: Chapter 18

“Excuse me?” I frown as I snatch my hand from his grip. “What did you say?”

He smiles sexily. “I was merely stating that you are gorgeous. Don’t be alarmed.”

“Well, don’t,” I snap.

He smiles as he sips his drink, clearly amused by my response. “Who are you?”

“Someone whose intelligence is insulted by your audacity. Goodbye, Mr. Ferrara. Go away.” I turn my back to him and take my place at the bar.

His lips come to my ear from behind. “Lovely to meet you, Emily. We will meet again. I’ll make sure of it.” His breath prickles my neck, and traitorous goose bumps scatter up my arms.

“Don’t bother,” I sneer, annoyed by my physical reaction to him.

My heart is hammering. No wonder poor Jameson is stressed to the max. He’s dealing with complete and utter snakes here.

Good grief, I’m completely rattled.

I get my drink and go back to talking to Lauren, although my mind is anywhere but on our conversation.

That fucking asshole Gabriel is sabotaging Jameson’s company and is openly making a play for his women.

Woman.

I feel outraged on his behalf, and I want to march over and tell Jameson what just happened, but then I don’t want to stress him out. But maybe that’s exactly what Gabriel wants—an open war.

Shit . . . this is hectic.

From my place by the bar, I watch as person after person goes and strategically says hello to the Miles family at their table, as if wanting to be acknowledged by them. Tristan is all smiles and happy, and Jameson and his father are polite. It’s blatantly obvious to me that they are not at all seduced or fooled by the fake greetings and well wishes.

After the longest conversation in history, I make my way back to Jameson. I sit beside him, and he takes my hand in his and puts it on his thigh.

“Do you like these people here?” I whisper.

His eyes hold mine. “I like the people at this table.”

I look around nervously.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, sensing that something is off.

“Nothing,” I whisper as I lean in and kiss him softly on the lips. “I don’t particularly like any of these people.”

“Me neither, and as long as you like me, that’s all that matters,” he murmurs.

I smile over at my beautiful man and lean up to whisper in his ear, “I more than like you.”

He squeezes my hand in his. “Two hours, and we can go,” he whispers.

“Good.”

Dinner has been served, we are on to dessert, and the award ceremony is about to take place.

The lights are dimmed, and the stage is lit up by a spotlight as they go through the categories. They must start with the smaller awards first.

Jameson sits and stares at the stage as he holds my hand on his large muscular thigh. He’s completely expressionless, and I have no idea what he’s thinking.

He does it so well, keeps his emotions completely under control. Tristan is laughing and talking about the categories with the other managers sitting at the table. He’s completely relaxed and having a good night.

How are two brothers so different?

Tristan is open and jovial, and Jameson is closed and hard . . . at least to the outside world.

Although, knowing what Tristan’s role is in the company—acquisitions—he has to be hard on some level. Perhaps even harder than the rest of them because he takes over companies and dissolves them. I think on it for a moment as I stare at Jameson. No, that’s impossible—nobody could be harder than Jameson. My eyes flick to his father, who wears the same steely face as he watches the stage . . . perhaps George is.

I think back to Jameson’s childhood and how he went to boarding school overseas with his brothers. How do you learn to be soft and nurturing when you’re in a cold school environment? I wonder if that is why he’s all or nothing with me.

Does he have to give himself permission to feel before he can physically do it?

It would make sense. I mean, since he told me he wants me, we’ve moved forward in leaps and bounds. Every touch I feel him let me in a little more. Is it because he can finally verbalize things now?

I exhale heavily as I clap for an award. My mind is far from here. I’m fixed on the complex man I’ve fallen for, as I try to unravel his inner demons.

Maybe Jay needs to talk about the company. Maybe he needs someone he doesn’t have to pretend with that he has everything under control.

He’s the CEO of Miles Media. The family is looking to him for guidance. Waiting for him to rectify the situation.

Of course he’s stressed.

The reporter in me wants to deal with this situation, find the leak, and fight our way back to the top.

The lover in me wants to steal my Jay away and take him to an island in the Bahamas and let him live a peaceful, relaxed lifestyle . . . where the only thing he has to worry about is pushing his children on a swing.

His children.

I feel my chest constrict as I get a peep into the future with Jameson.

Will his children bear this stress? Will they be able to feel their father’s worry through his touch?

They’d have to—I know I do.

God, I need to wind him down so that he can deal with all of this crap. How do I do that? I think for a moment and clap on cue as another award is announced.

He needs to get out of New York. Yes, that’s it. A weekend away. Somewhere crazy different. I smile as the idea takes shape in my mind.

