The Casanova (The Miles High Club)

by T L Swan

  “I mean, how do I know you aren’t going to take advantage of her.”

  “Because I’m her friend . . . and I live with her.”

  I straighten my tie as I go over my options. “Hmm.” I rearrange my cufflinks.

  “Look Mr.—” he says.

  “Elliot Miles,” I interrupt him.

  He gives me a stifled smile. “Mr. Miles, thank you for looking after her, but I’m home now. I appreciate all you’ve done.”

  “Fine.” I take one last look around the room. “I’ll be in touch.”

  I head toward the door and then stop and take the gold business card case from my pocket, handing over my card. “Call me if something is wrong or if anything changes.”

  He frowns as he takes the card from me. “Okay, I will.”

  “Goodnight.”

  I march down the stairs and out the front door, walk over to my Bentley, and get into the backseat.

  “Where to, boss?” Andrew asks as we pull out into the traffic.

  “Anywhere with food.”

  KATE

  I wake to the deep throb in my stomach and I wince.

  Oww, period pain.

  I drag my eyes open—I need to go to the bathroom. I sit up and frown as I look down at myself.

  Huh?

  Why am I wearing this?

  I go to step out of bed and tread on a blanket on my floor. “What’s that?”

  I flick my lamp on and see that Daniel is asleep on top of the couch cushions on the floor beside my bed. “What the hell?” I step over him and go to the bathroom.

  It’s urgent now.

  Damn it, periods are a design fault in the female human body.

  I sit on the toilet as I go over last night. Wait . . . what am I doing in my netball dress?

  Hang on, I don’t even remember playing netball.

  I was at the office . . . and then . . . what?

  And what’s Daniel doing asleep on my floor?

  I have a quick shower as I wrack my brain about last night’s events. Was I drinking . . .

  I’m completely blank, jeez.

  I pull my robe on and walk back out into my bedroom to see Daniel awake and leaning up on his elbow. “How are you feeling?”

  “Why was I in my netball dress?”

  He sits up, surprised. “You don’t remember?”

  “I . . .” I pause as I try to. “No, I . . . I’m at a loss.”

  “You passed out at work, apparently had a reaction to some medication or something.”

  “Are you serious?” I think back. “Yes . . . the pain tablets. Shit.”

  “Luckily Elliot found you.”

  My eyes snap back to Daniel. “Who?”

  “Elliot Miles brought you home.”

  My eyes widen. “What?”

  “But nobody was here so he stayed with you until I arrived.”

  My hands go to my head in horror. “What the fuck? He came . . . here?”

  I begin to pace.

  “Looked pretty damn at home too, sitting there holding your hand and all.”

  I smile in relief. “Oh, fuck off, you nearly had me for a moment. What really happened, did we get drunk?”

  “I’m deadly serious.” He stands and goes over to my bedside table, picks up a white card and passes it to me.

  ELLIOT MILES

  0423 009 973

  “Nooooooo,” I splutter. “Oh no, no, no, no.” My heart begins to race. I point to the floor. “He was here. In my bedroom?” I point to the floor again. “Here.”

  “Yes.”

  I push my fingers into my eye sockets in horror. “Why did you let him in?” I look around at my bombshell of a bedroom. “This place is a fucking mess.”

  Daniel shrugs. “He didn’t seem to mind.”

  “Why? What, I mean . . . Why do you say that?”

  “He seemed very happy holding your hand.”

  My eyes hit saucer size. “He was actually holding my hand . . . what the fuck was I doing?”

  “You were all snuggled into him.”

  “What!” I screech. I drop my head into my hands. “Oh my God, I’m going to die a thousand deaths.”

  “You know you should be grateful. He was looking after you.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I cry, storm into my bathroom, and look around: there’s a basket of dirty washing and tampons are on the cabinet next to the sink.

  He saw this mess, he saw me asleep . . . I was snuggled into him.

