The Do-Over (The Miles High Club Book 4)
: Chapter 27

I bring up the spreadsheet on the large screen, and ten sets of eyes stare up at it. “What we need to do is focus our efforts onto the streaming service. When I looked over the results over the last twelve months, the one thing that’s glaringly clear is that . . .”

My phone vibrates on the table . . .

Hayden

“So what you’re saying is that you aren’t happy with what we’ve been focusing on while you were away?” Henry asks.

My phone keeps vibrating . . .

I’ll call her back when I’ve finished.

“Not entirely true, but to an extent I do agree,” I reply. “If we change the tactic, we change the outcome.”

I sit down at my computer as the discussion continues, and I discreetly email Elouise.

Hi Elouise.

Check in with Hayden please.

She just called and I can’t answer.

“Here, I’ll show you my projections if we change our route now.” I stand and go back to the board.

Hayden

The phone rings out. “Damn it, Christopher, answer your fucking phone.”

I hang up and dial his number again.

I’m hiding in the bathroom of the bar, my half-drunk glass of wine still back at the table. Photographers are gathered around the front doors as they wait to get their shot of me.

I’m in a panic.

This is a gross invasion of my privacy. I don’t want another photo of me in circulation. The last one stressed Christopher out so bad that it took him three hours to calm down. These bastards are vile.

A waitress comes into the bathroom. “Hi.”

“Are they still out there?” I ask her.

“Yep.”

“Do you have a back entrance?”

“We don’t,” she says as she peers out the door at them. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” I nod.

My phone rings.

Elouise

“Elouise. Hi.”

“Hello, Hayden,” she says happily. “Are you okay, lovely? Christopher is stuck in a meeting.”

“No. I’m not,” I whisper. “I’m in a bar, and a group of photographers have found me and are waiting out front, and now I’m hiding in the bathroom,” I splutter.

“Oh dear. Where are you? I’ll get Hans to come and collect you now.”

I put the phone down. “What’s the name of this bar?” I ask the waitress.

“O’Brian’s.”

“What’s the address?” God, I must sound stupid, but I was ambling down the street paying no attention.

She gives me the address, and I tell Elouise.

“Just wait there. Hans will call you when he pulls up out the front,” Elouise says calmly.

I hear my angry heartbeat in my ears. This is all so overdramatic.

And so . . . not me.

“It’s okay, Hayden. Please don’t let this worry you. It comes with Miles territory. In time, you will get used to it,” Elouise says.

Not likely.

“Stay in the bathroom. Hans will be there soon.”

Ugh, I hate this.

“Are you okay?” Elouise asks.

“Yep,” I snap. I can’t even hide how angry I am.

I stay in the bathroom, and twenty minutes later my phone rings.

Hans

“Hello,” I answer.

“Hello, Miss Whitmore. I’m out the front.”

I peer out the door to see the black Mercedes double-parked in the traffic.

“There’s a security guard with me. He’s coming in to get you.”

My eyes well with embarrassed tears. So dramatic.

“Okay.”

I peer around the corner again to see a big burly bodyguard get out of the car and walk into the bar, and I square my shoulders to prepare myself.

I walk out in a rush, and the security guard gives me a kind smile. “Hello, Miss Whitmore?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go. Stay close.” He turns and walks out of the bar, and I follow him like a child. Cameras flash, people call my name, and in a whirlwind of chaos I am ushered into the back of the waiting car.

The guard gets into the front passenger seat, and we drive off into the traffic.

“Imbeciles,” Hans mutters under his breath.

A text bounces in from Elouise.

I’ve canceled your appointment with Zoe for this afternoon.

We will have to reschedule.

Let me know when suits.

X

I exhale heavily, great.

I can’t even go shopping now.

That was the one thing that I was doing today . . . the only thing.

Now that’s ruined too.

I stare out the window as I internally fume. How dare these fuckers chase me around town? Why don’t they report on an issue that actually matters?

“Where would you like to go, Miss Whitmore?” Hans asks.

“Home, please.”

Two hours later

My phone buzzes . . .

Christopher

“Hello,” I answer.

“Babe, are you okay?” he stammers. “I was in a meeting and just found out what happened.”

