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

I exhale heavily as I stare at my computer screen. I glance at my phone as it sits on the desk. I should call Hayden.

No.

You’ve called her already today.

I go back to trying to focus. The numbers all jumble on my screen.

Just a quick call.

No.

For fuck’s sake, I’m not going to be able to focus until I know that she’s okay.

I dial her number, and it rings out.

Hmm . . .

I text her.

Hi babes,

What’s doing?

I put my phone to the side and look back to my computer screen. She’ll call me back when she can.

I get back to work, and twenty minutes later I pick up my phone again. Why hasn’t she called me back? I go to call her again . . . Just stop it.

Fuck.

I’m getting nothing done around here because I’m worrying about Hayden all the time.

Focus.

She says she’s fine. I should believe her. I mean, how could she not be? She has the whole of London at her fingertips.

Of course she’s fine.

My gut is telling me that something is off with her, but perhaps I’m looking for something that isn’t there. I get back to work, and sure enough, ten minutes later I pick up my phone.

Call me . . . damn it.

Jameson and Tristan saunter into my office. “You ready to go to lunch?”

I exhale heavily. Where has the morning gone? I’ve literally achieved nothing.

Fuck. I need to focus.

My brothers are in London for the bimonthly board meeting.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Tristan frowns.

“Nothing.” I stand. “Let’s go.”

Twenty minutes later we are seated in a bar close to the office. We’ve ordered, and I’m drinking mineral water.

“Not having a beer?” Jameson asks.

“No. I’ve got too much to do.” I drag my hand down my face. “Ever since I got back, I’m achieving next to nothing.”

Tristan smiles as he crunches a piece of ice from his water. “The vacation is officially over. Back to the real world, hey?”

“It’s not even work; it’s Hayden. The paps are giving her hell, and she hates the weather here.”

“The weather?” Tristan frowns.

“It’s pretty fucking dreary here lately. The sun is a special event ever since she arrived.” I shrug. “I keep thinking that she’s going to get used to it and adjust . . . but between you and me, I’m not actually sure she is.”

“You going to move out of the city?” Jameson asks.

“No. Fuck that.” I screw up my face. “I love the city. I hate being out of town, and besides, I asked her to give me three months before we do anything. There’ll be times in my life that I need to live in a city, and it may not just be here. It could be anywhere. She needs to know what she’s signed up for. I don’t want to go to all the trouble to move and then it doesn’t work out anyway.”

They both frown and glance at each other.

“What?” I snap.

“She’s on a three-month trial?” Tristan frowns. “Or are you?”

“Both, I guess, but that’s how long I have to work long hours in London. After that we can discuss what we’re going to do long term, but at this stage, with Elliot away, there’s no way around it.”

“And then with the next two weekends . . . ,” Jameson adds.

“What about the next two weekends?” I frown.

“You’ve got the Paris team in town next weekend for training, and then the week after that we have a conference in Germany. So you technically won’t have a day off at home for twenty-one days.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Fuck. Having someone depend on you is seriously a nightmare.”

“Buy her a puppy.” Jameson shrugs.

“Have a baby.” Tristan smiles into his drink. “Then she’ll be too exhausted to give a fuck if you are dead or alive . . . let alone where she lives.”

“Not a bad plan, actually.” I chuckle.

“Or if your dick has fallen off,” Jameson mutters dryly.

“True story,” Tristan agrees.

“Fuck that, then.”

Our lunch arrives, and we eat in silence for a while.

“What are you going to do?” Jameson asks.

I shrug. “Nothing. She’ll be okay, but if the sun would just come out for one minute, it would be very fucking helpful.”

My phone beeps with a text. It’s from Hans.

Hi Mr. Miles,

Not sure if I am overstepping.

I thought I would let you know that Hayden

has had a bad day.

I frown and text back.

What makes you say that?

A picture bounces back. It’s a photo of Hayden in a park. She’s sitting on the grass. Tears are running down her red face. She looks so lost and so forlorn.

So . . . unlike the happy Hayden that I fell in love with.

Her sadness seeps through the image, and I get a lump in my throat as I stare at it.

I stand. “I’ve got to go.”

“What’s wrong?” They both frown.

I hold my phone up and show them the photo, and their faces fall as they stare at it. “Fuck . . . ,” Tristan whispers. “That doesn’t look good.”

“You think?” I throw my napkin on the table in disgust. “Bye, I’ll call you later.”

I march out of the restaurant on a mission. I call Hans.

“Hello, Mr. Miles.”

“Where are you?”

