The Stopover Page 4

  “Okay, great.” I smile as I feel my confidence seep out into the carpet. God, this is all so professional.

  “Most people start on level four and work their way up the building, so congratulations for starting on level forty. That in itself is amazing.” She smiles broadly.

  “Thank you,” I reply nervously.

  She leads me over to a group of four desks by the window and pulls out a chair. “This is your desk.”

  “Oh.” I feel the blood drain from my face. I’ve totally bitten off more than I can chew here. I fall into my seat as panic begins to rise in my stomach.

  “Hello,” a man says as he sits in the seat beside me. “I’m Aaron.” He reaches over and shakes my hand with a broad smile. “You must be Emily.”

  “Hi, Aaron,” I whisper, feeling totally inadequate.

  “I’ll leave you in Aaron’s safe hands.” Frances smiles.

  “Thank you.”

  “Have a great day.” She returns to reception.

  And I stare at the computer on my desk as my heart begins to beat violently.

  “Are you excited?” Aaron asks.

  “Oh my God, I’m petrified,” I whisper as I turn to him. “I’ve never done this job before. I usually find the stories with my group.”

  He smiles warmly. “Don’t worry; we all felt the same when we started, but they wouldn’t have given you the job if they didn’t think you could do it.”

  I give him a lopsided smile. “I just don’t want to let anyone down.”

  He reaches over and puts his hand on top of mine. “You won’t. This team is great, and we help each other.”

  I glance down at his hand on mine.

  “Oh.” He pulls it away as he notices my discomfort. “I’m totally gay and way too touchy, apparently. Tell me if I get in your space. I have no sphere of reference.”

  I smile, grateful for his honesty. “Okay.” I look around the office as people file in. “How long have you worked here?”

  “Four years. I love it.” He shivers his shoulders to accentuate his point. “Best job I’ve ever had. I moved from San Fran for it.”

  “I moved from California.” I smile proudly.

  “You here by yourself?” he asks.

  “Yeah.” I shrug. “I got a little one-bedroom apartment. I arrived on Friday.”

  “What did you do all weekend?” he asks.

  “Freaked out about today.”

  He laughs. “Don’t worry. We’ve all been there.”

  I look around at the two other empty chairs. “Who else do we work with?”

  “Molly.” He points to the chair behind me. “She doesn’t start until nine thirty. She’s a single mom and has to get her kids off to school first.”

  I smile; I like that.

  “And Ava—she’s just late because she probably went out last night partying.”

  I smile.

  He rolls his eyes. “She’s a deplorable party girl, and she’s never at her desk—always finds somewhere she has to be.”

  “Hello,” a girl says as she runs up the aisle and sits down in her chair. She’s panting and holds out her hand. “I’m Ava.”

  I shake her hand and smile. “I’m Emily.”

  Ava is younger than me and very attractive, with a honey-colored bob and dramatic makeup. She’s trendy and very New York.

  “Open up your computer, Emily, and I’ll show you through our programs,” Aaron says.

  “Okay,” I reply as I concentrate on my task.

  “Oh my God, Aaron,” Ava says. “I met the hottest fucking guy last night.”

  “Here we go.” Aaron sighs. “You meet the hottest fucking guy every night.”

  I find myself smiling as I listen to them.

  “No, seriously, this time I mean it.”

  I glance over at Aaron, and he smirks at me and rolls his eyes as if he’s heard it all before.

  She gets to work, and Aaron goes through and explains the programs as I take notes. “At ten o’clock the stories will start coming in.”

  I listen intently.

  “We, as reporters, go through them and all say yay or nay as to whether it’s got legs and if we go and report on it.”

  I frown. “But how will I know that?”

  “We just vote yes for stuff that interests us, I suppose,” Ava says. “Obviously, news stories that are breaking are crucial, but it’s the other content that they pay us for.”

  She reads an email. “For example, three coffee shops have closed down in one week within two blocks from each other.” She rolls her eyes. “Honestly, who gives a fuck? This isn’t news.”