  “Kill me now!” I cry. “My life is officially over.”

  Daniel chuckles as he goes to walk out of the room. “I must say, he’s fucking hot though, right?”

  I pick up a cushion off my bed and hurl it at him. “Get out.”

  “Thank you for sleeping on my floor and checking on me all night, Daniel,” he says sweetly.

  “Thanks for ruining my life and letting him in,” I cry.

  “I didn’t let him in, you let him in.”

  Oh no.

  Another horrible thought enters my brain. “What the fuck did I say to him?”

  I begin to pace as I run my hands through my hair in dismay. “What if I told him . . .” I whisper out loud to myself.

  “That you think he’s hot?” Daniel interrupts my mental breakdown.

  My eyes flick up to him. “I do not,” I snap.

  Daniel smirks. “If you didn’t think he was hot, then it wouldn’t matter that he saw your dirty panties in the laundry basket and your tampons on the side.”

  “Ahhhh,” I cry as I slap my hands over my eyes. “Get out!”

  Daniel whistles as he saunters down the stairs.

  I sink into a seated position on the bed as I feel the blood drain from my face.

  This is beyond . . . mortifying.

  Humiliation, is there a worse emotion?

  I take the elevator to the top floor with my tail between my legs.

  I inhale with a shaky breath, and I don’t know if I’ve ever been so nervous.

  Or horrified.

  I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life, and passing out at work in a netball dress is up there. But letting Elliot Miles drive me home while I was high takes the absolute cake.

  What kind of fucking idiot invites her bastard boss into her messy bedroom with tampons strewn all over her bathroom and then snuggles up to him?

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is it, the end of my career. It was nice knowing you, Miles Media. He didn’t respect me before, and he sure as hell is going to throw this in my face for all of eternity.

  I’ll have to find another job? I can’t stay here . . . not now.

  The elevator doors open at the top floor and I step out. Elliot’s PA looks up from her computer and smiles. I wither a little. Does she know? Has he told everyone?

  Am I the laughing stock?

  “Hello Courtney.” I smile awkwardly.

  “Go in dear, he’s expecting you.”

  I bet he is.

  I fake a smile, trudge up the corridor, and knock on his door. “Come in,” his deep voice calls.

  I pause and close my eyes, push the door open.

  And there he sits, in all his arrogant glory.

  Grey suit, white shirt, dark hair, and a jaw that would cut glass. He gives me a slow, sexy smile as he swivels on his chair. “Hello Kate.”

  I clench my jaw, wanting to correct him that it’s Kathryn. “Hi.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  I shrug. “Fine. I’m sorry about last night. I don’t know what happened. And I just want you to know that I am mortified and horrified and I’m so sorry you had to look after me and I don’t . . .” I look around as I try to find the words. “I am so embarrassed.”

  He smiles as his eyes hold mine. “Don’t be.”

  I puff air into my cheeks—great, now he’s going to get all condescending.

  “You scared me,” he says as he picks up his pen.

  “I apologize.” I turn my head and stare out of the window, anythin
g to avoid his gaze.

  “Kate.”

  I focus on the building across the street.

  “Kate.”

  I drag my eyes to his.

  “Take the rest of the day off and go and see your doctor please.”

  I open my mouth to say something.

  “And don’t give me your smart mouth,” he interrupts as he stands. “This is non-negotiable, you scared the hell out of me. I thought you were dead.”

  My eyes well with tears of shame.

  “What’s wrong?” he says. His voice is different. Soft, cajoling.

  “Don’t,” I spit.

  “This was an accident. It could have happened to anyone, why are you so defensive?” he snaps.

  “I’m not. You’re the defensive one.”

  “I’m not defensive.”

  “Yes. You are, since the second day I met you, you’ve had an issue with me,” I splutter.

  He screws up his face in a question. “What?”

  “Anyway, I didn’t come here to discuss this. I came to say thank you for last night.”

  His eyes hold mine.