“I’m fine.” I’ve calmed down now and am feeling stupid for letting it get to me.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

“They won’t be able to sell the images. Everyone has been warned. I’m sorry that you had to deal with this alone.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

“Do you want me to come home? I’ll cancel the meeting I had with Paris for this afternoon.”

“No.” He can’t come home every time I’m photographed. I know I have to learn to deal with this shit. “Finish your day. It’s fine.”

He hangs on the line. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I promise.”

“Just order in tonight; don’t cook. I’m going to be late with this stupid fucking meeting.”

“Okay.”

“Why don’t you go and get a massage or a pedicure . . .”

I roll my eyes. “Really?”

“I just thought . . .”

“You thought wrong. See you tonight.” I hang up.

Idiot.

Because a massage or a pedicure is so fucking riveting. Does he even know me at all?

I throw the phone onto the couch and begin to pace. I’m so bored that I can hardly see straight. I want to be positive and love it here, but deep down I already know.

This isn’t who I am.

This whole city-living life just isn’t me.

I want to work, but then I don’t want to commit to anything until after the three months. If we do decide not to live here long term, then I don’t want to let anyone down.

What if we stay?

Hell . . . the thought of living here forever is traumatizing. No grass, no sun . . . not one thing to fucking do. I had all these hopes and dreams of opening my own animal husbandry business when I got back from traveling. I’d been working toward it for years. I was going to get an apprentice and perhaps hire a stable to work from.

But now what?

I walk to the window and look at the busy city way below . . . there are no animals here. Not a one.

Except for the paparazzi, of course.

I exhale heavily, disappointed that I feel this way. I want to love it. I want to support Christopher and be the good girlfriend that he deserves, but it’s as if every day that I stay here, I feel like I lose a little more of myself. As if minute by minute I’m watching my hopes and dreams slowly drip down the drain.

If he had just told me who he was.

I know that I’ve said that I made peace with Christopher for lying to me, and I realize that he had a valid reason for doing it.

But deep down, I’m resentful. His life is chugging along just great, while mine has come to a complete standstill.

We don’t have an equal exchange of power. It’s all about him and his life and his job . . . and how I should fit into it.

What if I wanted him to fit into my life . . . could he do that? Of course not. It’s not even an option, and I mean, it’s ridiculous to even want that because he makes so much more money than me. Of course his job should come first.

The thought is depressing.

I fell for a simple cleaner and ended up with a workaholic . . . the two men I love are worlds apart.

10:00 p.m.

The movie is playing, but I’m not watching . . . I mean, I’ve never been one to watch a lot of television, but now that it’s my only company, I’m beginning to really despise it.

I glance at the time on my phone: 10:00 p.m. . . . god, it’s late. That must be some motherfucking long telecall to Paris. Poor Christopher, he’s been at work since eight o’clock this morning. I hope he at least had something to eat before his meeting.

He works too hard.

I exhale heavily and hold the remote up and turn the television off.

I’m going to bed.

I close the automatic drapes in the apartment and watch as all the twinkling lights of London slowly disappear.

I brush my teeth and climb into bed. I smile as I smell the freshly washed linen.

At least I achieved something today.

I stare up at the ceiling as my mind wanders over the week ahead. I might go to a bookshop tomorrow and stock up.

I haven’t read a book in a while. Maybe I’ll read War and Peace and all the other books I’ve never had time to read.

It’s the weirdest thing. When I was back at the farm, it felt like I no longer belonged there, like I’d grown out of it. But now that I’m here, this feels even more foreign.

I heard the horror stories of people having trouble settling back in one place after extended travel, but it’s much worse than I imagined. Torn from a world of memories with no idea where I want my future forever home to be.

I exhale heavily. How the hell do you settle back down after a trip like that?

I need to come back to earth.

I doze for a while, and I feel the bed dip. “Baby,” I hear Christopher whisper as he brushes the hair back from my forehead.

I smile and hold my arms out for him, and he lies on top of the blankets in his full suit and nestles his head into my chest. “I’m sorry I’m so late, sweetheart.”

“That’s okay.” I kiss his forehead. “You must be exhausted.”

“Hmm,” he whispers as his heavy eyelids close.