  I giggle.

  “Here’s one.” Aaron reads out, “A driver has been clocked traveling at one hundred fifty-five miles per hour, and he ran a police stop sign. He was involved in a hot pursuit and ended up crashing into parked cars in Brooklyn.”

  Ava nods. “Yeah, that’s good.”

  “We’ll go with that.” He types something and puts the file into a saved folder.

  “So how does this work?” I ask.

  “We collect stories, and then we discuss collectively what each of us has done and put together a list of stories. You research your stories and have them in by four each day for the next day’s news. Then we send them on to Hayden, and he sends them to editing. Obviously, if a good story comes in, it will take priority over everything else, and it will go to live news immediately.”

  I frown as I listen. “So we each get our own stories and leads sent to us?”

  “Yes, by email. By others on this level.”

  I glance around at all the workers surrounding us.

  “We keep our finger on the pulse of what sells and what news really is,” Ava replies. “It’s the coolest job ever.”

  I smile. Maybe I really can do this.

  “Open your emails.” Aaron reaches over and opens something for me on my computer, and then I watch as it keeps pinging.

  “Those are all possible stories?” I frown.

  “Yes.” He throws me a playful wink. “Get reading, baby. They come in thick and fast.”

  I smile as excitement runs through me.

  “Just make sure you get story details right. Nothing pisses management off more than incorrect names. You will get into huge trouble.”

  “Got it.”

  I’ve just gotten back from lunch when my phone rings. “Hi, Emily, this is Lindsey from human resources. I’ll be up in about five minutes to get you,” the kind voice says on the phone.

  I wince. Oh, that’s right—I have that damn building tour. “Okay, thank you.” I hang up. “Oh no, I have to go on the office tour,” I whisper to my colleagues.

  “That’s okay,” Aaron replies as he continues reading his emails.

  “I’ve got so many leads,” I stammer. “I can’t keep up.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s fine,” he comforts me.

  “What if I miss a really important story?”

  “You won’t—it’s fine. I’ll go through yours while you’re gone.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course it is. You aren’t expected to know everything on day one.”

  “Oh no, you have to go to the top.” Ava grimaces.

  “What’s the top?” I ask.

  “Upper-management offices.”

  “They’re not nice?”

  “No, they’re fucking horrible, and you have a good chance of being fired on the spot.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, bullshit.” Aaron rolls his eyes. “They just don’t . . .” He screws up his face as he chooses his words. “They don’t fluff. If something is going to be said, they just say it how it is. They don’t take any shit from anyone.”

  “Who are they?” I whisper.

  “Well, Mr. Miles won’t be there. He never is. I think he’s in London.”

  “Mr. Miles?” I ask as I feel my nerves dance.

  “The CEO.”

  “Yes, I know who he is. I think everyone does. A
lthough I’ve never seen a picture of him. It’s him and his brothers, right?”

  “Yes, it’s the Miles family who owns everything. He and his three brothers.”

  “And they’re all upstairs?” I whisper as I quickly take out the bright lipstick I bought at lunch and reapply. I need some courage here.

  “Just don’t say anything stupid up in the management levels,” Ava says.

  My eyes widen. “Like what? What do they consider stupid?” I’m really beginning to panic.

  “Just keep your mouth shut, take the tour, and don’t tell HR anything.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they’re on speed dial to the management levels. This whole tour you’re taking now is just so they can do a personality assessment on you in the two hours it takes them to show you around.”

  “Oh my God.” I sigh.

  “Hi, Emily, is it? I’m Lindsey.”

  I turn to see a beautiful blonde, and I stand immediately and put out my hand. “Hello.”

  She smiles at my coworkers. “Let’s get started. We will go down to level one and work our way up.”

  I give my new work friends a nervous wave and follow her out of the office and into the elevator.

  Here we go.

  An hour and a half later

  “And this is the gymnasium, for our staff’s own personal use.”

  I look around at the expansive and swanky-looking gym on level sixty. “Wow.”