HAYDEN

I sit and stare into space. The park bench is hard and cold and laden with impossible decisions.

I have this sinking feeling in my heart, but I don’t know how to stop it. Every day I get up determined to be happy.

By lunchtime I’m in tears . . . and I’m not a crying kind of girl.

I’ve never had a reason to cry before, and I’m not even sure I do now.

Everything about our love is crystal clear and yet, in so many ways, messy and complicated.

I messed up, and the stupid thing is, I knew it at the time, but I didn’t want to be the drama queen and cause a fight. But I should have. I should have fought harder to stand up for myself.

Looking back, Christopher should have come to London alone, let both of us get used to our surroundings before we jumped into the pressure cooker of living together in a big city.

It all happened so fast. Everything was just thrown at me, all or nothing from the very get-go.

Hindsight is a marvelous thing.

If only . . .

Christopher told me who he really was one minute before the car pulled up because he knew I wouldn’t cause a scene in front of the driver.

It didn’t sit well with me at the time, but I let it slide because I understood his reasoning for wanting to be anonymous, especially now that the press is hounding me day and night. I get why he needed that break from reality, and I respect him for taking it. Now that I know him, it would have taken a lot of guts to do what he did.

He wanted to find someone who loved him for him. Mission accomplished: I love him.

With everything.

But what about my choices . . . and do they even matter anymore?

I had everything mapped out, and now my hopes and dreams are just . . . gone.

Christopher is the love of my life—I’m talking soul mate shit—but I know that to be with him I have to give up who I am.

For him to move to be with me . . . he would have to give up who he is.

There’s no fucking winner. One of us has to lose everything in order for the other to be happy.

And I want it to be me. I don’t want him to suffer like this . . . but it’s harder than I thought it would be.

Lonelier.

I screw up my face in tears.

If I want to be my true self, then I can’t stay living in a city. If I want a life with Christopher, then I have to stay.

It’s not fair that I have to choose one over the other.

I can’t lose either.

Tears slowly run down my face.

“Hey, babe,” Christopher’s voice says from behind me.

I turn, startled.

“Everything all right?” he asks.

I turn away from him and quickly wipe my eyes. Damn it, how did he know I was here? “Yep.”

He sits down beside me and stares out over the park. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” I try to hide my tears. “I’m okay.”

He raises his eyebrow.

I roll my eyes. “Don’t.”

We fall silent, and I troll my brain for the right thing to say.

“Hayden . . . you need to talk to me . . . I can’t fix this if you won’t talk to me.”

Be honest.

“I think I’m going to go home to the States for a few weeks,” I say softly.

“What?” He frowns. “Why?”

“You’re so busy, and I . . . just need some fresh air . . . and . . .”

His eyes hold mine.

I steel myself to say the dreaded words out loud. “I’m struggling . . . and not entirely sure that city life is for me.”

“My life is in the city, Hayden,” he replies curtly.

My eyes well with tears. “I know.”

“You said you would give it three months.”

“I know I did.”

“It’s been only weeks. Of course you aren’t settled in yet. Give it some time. You’ll come around.”

Come around?

He just doesn’t get it.

“I don’t want to come around, Christopher,” I snap in frustration. “I’m thinking long term.”

“Meaning what?”

“There’s no way I could raise a family here in these conditions.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” he barks angrily.

I shrug.

“A shrug?” he snaps. “You tell me you don’t want to ever raise a family here, and then you answer it with a shrug? You’ve been here for two fucking minutes, Hayden.”

“Don’t get angry.”

“How could I not?” He raises his voice. “These conditions happen to be the best of the best in London. You have a driver, you have a guard, you live in a forty-million-dollar penthouse and can do whatever you like, and it’s still not fucking enough?”

“I don’t have the cleaner I fell in love with, though, do I?” I snap back. “I hate this workaholic version of you. If I met you as you are now, we wouldn’t even be together.”

He sits back in the chair and gives me a sarcastic smile. “And there it is.”

“There what is?”

“I wondered how long it would be until you threw that in my face.”

My temper begins to rise. “Am I not allowed to bring it up? You’re done with that topic, so that’s the end of it? Is that how this relationship works? It’s your way or the highway.”

“Don’t be fucking cute, Hayden. I don’t like it.”

“I beg your pardon.” Adrenaline surges through my bloodstream. “I will not apologize for feeling let down by you. You brought this all onto yourself when you lied to me for twelve months, so don’t you dare fucking sit there and defend your actions like I’m the one with the problem.”

He rolls his eyes, and I see red.

“I’m going home to the farm for a while.”

