The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(5)

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.