  “It’s open from six in the morning until six thirty at night. It’s busiest before work, obviously, but you can come here on your lunch break also. A lot of people take a late or early lunch so that it’s not as busy when they come.”

  This place is ridiculous. A cafeteria on level two that is the entire floor, a movie theater, a gymnasium, a mailroom floor, a computer geek floor. Everything has been thought out with such care.

  “Okay, let’s get going.” Lindsey smiles. “We will head up to the management floors now.”

  My stomach dances with nerves as we head back into the elevator.

  She gets in and looks at the buttons. “Oh look, you’re in luck.”

  I frown in question.

  “Mr. Miles is here.”

  I fake a smile.

  “I’ll take you to meet him first.”

  Oh God.

  Don’t speak. Don’t say anything stupid, I remind myself. I twist my fingers in front of me nervously as we ride to the top floor. The doors open, and I step out of the elevator and stop still.

  What the hell?

  White marble for as far as I can see, floor-to-ceiling glass, and luxurious white leather furnishings. “Hello, Sammia.” Lindsey smiles as I look around in awe. This place is insane.

  A beautiful woman looks up from her computer at reception, and she smiles warmly. “Hello, Lindsey.”

  “This is Emily. She’s new and started on level forty today.”

  Sammia comes around and shakes my hand. “Lovely to meet you, Emily.”

  “Is Mr. Miles taking visitors?” Lindsey asks.

  “He is.” She smiles. “I’ll just announce you.”

  Announce me . . . jeez.

  Lindsey hunches her shoulders as if she’s nervous too.

  Sammia picks up the phone. “Mr. Miles, we have a new staff member to meet you in reception.” She listens for a moment and smiles. “Yes, sir.” She puts the phone down. “Just go in.”

  “This way, Emily.” Lindsey directs me across a huge boardroom, and my heels click on the marble. Why don’t Lindsey’s shoes click?

  Okay, buy rubber-soled shoes tomorrow.

  We get to the end of the huge room and down another corridor, and my heels are clicking like I don’t know what. They’re even annoying me. I sound like a horse. I feel like taking them off and throwing them in the trash. Just be quiet. I’m trying to appear professional here.

  We get to a set of black double doors, and Lindsey knocks as my heart pounds in my chest.

  Just . . . don’t say anything stupid.

  “Come in,” a deep voice calls.

  Lindsey opens the doors, and I step into the office.

  Familiar blue eyes rise to meet mine from behind the large mahogany desk, and I stop dead still.

  What?

  “Emily Foster, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Miles,” Lindsey says.

  I stare at him, unable to speak because there’s no air in my lungs.

  His eyebrow rises, and he sits back in his chair as he smirks. “Hello, Emily.” His big eyes hold mine, the same beautiful deep-blue eyes that hypnotized me twelve months ago.

  It’s him.

  Chapter 3

  Oh my God.

  He stands and walks around to my side of the desk and holds his hand out to shake mine. “Jameson Miles.”

  It’s him, the layover guy who never asked for my number. I stare at him as my brain completely misfires.

  I can’t believe this. He’s the fucking CEO?

  “Emily, tell Mr. Miles all about yourself,” Lindsey says, as if to prompt me to speak.

  “Oh.” I catch myself and shake his hand. “I’m Emily Foster.”

  His hand is strong and warm, and I’m instantly reminded how it felt on my skin. I pull my hand out of his grip as if he’s given me an electric shock.

  His mischievous eyes hold mine, and he keeps his face straight. “Welcome to Miles Media,” he says calmly.

  “Thanks,” I croak. I look over at Lindsey. Oh God, does she know I’m a dirty-talking whore bag who fucked our boss’s boss’s boss?

  “I’ll take it from here, Lindsey. Emily will be out in a moment,” Mr. Miles states.

  Lindsey frowns and looks over at me. “I’ll just—”

  “Wait outside,” he says as he dismisses her.

  Shit.

  “Yes, sir,” she says as she scurries for the door. It closes behind her, and I drag my eyes back to him.