“And now for the major award for the night,” the MC announces. “The Diamond Award for exceptional media coverage goes to . . .”

The drum rolls.

He opens the envelope and smiles with a shake of his head. “Well, well . . . it seems we have a changing of the guard.”

The crowd falls silent.

“Ferrara Media.”

The crowd applauds, and the Ferrara table erupts into cheers. Jameson clenches his jaw and sips his drink.

“Fuck,” Tristan mutters under his breath.

Our table stays silent as we watch Gabriel Ferrara take the stage to accept the award. He holds it up in the air, and the people in the crowd all laugh and cheer, and he takes the microphone.

“Thank you.” He looks around the room. “It means a lot. Commiserations to Miles Media, who have won this award consecutively for the last sixteen years.” He blows a cheeky kiss to Jameson and then waves down to our table.

Jameson glares at him. His tongue runs across his teeth as sheer contempt drips from his every pore.

“I think it is safe to say”—Gabriel smiles sarcastically—“that in the last twelve months we have led the market with our cutting-edge news delivery.” He holds up his finger. “We are now the number one media empire in the world.”

The crowd claps and cheers.

He holds the trophy in the air.

The Ferrara table goes wild.

“You’ve got to be joking,” I scoff, unable to help it.

The Miles family glares at Gabriel as he stands on stage . . . and I can feel their anger because I have it too. I can feel it growing inside me like a pulsing disease.

It’s one thing to lose your crown, but to have it taken by a thief who’s stealing your work is a completely different ball game.

Gabriel bows and then takes a seat back at his table. He kisses the trophy as the photographers snap away. This win will be headlining tomorrow’s news stories across the country.

Fury and silence sweep around our table. Nobody says a word.

I stare at him across the room and want to wipe that sleazy smile off his gorgeous face.

And I will.

Prepare yourself, Mr. Gabriel Ferrara. I’m taking you down.

I gasp for breath as I watch Jameson lap me in Central Park. It’s six o’clock, and the sun is just rising. He’s running particularly fast today . . . and I’m letting him.

I get it now; his responsibility is not something he can just switch off at the end of the day. I feel it for him too now. Last night, however infuriating it was, taught me a valuable lesson on his competitors.

They have no morals and no fear, and that makes them very dangerous players indeed.

Jameson turns and sprints back to me. He’s always careful he keeps me in his sight.

He was quiet when we came home last night, deep in thought. We had a shower and made love, and then he finally relaxed a little. I made us a snack, and we lay on the couch in each other’s arms and watched a movie for a while. We went to bed late, but we needed the time together to wind down.

Neither of us brought up the award ceremony. We didn’t speak of it at all—there’s nothing to say.

It is what it is. No amount of conversation can take away the fact that Ferrara Media has been rewarded for being deceitful. It’s eating me alive; I can only imagine what it’s doing to Jameson.

He comes to a stop in front of me, panting heavily. “You’re especially slow this morning,” he teases.

“You’re especially fast today. That ax must be big.”

He chuckles as he leans in to kiss me. “Fucking huge.” We turn and begin the slow jog back home. “I’ll organize Alan for the weekend to get your things?” he says as he runs.

“About that . . .”

“Yes?” he pants, still exhausted from his sprinting.

“I have a proposal for you.”

He stops running. “Such as?”

I turn and take his hands in mine. “I’ll move in with you on one condition.”

“What?” He stares at me as if already annoyed by my bartering.

“I’ll move in with you if we can get out of New York on the weekends.”

“What?”

“Well, not every weekend.” I shrug. “But enough that we can relax.”

“New York is my home. I am relaxed. What are you talking about, woman?”

I smile and start jogging again.

He catches up with me. “What?”

“It’s impossible to relax here, Jay. This city is hectic. The energy of this place could be seen from space. Sirens sound all night, cars and traffic and millions of people all buzzing at a million miles an hour.”

He watches me as he listens.

“We don’t have to go far out of the city. I’ve already booked a surprise trip away for us this weekend.”

“Since when?”

“Since yesterday.” I’m totally lying through my teeth here, but whatever. “Think about it. We live in your apartment through the week and work hard. Then on the weekends, we completely switch off. No phones, no internet. Just us.”

“What?” He frowns. “That’s impossible. I need to be online at all times, Emily.”

“No,” I pant as we run. “What you need is to recharge so that you can be the best CEO you can be. A tired, stressed-out version of you won’t be half as switched on.”

We run until we hit the street, and then we look both ways as we wait to cross.

“And besides,” I pant, “this way I get the best of both worlds.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m utterly in love with my Jim, the man I met on the plane.”

He listens.