  I twist my fingers in front of me. “So . . . thank you.” I shrug. “I really appreciate it and I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t found me.”

  He sits back in his chair and picks up his pen again. “You’re welcome.” His eyes hold mine.

  I shrug again; this is just awkward. I point to the door with my thumb. “I’m going to get going.”

  “To the doctor.”

  “Yes.”

  I turn and head to the door.

  “Kate,” he calls.

  I turn back to him.

  “What happened on the second day I met you?”

  I stare at him.

  “Forgive my rudeness, but I have no idea.”

  I pause for a moment as I consider if I should elaborate. “I told you that you have the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Not in a sleazy way . . . In a . . .” I shrug. “Observation kind of way.” His brow furrows. “And you’ve despised me ever since.”

  He purses his lips as if thinking. “I don’t remember you saying that to me.”

  “I know.” I force a smile and turn back toward the door.

  “Hey,” he calls.

  I turn back toward him again.

  He puts his hands into his pockets. “Vulnerable Kate is quite endearing.”

  We stare at each other as the air crackles between us.

  “Yeah, well . . . she’s still high,” I whisper.

  He smiles softly.

  Leave.

  Leave now.

  I turn and walk from his office as confusion surrounds me.

  What was that?

  Just like Elliot told me to, I took the day off and went to see the doctor about last night. Turns out it was just a bad reaction, so scratch that medication off my ever-to-do-again list.

  It’s late at night and I’m tired and have mostly mooched around all day, although that could have a lot to do with my damaged pride.

  I can’t believe he saw me like that; to have anyone see me like that is a nightmare, but to have him . . . it’s unfathomable.

  My Messenger pings and I see the name and smile; we’ve been chatting together all week, me and Edgar Moffatt. I hit open.

  Hi Pinkie.

  I smile and reply:

  Hi Ed.

  His reply bounces back.

  What you doing?

  I type:

  In bed, winding down for the day, you?

  I hit send.

  Same, I’m exhausted. I had the worst night last night.

  I reply:

  Oh no, what happened?

  I can see the dots as he types, then it stops. Then I see the dots again as he types, and it stops again. This must be a long message. I wait for him to finish.

  I found one of my co-workers unconscious on the floor of her office. I called emergency but thankfully she was okay and I ended up escorting her home.

  I stayed with her until her friend arrived but I couldn’t sleep all night for worrying about her.

  I sit up. What?

  Couldn’t be . . .

  I type:

  What happened to her?

  The dots bounce again and my heart sits in my throat as I wait.

  She had a reaction to the painkillers for her period pain.

  What the fuck?

  My hands go over my mouth . . . it can’t be him. There is no way in hell that this could happen by coincidence.

  Shit . . . my heart is hammering hard in my chest. What will I write?

  I think for a moment and eventually I type:

  I hope she’s okay. How horrible for you to experience that.

  Oh my God, oh my God . . . Oh, my fucking God!

  A reply bounces back.

  Not horrible at all, maybe a blessing in disguise.

  I leap out of bed and begin to pace as I shake my hands around, adrenaline surging through my bloodstream. “What the hell is going on here?” I whisper.

  What do I write?

  I type:

  How could that be a blessing in disguise?

  A reply bounces straight back.

  I have a bit of a crush on her.

  My eyes widen to the size of saucers, and with shaky hands I reply:

  What’s her name?

  The dots appear again.

  Kate . . . Kate Landon.

  Chapter 6

  “What?” I jump from the bed. “No way, no way in fucking hell.” He has to be pulling my chain.

  Wait, does he know it’s me?

  I sit back down at my computer and put my hand over my mouth as I think.

  How could this be happening?

  He set it up, yes, that’s it.

  But then . . . how? I wouldn’t even know how to set this up and I’m the IT specialist.

  “Does he know?”

  I think for a moment; okay, set a trap to find out for sure.

  Yes, that’s it.