  He’s tall, with dark hair, and he’s wearing the most perfectly fitted navy suit in the history of all suits. His blue eyes hold mine. “Hello, Emily.”

  I twist my fingers in front of myself nervously. “Hi.”

  He never asked for your number.

  Screw him.

  I tilt my chin to the ceiling as I act brave. I didn’t want him to call me anyway.

  His eyes blaze, and he rests his behind on his desk and crosses his feet in front of him. I glance down at his shoes. I remember those pretentious expensive shoes.

  “Given any poor unsuspecting travel companions hickeys lately?” he asks.

  Oh hell on a broomstick—he remembers. I feel my face flush with embarrassment. I can’t believe I did that. Shit, shit, shit. “Yes, just last night, actually.” I pause for effect. “On my flight here.”

  His jaw clenches, and he raises his eyebrow, unimpressed.

  “So you’re not Jim?” I ask.

  “To some people I’m Jim.”

  “Women you pick up for one-night stands, you mean.”

  He crosses his arms in front of him as if annoyed. “What’s with the attitude?”

  “I don’t have an attitude,” I fire back.

  He raises his eyebrow again, and I feel like slapping it down to his chin. I look around his over-the-top luxurious office. It’s ridiculous, with a 360-degree view out over New York. It has a large lounge area with a fully stocked bar and leather stools lined up in front of it and a conference table area. I can see a hallway with a private bathroom, and then another few rooms are off that.

  He runs his fingertips over his bottom lip as he assesses me, and I feel it all the way to my toes. God, he’s so gorgeous. I’ve thought of him often over the last year.

  “What are you doing in New York?” he asks.

  “Working for Miles Media.” A thought crosses my mind, and I frown as I remember something he said to me back then.

  Welcome to the Miles-High Club . . .

  Dear God, I thought he meant sex-in-a-plane club . . . he meant women who had slept with
him.

  Miles . . . he’s the Miles . . . and there’s a club?

  Damn it, the hottest sex of my life was just an initiation into some sleazy bedpost club.

  For the past twelve months, the night that we spent together was something special that I held dear. He awakened something inside me that I didn’t even know existed, and now I find out that I’m one of many. My heart drops in disappointment, and I clench my jaw to stop myself from lashing out to try to hurt him back.

  Bastard.

  I’ve got to get out of here before I get myself fired on my first day.

  “Nice to see you again.” I fake a smile, and with my heart beating hard in my chest, I turn and walk out of his office and close the door behind me.

  “All done?” Lindsey smiles.

  “Yes.” I nod.

  We walk out through reception and into the elevator and begin to go back down to my level. “Don’t feel rattled,” Lindsey says softly.

  I frown over at her in question.

  “He’s very abrasive and not good with people, but his mind is beyond incredible.”

  Like his dick.

  “Oh, okay,” I reply as I stare at the ground. “Good to know.”

  “Did he say anything to you?”

  “No,” I lie. “Just polite chitchat.”

  She smiles. “You should feel very privileged. Jameson Miles doesn’t make polite chitchat with anyone.”

  “Oh.” I frown. The door opens, and I scurry out to evade this conversation. “Thank you so much for showing me around.”

  “You’re welcome, and if you have any human resource issues, please call me immediately.”

  “I will.” I shake her hand. Does being initiated into the Miles dick-riding club classify as a human resource issue? “Thank you so much.” I take off in the direction of my desk, and I discreetly grab my phone from my drawer. “Back in a moment.” I head to the bathroom and bang the stall door open and lock it. Then in the privacy of the bathroom, I type into Google: Jameson Miles.

  I close my eyes as I wait for the information to load. My heart is hammering in my chest. Please don’t be married . . . please don’t be married.

  I’ve beat myself up over this for the last year, and it’s played on my mind as to why he didn’t even pretend to want my number. I felt like we had a connection, but there was something he didn’t tell me. And for some reason, afterward, I got the feeling he was married . . . or in a relationship.