The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(2)

“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.