“No. You’re not,” he snaps.

“What do you mean, no, I’m not?”

“You told me that you would give it three months, and damn it, you will give them to me. You’re having a bad day. Are you going to run back home to Mommy and Daddy every time you have a bad fucking day?”

Unbelievable.

“Proof that you are not fucking listening to a thing I’m saying,” I yell.

“If you go home to that farm, then that’s it,” he yells.

“What?” I screw up my face. “What the hell does that mean?” I explode.

“Just what I said.” He raises his chin in defiance. “I have to live in the city. It is nonnegotiable. If you choose not to give it a proper go, then . . .” He throws up his hands in defeat. “There’s no fucking point. I’m not doing a long-distance relationship. It won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Because I need sex!” he yells.

I sit back in my seat, shocked to silence.

Wow . . .

Reality hits home like a freight train, my heart splintering into pieces.

We really aren’t going to be able to work through this. I get a lump in my throat. “If sex means more to you than my happiness . . . then I guess . . . this is goodbye.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, Hayden. You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do.” I stand. “I’m going home.”

“This is your home.” He stands in an outrage.

I roll my eyes. “It’s just a few weeks. Who’s the one being dramatic around here?”

“You’re not going.”

“You can’t tell me that I’m not allowed to go home, Christopher. I won’t stand for it.”

“You said you would give it three months.”

“I want to go home for a few weeks. It shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“No. You stay here, and we work through this together. I will not be held over a barrel every time you get homesick. You leave me, and that’s fucking it.”

What the hell?

I can’t believe this. He would really rather we break up than go without sex?

Oh . . .

His silhouette blurs . . .

“Who even are you?” I whisper through tears.

“I’m the man who loves you.”

“Are you sure about that?”

His chest rises and falls as he struggles for air.

“I’m going.”

“Then”—he shrugs—“this is goodbye.”

My eyes search his. “Just like that?”

“I can’t drag this out. If you’re leaving me without trying now, you will always leave me without trying. I can never move out of the city, Hayden. It’s not who I am.”

Oh no.

This really is it . . . my heart constricts in my chest.

We stare at each other, so close but a million miles apart.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“Obviously not enough.” He walks off.

“Are you not coming home to see me off?” I call after him.

“No.” He turns back to face me, his cold eyes holding mine. “Goodbye, Hayden.” He disappears through the park, and I drop back to the seat, shocked to my core.

Checkmate.

I put the last of my things into my suitcase as it lies open on the bed, and I look around the bedroom.

Is this going to be the last time I see it?

Can’t be . . .

No. We’ll get through this. I know we will. We love each other too much not to be together. I glance at the time on my phone: 6:20 p.m.

Where is he?

I texted Christopher when I booked my flight and told him the time I’d be leaving. Don’t tell me he’s not coming home to see me off.

I know I could stay here for a while before I go, plan it better and leave next week or something, but with him working for the next three weeks straight, another day alone in that apartment is not something I can take. And besides, I’m angry at him for throwing the no-sex comment in my face. I know he just said it to try to shock me.

And it worked. He did . . . but not in a good way.

If anything, it’s made me more determined to look after my own happiness. I would never say something like that to him in a fight. It surprised me that he would stoop that low. Actually, if I’m honest, I’m not surprised. Christopher has a way of railroading me into doing what he wants me to do. This time he took the wrong route . . . I won’t be bullied with scare tactics. If he wants to sleep with someone else, he can go ahead.

I won’t be here to pick up the pieces.

“Grumps,” I hear him call from downstairs.

He’s home.

I nearly run downstairs to find him in the kitchen. He’s pouring two glasses of wine. My heart somersaults in my chest at the sight of him. In his perfectly fitted navy suit and crisp white shirt, he is the epitome of masculine perfection.

“Hi.” I smile hopefully.

“Hi.” He kisses my cheek and passes me a glass of wine. “We need to talk.”

He takes my hand and leads me out to the living room, and we sit on the couch. I swallow the nervous lump in my throat, and I know this is it, the moment in time when we discuss our future.

His eyes hold mine. “How long have you been unhappy here?”

“I’m not unhappy with you . . .”

“Answer the question, Hayden,” he replies flatly.

Be honest.

“Almost the whole time.”

He raises an eyebrow and sips his wine.

“To clarify, I’m not unhappy with you and our relationship. I love you, more than anything.”

“Not more than living in the country, though.”

He’s hurt.

“Chris, I just . . .” I hesitate, unsure what to say. I need all the facts in front of me. “Where do you see your permanent home being?” I ask. “Long term, like where do you see your children growing up?”