“And I’m learning to love the stressed-out CEO who takes over his body sometimes.”

Jameson smiles as he runs, finally putting the pieces together.

“This way . . .” I pant. God, why do I insist on talking as I run? “This way I get to spend time with both of my men.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me back to him; his lips take mine as he clutches my face in his hands. His tongue swipes through my lips, and his kiss is electric with just the right amount of suction. We kiss again and again, and my hands go to his hips. What must we look like, making out on the street corner?

My eyes search his. “Do we have a deal?” I whisper. “Am I moving in?”

He trails his fingers down my face. “I guess we can come to some kind of weekend arrangement.”

I smile.

“Only because both of your men love to fuck you.” He grabs my hips and bounces them off his.

I giggle against his lips as he holds my head to his. “You’re a sex maniac, Miles,” I whisper.

He grabs my behind once more, and a car horn sounds. “Get a room,” a man calls.

We both laugh and begin to run across the street. I smile over at him as we run.

“What?” He smirks.

“Nothing.” I slap his behind. “Race you home.” I take off.

“I could beat you with my legs tied.” He laughs from behind. “In fact, if I beat you, I am tying you up.”

“Not if I tie you up first,” I call as I sprint. I giggle as I hear his footsteps behind me. Now there’s an incentive to run fast.

Knock, knock. I tap on Tristan’s door.

“Come in,” his deep voice calls.

I peek around the door. Tristan is sitting at his desk. “Come in, Em.” He smiles.

Em.

I smile and take a seat at his desk. I’ve decided that I’m keeping Tristan completely up to date . . . with everything. He loves Jameson, and he will decipher what Jay needs to know and what he doesn’t.

His eyes hold mine with a tender glow. “You were a hit with our parents last night.”

I smile. “Really?”

“My mother was gushing about you this morning.” He smiles as he holds his pen in his hand and swivels on his chair.

“I just wanted to keep you updated on a few things.”

He frowns. “Okay.”

“I’m going to keep my relationship with Jameson completely unrelated to work. I feel he needs a break from it.”

“I agree. He does.”

“So, therefore, there are a few things that I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Great. Fire away.”

“Well, you know how we’ve been suspicious of Hayden?”

“Yes.” He frowns.

“I found out from Molly—and this is just rumors—that Hayden was fired from the Gazette for a phone-tapping scandal.”

He sits forward in his seat. “Like what?”

“Apparently—and honestly, I have no idea if this is true, but Molly said it was what circulated at the time—he was tapping Keely May’s phone and stealing her stories.”

“What?” he snaps. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No.”

He smiles broadly. “This is excellent. This gives me enough ammunition.”

“To do what?”

“To get a search on his computers. We haven’t tapped him yet.”

I smile proudly. “Hopefully this will help us.”

“Good work, Em.” He swivels on his chair and makes a note.

I watch him for a moment. “There was also something else.”

His eyes rise.

“I haven’t said anything to Jameson, but Gabriel Ferrara made a pass at me last night.”

His face falls. “He did what?” he snaps.

“Don’t get excited,” I stammer.

“What did he say?”

I frown as I think back. “I was at the bar, and he asked me who I was. I thought he was just being nice, and I replied Emily.”

Tristan frowns as he listens.

“Then he picked up my hand and kissed the back of it and said, ‘My name is Gabriel Ferrara, and I like to take over all things owned by Jameson Miles.’”

Tristan’s eyes widen.

“Then he said, ‘Women included.’”

“What the fuck?” Tristan snaps. “Are you fucking serious?” He stands in a rush.

“But I don’t know if I read it the wrong way or . . . ,” I stammer. “I don’t want to be making more of this than it is, but I felt that it was really quite off.”

Tristan’s eyes blaze with anger. “What did you say?”

“I told him he was insulting my intelligence and to go away.” I curl my lip in disgust. “He makes my skin crawl.”

“Fucking hell.” Tristan sighs as he turns and puts his hands into his suit pockets and stares out the window, deep in thought.

“I didn’t say anything to Jameson because I feel like that’s exactly what Gabriel wanted me to do.”

Tristan’s jaw ticks in anger. “He wants to start a war.”

“That’s what it felt like . . . there could be no other explanation,” I whisper.

“He’s trying to rattle him by attacking him on a personal basis.”

“Yes.” I sigh as my heart bleeds for my Jay. “I worried about whether I should say anything to you all night.”

Tristan’s eyes come to me. “Don’t tell Jameson.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s keep this between us.”

I exhale heavily.

“I’m concerned about Jameson,” he says. “He’s about to fucking crack.”

