“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.
And that makes me a dirty ho. I’ve never been with a person who is in a committed relationship to someone else, and women who knowingly do that make me sick.
If I had known how much it was going to play on my mind, I wouldn’t have gone near him that night.
Jameson Grant Miles is an American businessman and investor. Aged 37, Miles is the eldest son of media mogul George Miles Jr. and the grandson of George Miles Sr. In 2012, he inherited control of the family empire, Miles Media Holdings Ltd., as well as investments in television, film, and multiple other companies. He is the former executive chairman of Publishing and Consolidated Media Holdings, which predominantly owns media interests across a range of platforms, and also a former executive chairman of Netflix.
In May 2018, Miles’s net worth was assessed as $5.50 billion, ranking him among the top 100 richest Americans, alongside his three brothers.
Oh hell. I read on.
Personal life.
Fiercely private, he is known for a penchant for beautiful women. He dated Claudia Mason from 2011 to 2015 and has had no known personal relationships since.
I put my hand on my chest and breathe out in relief. Thank God. I click on the link for Claudia Mason. Who is she? A barrage of images comes up, and I feel my confidence run down the drain.
Claudia Mason is an English businesswoman and fashion icon. Aged 34.
Mason is a British journalist. She is the editor-in-chief of the British edition of Vogue and also the youngest editor in the history of British Vogue. She took the helm of Vogue in 2014. Mason is one of the country’s most oft-quoted voices on fashion trends. In addition to her work with Vogue, Mason has written columns for Miles Media and has ten published books.
Personal life.
Mason is the eldest of five children and is the daughter of French politician Marcel Angelo.