“Between London and New York.”

“In apartments?”

“Yes, my apartments are bigger than most houses, Hayden.”

“I know.” I nod. “It’s true; they are. And will you always work for Miles Media?”

“Of course I will; it’s my family’s business. I’ll never leave the company.”

“Oh.” I sip my wine, unsure what to even say to that.

His future is set in stone.

“In a perfect world, where do you see yourself living?” he asks.

My eyes search his, and I don’t want to say it out loud, because once I say it I can’t take it back.

“Please, just be honest, Haze,” he says softly.

“On the land.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Not necessarily my parents’ farm, but something similar. I eventually want my own animal husbandry business. It’s what I do, what I love, and I’m missing it so much.”

I see the hurt flash through his eyes.

“Would you . . . ever live on a farm?” I tentatively ask. “Can you see yourself living in the country?”

“No.”

“Would you ever try it?”

“No point. I already know that I would hate it.”

We stare at each other as a realization begins to set in.

“What do you hate about the city?” he asks.

“Everything.”

“Specifics.”

“The pollution, the people, the chaos, the paparazzi. It’s just so loud and on steroids. I don’t feel myself here.” I take his hand in mine. “And I desperately want to because I love you, but I already know that to be here, I have to give up who I am.”

His haunted eyes hold mine.

“And maybe I should do that . . .” I shrug. “I just . . .”

“No.” He cuts me off. “I don’t want you to do that.” He cups my face in his hand. “You’re perfect the way you are. Don’t change a thing.”

My eyes well, and a tear escapes and rolls down my face. He wipes it away with his thumb.

“What does this mean for us, Chris?” I whisper.

His nostrils flare. “It means I have to let you go.”

The lump in my throat hurts as I try to hold in my tears.

He kisses me softly. “I can’t ask you to be someone you’re not, Hayden. Because I know for certain that I can’t change who I am.”

Oh no.

“But I love you,” I whisper.

His eyes well with tears. “And I will always love you.”

He takes me into his arms and holds me tight, and the dam breaks, and I cry against his shoulder.

“But how . . . can two people be so in love and it not work out?” I sob.

“Because fairy tales aren’t real.”

I cry harder. “Don’t say that.”

“Deep down I always knew it.”

I pull out of his arms. “I don’t believe that.” I begin to get panicked. He really is saying goodbye. “No. I’ll stay. We’ll work it out. We can do this,” I splutter. “It will be okay.”

“No, Hayden. We won’t.” He stands. “Get your things. I’m taking you to the airport. You will not be unhappy for one more minute because of me. I made a promise to your father that I would look after you, and this is me doing that.”

“I don’t want to go,” I whisper.

“But you don’t want to stay.”

I sob out loud, and he walks from the room and two minutes later returns with my suitcase. “Come on.”

I screw up my face in tears. “But we love each other.”

“This is one of those cases where love isn’t enough.”

My heart constricts. Oh no.

“Get your things.” He wheels my suitcase to the door and walks out into the foyer. I walk around the apartment, sobbing, as I find my handbag and everything I want to take.

The worst part about it is, deep down I know that he’s right.

I have to leave, and he has to stay.

I take one last look around the beautiful apartment. It’s always felt so cold and unwelcoming to me . . . and now I know why.

It’s not my home.

I screw up my face and cry harder. I walk out the front door and get into the elevator.

Christopher is solemn and staring straight ahead. We ride down to the ground floor to the soft sounds of my sobs. He wheels my suitcase to the car and puts it into the trunk and gets in behind the wheel.

I cry all the way to the airport while he holds my hand in his lap, occasionally lifting it to kiss my fingertips.

We get to the airport, but instead of parking the car, he pulls into the drop-off parking bay. “You’re not coming in?” I whisper.

His eyes well with tears. “. . . I can’t.”

“Baby . . .” I sob.

“Don’t.” He gets out of the car in a rush, and I know he needs this over with. He pops the trunk and gets my suitcase out.

We stare at each other. An ocean of heartbreak and sadness swims between us.

“I’ll call you when I get there?” I whisper.

“Don’t.”

I frown.

“This needs to be a clean break.”

Oh.

He takes me into his arms, and we stand on the street hugging, both in tears.

“I’ll always love you,” he whispers.

“I love you.” I cling to him tight.

This can’t be the end.

As if unable to stand it, he pulls out of my arms in a rush and gets into the car and, without looking back, pulls out into the traffic.

I stand on the sidewalk and through blurred vision watch the sports car disappear down the road. “Goodbye, my love.”