“I know; I’m going to try to get him out of the city for the weekends and get him offline. I’m doing all I can to keep him calm.”

“Good idea.” He nods, still deep in thought. “If you had told him about Gabriel, he would be over there strangling the fucker right now.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I know.”

“You did the right thing.” He smiles. “Thank you for telling me.”

My eyes hold his. “I hate not telling Jameson, but I feel like I need to protect him from this. Gabriel is just trying to rattle him.”

“My thoughts exactly,” he agrees. “Thanks, I’ll get on this now. Can you do me a favor and try to find out as much about Hayden’s personal life as you can? Where he hangs out, partner, that kind of thing.”

“Okay, I’m on it.” I stand and leave his office and walk over to Jameson’s office, and I knock on the door.

“Come in,” his deep, velvety voice calls.

I open the door to see my beautiful man sitting behind his desk. He smiles warmly when he sees me and pats his lap.

I lock the door and sit on his lap and take his lips with mine. “Hello, boss.”

He runs his hand up my thigh. His mouth goes to my neck, and I smile, and then I see it.

A half-empty glass of scotch sitting on his desk. I glance at my watch.

“It’s eleven o’clock, Jameson.”

He rolls his eyes and pushes me off his lap. “I needed something to take the edge off. Don’t fucking start, Emily.”

“Okay,” I whisper. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he snaps as he turns back to his desk.

“Three days until our weekend away,” I whisper.

His phone rings, and he glances at the screen. “Can’t come soon enough. I have to take this. See you tonight.”

I kiss him softly, and then he answers the call. His voice instantly turns to the authoritative tone he uses with everyone else.

I stand at the door and watch him as he listens. He mindlessly picks up the scotch and sips it before he talks.

My heart drops.

Many a stressed-out CEO has been found in the bottom of a Blue Label scotch bottle.

Please, not mine . . .

I look around guiltily and then back down to my phone, and I put into the search bar “budget weekends away.”

“God,” I sigh. “Where can I take him?”

“Are you still going on about that?” Aaron asks.

Molly slides her chair to look over my shoulder.

“I want to take him somewhere that money can’t buy.” I twist my lips as I think. “It has to be something really special.”

Aaron chuckles. “Your special and Jameson Miles’s special may be a little different.”

“The thing is, when he’s at my apartment, he detaches from who he is. I want him to realize that we don’t need to live in a swanky apartment to be happy.”

“You’re fucking crazy.” Molly sighs. “What I wouldn’t give to live in his swanky apartment. Anybody would be happy as a pig in mud there. When are you inviting us over, bitch?”

“Right?” Aaron laughs.

“Hmm.” I narrow my eyes as I think.

“What about camping?” Molly says.

My eyes flick to her. “Oh, but we don’t have a tent or anything, and I won’t have time to buy it.”

“I’ve got it all. You can borrow ours. Michael and the kids go camping all the time.”

I stare at her for a moment. “Do you reckon he’s ever gone camping before?”

“Umm . . . that would be a definite no.” Aaron widens his eyes to accentuate his point. “Nobody goes camping of their own free will.”

Excitement fills me. “Really? Could we borrow your things? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all. Take it. Michael and the kids are going to Dallas on Friday to see his parents for a week. They won’t be using it.”

“Maybe.” I smile as the idea takes shape in my head. “But the car,” I say, thinking out loud.

“Take Michael’s pickup truck, Bessie. Give him the full Swamp People experience.”

“Really?” I smirk as I imagine Jameson in a pickup.

“Yeah, it’s a total piece of shit, but it’s reliable.”

Aaron shakes his head in disgust. “Are you trying to scare him away on purpose?”

“No, I’m trying to bring him back to earth.” I smile as excitement sweeps through me.

“He’ll land with a thud; that’s for sure.” Aaron smirks.

I laugh as I begin to google campgrounds. “This is going to be so much fun.”

On Friday afternoon, I drive into the underground parking lot of Jameson’s building with a huge smile on my face. I’ve laughed all the way here from Molly’s house. I’ve called Jay and told him to be waiting near the door for me to collect him.

I drive around the corner, and I see him standing there waiting with Alan and our bags. He sees me, and his face drops.

I honk the horn and bounce in the seat and pull Bessie the pickup truck up beside him.

His face horrified, he comes to me, and I roll down the window. “Going my way?” I ask.

“What the fuck is this?” he gasps.

“This is Bessie.” I smile proudly.

Alan puts his hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud.

“What?” Jameson frowns as he looks at the huge, beat-up light-blue truck. His eyes come back to me.

“Get in, Miles.” I smile and wiggle my eyebrows. “I’m taking you camping.”