“Did you have any dinner?”

He nods.

“What did you have?”

“A glass of scotch and nuts from my office minibar.”

I smile into the darkness. “Your dinner is in the fridge on a plate. Put it in the microwave.”

“Did you cook it?” he asks with his eyes still closed.

“No, it’s takeout.”

He smiles. “Good.”

“Why is that good?”

“Because I don’t feel bad if I’m too tired to eat it.”

“Shower,” I prompt him. He’s going to fall asleep in his full suit.

“You want to have a shower with me?” He bites my nipple through my pajamas.

“No,” I murmur. “I’m half-asleep.”

“Party pooper.” He drags himself out of bed and disappears into the bathroom, and I hear the shower running.

I smile. His aftershave wafts around the room, and everything is just better when he’s home. I feel myself relax for the first time today.

Five minutes later he slides in beside me and takes me into his arms. He holds me tight. “I love you, baby,” he whispers sleepily.

I turn my head and kiss him over my shoulder. “I love you too.”

“Good night.” He kisses me again.

We lie in comfortable silence for a few minutes. I’m nestled safely in his big strong arms. The best place in the world.

“You work too hard,” I whisper.

But he doesn’t answer . . . he’s already asleep.

Friday night

The charity ball: my very first official engagement as Christopher Miles’s partner.

I’m nervous and have put way too much effort into overthinking every little detail.

I blame Zoe, the personal shopper. She dragged me around the entirety of London looking for the perfect outfit for tonight. I think she’s more nervous than me.

Per her instruction, I had my hair and makeup done, and now I’m about to get dressed. My clothes are laid out on the bed for me, and I hold the Spanx underwear up and look at it. It’s tiny. Did Zoe get me the right size?

These pantie things look like they would fit a child.

Zoe’s words from our shopping trip come back to me. This dress needs good supportive underwear. Do not wear it without.

Fine.

I walk into the bathroom and close the door. I don’t want Christopher walking in while I’m struggling to pull these fuckers up.

I step into them and . . . oh hell, so tight. I struggle and breathe in as I slowly pull them up. I put my hands on my hips as I stare at the Lycra black underwear in the mirror. It looks like shiny short bike pants. Jeez . . . I guess there’s no breathing tonight, then?

I put on the black lacy bra, the superboostiest thing I have ever seen. The girls are nearly at my neck. Surely people can’t wear this shit every day, can they?

My honey hair is out and curled in big Hollywood finger curls, and my makeup is sultry, with red lipstick.

I walk back out into the bedroom and pick up my dress, and Christopher glances in as he walks past the bedroom door. He stops and puts his head back around the doorjamb. He’s wearing a black dinner suit, white shirt, and black bow tie: classic black-tie porn. I’ve never seen anyone so handsome.

Delicious.

He frowns as he looks me up and down. “What’s happening right now?”

I bite my lip to hide my smile. He means my underwear.

“I’m getting dressed,” I reply. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

He walks into the bedroom and circles me as he looks me up and down. “What . . .”

I put my hands on my hips as I wait for him to say it out loud.

He sweeps his hand in the area of my Spanx. “What is this?”

“What’s what?”

“Those gigantic underpants.”

“Spanx.”

“Hayden, when I look at those, the last thing I’m thinking about is spanking you.”

I giggle. “No, silly, that’s the name of them. They hold all your bits in, smooth everything out.”

He raises an eyebrow as he keeps circling me, his eyes drinking me in. “Diabolical.”

“What is?”

“Genius marketing,” he mutters to himself.

“Huh?”

“They package grandma underpants with the promise of making a woman thinner, smooth, and rewarded with spanking.” He nods as he contemplates the concept. “Brilliant. I need to hire the marketing head of this company. They’ve totally nailed it.”

I laugh. Trust him to analyze the marketing plan. I put my hands on my hips. “It’s what married women wear.”

“I have to tell you, and I know I speak for all mankind”—he curls his lip—“not a huge incentive to walk down that aisle.”

I giggle. “Get out. Let me get dressed.”

He kisses me quickly and walks out of the room. “Take them off,” he calls as he disappears up the hall. “My woman has curves.”

I smile as I step into my dress. I love that man.

