

“Anyway.” I straighten in my chair. “It’s over now.”

Her eyes hold mine. “Is it?”

“I want it to be over.”

“Some things you cannot choose. They choose you.”

I sip my coffee. I have nothing more to say.

“Do you remember the time I pulled you out of school and you stayed home with Dad and me for the year and went to the speech therapist Miss Theresa on Tuesdays?”

“Vaguely.”

“Do you remember what you used to talk about with her?”

“Not really.”

“She used to talk about your problems and fears with you.”

I frown. “Miss Theresa was a shrink?”

She pulls out a book from her bag. “Would you like to read it?”

I take it from her and look it over. It’s a notebook, and typed-out letters are all glued inside. I check the date on the front page. I would have been ten when this was written.

It is my belief that Christopher is experiencing traits of perfectionism.

The next part is scribbled down in my mother’s writing, as if she has researched the word perfectionism.

Perfectionism in psychology is a broad personality style characterized by a person’s concern with striving for flawlessness and perfection and is accompanied by critical self-evaluations and concerns regarding others’ evaluations.

Traits that Christopher readily displays:

All-or-nothing attitude.

Being highly critical of himself and others.

Feeling pushed by fear.

Having unrealistic standards.

Focusing only on results.

Feeling depressed or terrified by unmet goals.

Fear of failure.

Procrastination.

Defensiveness.

Although he does not display the usual low self-esteem, he does rely heavily on his brothers, which may indicate a codependent relationship. Christopher feels that to be accepted he needs to excel in all areas of his life.

Failure isn’t an option.

What?

I frown and read on. The next paragraph is from the therapist.

Moving forward, I would suggest that Christopher continue his therapy, as if he is left untreated, I would expect that these traits may worsen when he approaches adulthood and enters into personal relationships.

I close the book and pass it back to her, annoyed. “I was ten.”

Mom’s knowing eyes hold mine.

“All ten-year-olds are weird.” I shuffle around in my chair, feeling uncomfortable. “I’m not a perfectionist.”

She stays silent.

“I don’t care what that stupid book says. I’m not a fucking perfectionist.”

She sips her coffee.

“What made you take me to a damn shrink when I was ten, anyway?” I snap.

“You wouldn’t do anything new.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you didn’t think you were going to be good at something, you point-blank refused to even attempt it.”

“Like what?”

“It started in class. You refused to do algebra.”

I frown. I don’t remember any of this.

“You and your teacher came to blows. You dug your heels in and simply refused. She called me. It was at that time that we started to take notice of things that we had always seen as your little quirks.”

I stare at her.

“Sweetheart.” She takes my hand over the table. “It isn’t easy being the youngest Miles brother, growing up like you did with so much pressure on you to be perfect.”

“I don’t feel pressured, Mom.”

“Not within our family . . . but it has affected your personal relationships with women. You are thirty-one and never had a girlfriend. Don’t you ever wonder why?”

I stare at her, horrified.

“You can do this, Christopher.” She squeezes my hand in hers. “I know you can, but you need to know that it’s okay if you fail.”

No. It’s not.

I get a lump in my throat.

“Loving someone is frightening; I know that,” she whispers. “But one day, you will have to give control over to someone. The only decision you have to make now is . . . Is this particular girl going to be the one you trust with your heart, or is she going to be the one who got away?”

Hayden.

My eyes well with tears.

My mother passes me the book. “Take this home, sweetheart, and read it. Study it. Better still, go and see a therapist. I don’t want to see you break your own heart.”

“It’s too late.” I sigh sadly. “She’s gone.”

HAYDEN

I sit on the bench seat outside our hostel. I glance at my watch. Where is he? I start work in an hour. He’s usually here by now.

I wait for another ten minutes, and then finally I look up the street and catch sight of him and wave. Big beautiful brown eyes smile back at me. “Hello, Miss Hazen.”

“Hi, Eddie.” I hold my breath. “Did he call?”

Eddie’s face falls, and he shakes his head. “No.”

My heart sinks.

It’s been eight days since Christopher left, and damn it.

I got it wrong.

He’s not coming back.

He stopped calling Eddie four days ago, and now Eddie is just as sad as me.

Which is sad, really sad.

The others all left for Germany on Monday. I couldn’t bring myself to go with them. What if he comes back and I’m not here? Even if it is only to say goodbye.

I hope he’s okay.

The thing is, I know that he cares. I get a lot of things wrong, but I haven’t imagined the feelings between us. All along, I knew he was fucked up. I guess I didn’t realize how badly.

I’ve overanalyzed this until I’ve nearly driven myself insane.

And I’ve come to the only conclusion there is. Maybe my body just wasn’t enough for him. I’ve seen the girls he hooks up with, and I’m not even in their stratosphere. Maybe he got a taste of what I’m not and decided to run for the hills.

The thought is depressing, reality is depressing, and here I am on the other side of the world, and all I want is a hug from my mom.

Eddie walks me to the bus stop, and we wait silently, both lost in our own thoughts.

“What time do you finish work tonight?” he asks me.

“Eight.”

“I can’t pick you up at that time. I’m still working.”

“That’s okay.” I smile and put my arm around my sweet little bouncer. He’s taken Christopher’s place as my personal bodyguard, coming to collect me when I’m working late. “It’s hardly even dark then. I’ll be fine.”

The bus pulls up, and I kiss his cheek. “Thanks for walking me to the bus stop.” I smile. “Have fun at work.”

“I won’t.” He rolls his eyes. “You too.”

“I most definitely won’t either.” I climb on the bus and take a seat and wave as we drive away.

I love Eddie.

Four hours later

I clear up table nine and wipe it down. I collect all the dishes and put them onto the tray, and I turn to go back to the kitchen, and I stop on the spot.

Christopher is standing at the front of the restaurant; his big eyes search mine.

I smile softly, and so does he. He walks toward me, and I put the tray of plates down and walk toward him.

“Hi,” he whispers as he takes me into his arms.

Emotion overwhelms me. “Took your sweet time,” I whisper.

“Trust me, it was anything but sweet.” He kisses me softly, and his lips linger over mine.

“What have you got to say for yourself?”

He gives me a big beautiful smile. “Let’s fucking do this.”