  I sit cross-legged on my bed and pull my hair up into a high ponytail as I prepare for battle.

  If he writes something nice . . . I’ll know that he knows it’s me and is attempting to be smooth.

  Okay . . . I hold my fingers at the keyboard.

  I think for a moment, then I write:

  What kind of crush?

  I wait for his reply . . . no answer.

  Hmm. I reword it.

  Are you hoping for a grand love affair?

  The dots reappear.

  The horizontal kind.

  No grand love affair, she isn’t my type.

  I’m a garbologist remember, I have dirty things on my mind.

  I smile in relief. Fuck-face . . . you aren’t good enough for me, anyway.

  I reply:

  And what does this girl do at your garbage depot?

  It bounces back.

  She cleans the toilets.

  I laugh out loud. You wish, fucker.

  A toilet cleaner isn’t dirty enough?

  No.

  What are you looking for—hot, smart, sexy?

  I bite my thumbnail as I wait for his reply; why I care about this answer I have no clue.

  I’m looking for extraordinary.

  I frown.

  And when I meet her, I will know.

  I raise my eyebrow and type again:

  How?

  I believe in love at first sight, when our eyes meet. We will both know.

  And that will be it.

  I bite my bottom lip as his words roll around in my head.

  You’re a romantic?

  His reply bounces back.

  Hopelessly.

  I smile softly.

  And Kate, your toilet cleaner . . . what about her?

  Is going to get it good.

  I’ll ruin her for life.

  I laugh out loud as I type:

  What does she think about this?

  She doesn’t know yet, but she’s into me, I can tell.r />
  “Poor bastard.” I smirk. “You’re so deluded.”

  How can you tell?

  I sip my tea.

  Men know these things.

  Also, she looked at my dick the other day in my office.

  I choke on my tea and it splatters over the computer screen.

  “What? I did not,” I whisper. “You’re dreaming.” Another message comes in from him.

  What about you, any luck with those pick-up lines?

  Hmm, I don’t want to sound like a loser, so I lie.

  Yes, I have a date on Saturday night.

  Well, good luck.

  I hope it goes well for you.

  I stare at his words on the screen. This is so surreal.

  Me too.

  I’m turning in.

  Goodnight, Ed.

  A few minutes later a reply comes back.

  Goodnight, Pinkie.

  Xoxo

  “What?” Rebecca frowns. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean it’s him,” I reply. “Edgar Moffatt is Elliot Miles under an alias.”

  “Oh, bullshit.” Daniel frowns too as he snatches my phone from me to read my and Ed’s messages. “You mean to tell me that of all the people in the world, you are messaging your boss and he thinks you’re someone else?”

  “Yes.”

  I’m out to dinner with Rebecca and Daniel and we are dissecting the latest turn of events.

  Daniel reads the messages between Ed and I. “I don’t fucking believe this,” he whispers.

  “I know.” I widen my eyes to accentuate my point.

  Rebecca holds her hand out for the phone and I take it from Daniel and pass it to her. She reads the messages.

  “So,” Daniel says as he raises his glass of wine my way, “Elliot Miles has a crush on you.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “The horizontal kind.” Rebecca laughs as she gets to that bit.

  “And he’s not looking for hot,” Daniel says.

  Rebecca puts her hand over her heart. “Oh . . . he’s looking for extraordinary.”

  “Oh please,” I scoff. “He only wants to get his dick wet.”

  Rebecca winces. “Ewww.”

  “Well . . . it’s true,” I spit. “He only wants to have sex with me.”

  “And . . . the problem is?” says Daniel.

  “I’m not into casual sex.” I straighten my back to sound more convincing.

  “Oh yes you are,” Rebecca chimes in. “What about Heath, you two fucked like rabbits for months without a care in the world.”

  “That was Heath, he doesn’t count.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he had just got out of a relationship, we were rebound fucking.” I sip my wine. “That’s different.”