“Your seats are this way, Mr. Miles.” The usher gestures. With my hand firmly in Christopher’s, we follow him into the ballroom. I look around in awe . . . my god.

This place is spectacular.

A string quartet plays in the corner. Huge crystal vases of flowers, chandeliers hanging low, candles flickering on all the tables, creating a beautiful ambience. Everyone is in black tie and looking ever so glamorous. The room is abuzz with chatter and loud laughter.

Boy . . . this is full on.

I suddenly feel very out of my depth, like I don’t belong here, nervous like never before. I grip Christopher’s hand with white-knuckle force.

“It’s fine, Grumps.” He winks at me over his shoulder. “You look beautiful.”

How does he always know exactly what to say?

I force a smile, and he leads me through to the table. “Hello.” He smiles to everyone as he proudly presents me. “This is Hayden.”

I feel my face blush. “Hello.”

“This is”—he gestures around the table—“Margaret and Conrad, Eva and Mario.”

I give a wave. Oh hell . . . this is so awkward.

“This is Edward Prescott and Julian Masters.”

My eyes land on the last man . . . I’ve seen him before.

Where?

He gives me a sexy wink and raises his glass. “I told you we’d meet again, Hayden.”

My eyes widen. No way.

He’s the man who owned the yacht in Greece . . . what the hell?

They’re friends?

My mouth falls open in shock.

He and Christopher laugh out loud, and Christopher squeezes my shoulder blade. “You look like you saw a ghost, babe.”

I laugh, half-embarrassed and not sure what to say.

“And this”—he smiles proudly—“is Elliot, my brother. Elliot, this is my Hayden.”

Familiar warm eyes smile up at me.

Oh . . . he’s like Christopher.

Elliot stands and kisses my cheek. “Hello, it’s so lovely to finally meet you.” His eyes linger on my face as he studies me, and I feel myself flush under his gaze.

He pulls out the chair beside him. “Sit next to me, Hayden.”

Oh crap . . . do I really have to?

I fall into the chair beside him, and Christopher sits on the other side of me.

Christopher puts his hand protectively on my lap as the waiter fills our glasses with champagne.

“It’s good to see you,” Mr. Masters says from across the table. “How was the vacation?”

“Great.” Christopher’s eyes meet mine. “Brought home an amazing souvenir.” He squeezes my leg.

“I see that.” Julian smiles as he looks between the two of us. “How are you liking London, Hayden?”

“It’s beautiful.”

I glance up to see Elliot’s eyes fixed firmly on me. He has his finger up along his temple and is studying me in great detail. I glance over to Christopher, who is now happily chatting away with the rest of the table.

Help.

I sip my drink. Eish . . . I feel like this is a test. Actually, that’s not true. I don’t feel it; I know it for certain.

“Are you here alone?” I ask Elliot.

“Yes, my wife is in Hawaii. She left last week with her brother, and I’m catching the first flight out in the morning.”

“Hawaii. So beautiful.” I smile.

“Have you ever been?” he asks.

“No. On my bucket list, though.”

“We have a house there. Lucky enough to go every year for a couple of months.”

“Oh, wow.” I frown. “What made you choose Hawaii for your regular holiday vacation?”

“My wife lived there for a while and fell madly in love with the place.”

I smile as I listen.

“It’s a shame she’s not here to meet you tonight. You’ll love her. She’s a lot like you.”

Oh . . . how I wish she was here.

The table all falls into chatter while I look around the room in awe. I’ve never been somewhere so glamorous.

Beautiful women in beautiful dresses . . . and can we talk about the caliber of men here? If handsome was a place, this would be it.

What the actual hell?

Black tie sure does bring out the best in everyone.

“You coming to the bar?” Elliot asks Christopher.

“No, I’ll stay here with Hayden.” He picks up my hand and kisses my fingertips as he smiles over at me.

A trace of a smile crosses Elliot’s face. “Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

Christopher laughs, and I do too. Does it make me a bad person if I’m glad he’s changed?

The night is a soiree of glamour.

People stop and talk to Christopher, commenting how relaxed and happy he looks.

And he . . . he plays the room like a pro.

All eyes are watching him. Everyone wants to talk to him. He laughs and jokes. The room is in the palm of his hand. Funny, charming, and sexy as all hell, Christopher Miles is London’s darling it boy.

The longer I’m here, with the beauty and glamour, the more an underlying question in the back of my mind steps forward to the front.

What does he see in me?

I’m just a normal country girl.

I’m not gorgeous or glamorous with a high-flying job, and I certainly don’t look like the beautiful model-like women who keep trying to make eye contact with him.

I’m like a fish out of water.

For the first time in my life, I feel something foreign crawl up and sit like a lead ball in my stomach.

Insecurity.

I know that there are others in the room who are wondering the same thing I am.

Why her?

Why has he chosen to settle down with someone so normal? Now that I know the life and people he’s used to, I see why the sight of me causes such a stir. Why photographers are scrambling to get a shot and follow me everywhere. They’re trying to work out what he sees in me. They’re waiting to get the scoop for when we fall.

Stop it.

I sip my wine, disgusted by my thoughts. It’s not healthy to think like this.

Christopher holds his hand out. “Do you want to dance, sweetheart?”

I smile, grateful for him.

“I do.” He leads me onto the dance floor and takes me into his arms as we sway to the music. He kisses my temple, completely oblivious to everyone who is watching us.

“You look beautiful.” He smiles over at me.

I force a smile.

How long will you believe that?

I walk out the door of the shop to a whirl of paparazzi.

“Hayden, Hayden, this way,” they all call.

I drop my head as I am ushered to the car by the security guard. He opens the door, and I get into the back seat and am whisked away. “Idiots,” Hans sighs as we drive into the traffic.

I feel my heartbeat slowly return to normal.

I can’t go anywhere now without being followed.

Hunting Hayden Whitmore has become a sport. I’m hounded night and day by photographers.

I had planned on having some lunch somewhere, but I can’t.

What’s the point?

I’ll be a nervous wreck the entire time, knowing they are waiting just outside for me.

“Where would you like to go, Hayden?” Hans asks me.

“Home, please.” I sigh.

His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, and he gives me a sad smile. “As you wish.”

One month later

I sit cross-legged on the floor as I stare out the window. The sky is gray.

The clouds are full as I watch it come down.

Does it ever stop raining in this godforsaken place?

It has rained every single day that I’ve been here, and like a plant, I’m dying without the light.

The life is seeping out of me. A heavy blanket weighs on my shoulders, and I can’t shake it off, no matter how hard I try.

Every day is the same.

I can’t go out; I’m followed. I can’t lie in the sun, because there is no fucking sun. I can’t feel the earth beneath my feet because there is no earth.

All I do . . . is wait for Christopher to come home so that I can feel whole again.

Something is missing . . . everything is missing. But somehow everything is whole.

We’re together. I’m with Christopher, the love of my life, supporting him and his important job. I should be happier than ever before.

But I’m not.

I replace myself crying alone in the shower. Staring into space. My appetite has completely gone.

I’m sad to my bones . . . I can’t shake it, no matter how hard I try.

I feel the loss of my life. Of who I was. The life I had.

I miss me.

I want to make my life here with my Christopher.

I love him more than anything. I would walk to the end of the earth if it meant that we were together . . . and it feels like I have.

But all he does is work, even on weekends. And I know this isn’t his fault; this is what he does. He’s trying his hardest. I know he is.

I need to snap myself out of this because I want to love it here. I want to feel excited to wake up. I want to support him and make friends, but as soon as I walk out that door, I’m followed by photographers, and it’s all too hard . . . so I just stay home. It’s easier that way.

But I feel lost in a concrete jungle.

I need the sun. To feel the warmth on my skin, the wind in my hair.

The grass beneath my feet.

Fresh air . . .

Cows.

My eyes well with tears, which then break the dam to slowly roll down my face. I angrily wipe them away. I need to stop this. Cut it out already. This isn’t helping anyone, least of all me.

Buzz, buzz . . . buzz, buzz . . .

My phone sounds. I close my eyes, unable to answer it.

I know it’s Christopher, and I know that he will hear the tears in my voice and come rushing home . . . just like he did yesterday.

No matter how hard he tries, no matter how much we love each other, he can’t fix my problem.

I miss my home.