Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
A tear rolls down my cheek, and the lump in my throat nearly closes over.
“I love them. I want them as my sons. I want their surname to be Anderson-Miles.”
I shake my head, unable to push the word no past my lips. “You just want to take them,” I whisper. “You’ve already taken me over; you can’t take over my sons. They are not up for grabs. You want power. I know how you work, Tristan—you always have to be in charge.”
His face falls. “Is that what you think?”
I nod. What else could it be?
He drops his head; his face is solemn. “Goodbye, Claire.”
“Why?” I cry. “Why do you want this so much?”
He turns to me like the devil himself. “Because I deserve my own family, God damn it. And I love them, and if you can’t see that, I don’t even fucking know who you are.”
My heart drops.
He leans forward. “All this time . . . I thought you loved me,” he whispers through tears. He pauses as my eyes search his. “Guess not.”
“Tris,” I whisper.
He turns and marches through the doors and into the airport.
“Tristan,” I call.
He keeps walking.
“Tristan!” I cry.
The private doors open, and he walks through them without looking back. Security guards step in front of them to block me from running after him.
He’s gone.
Tristan
Fourteen days and fourteen nights . . . living without her.
Without them.
I sip my beer as I stare at the football game on the screen. I’m in the busiest American pub in Paris. People are everywhere. I hear their voices in the distance; the echoes of their jovial laughter fill the space. But I feel as if I’m hovering above them, not really here, not really there.
In a detached state, cut . . . to the bone.
If it were a physical injury, I would be in intensive care, barely clinging to life.
The heart hurts more than any injury ever could. It beats weakly . . . barely at all.
Every breath that I take feels like my chest is about to cave in.
Every exhale a struggle.
The walls have closed in, the dust has settled, and yet nothing has changed.
The world is spinning at a million miles per minute, but the silence without them . . . is deafening.
I never knew what it felt like to lose someone you loved. A heartbeat that once we shared, I can no longer hear.
I lost four pieces of myself on the same day.
My entire world.
I sip my beer as I stare at the television screen on the wall.
I want to talk to my boys . . . I want to kiss my girl.
And then I remember the painful truth.
That neither are mine—they will never be mine.
They belong to him.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and the name Jameson lights up the screen. “Hey,” I answer.
“You all right?”
“I’m fine, Jay.” I sigh.
“Elliot and Christopher are on their way.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Hmm . . . I kind of think it is.”
I stay silent.
“Where are you?” he asks.
“In a bar.”
“Alone?”
“Yep.” I roll my eyes and catch sight of myself in the mirror behind the bar.
I see him, the man whom the world sees, the heartless takeover king in the expensive suit.
The one who’s dead inside.
This time, they’re right . . . I am.
“I got to go.” I sigh.
“Promise me you’re all right.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. I’m fine,” I reply as I hang up. But I don’t know if I’m fine. I don’t even know what I am anymore, who I am . . . I frown and sip my drink.
This is an emptiness that I don’t know how to fight.
The waiter wipes the bar. “Another one?” he asks.
“Yes.” I nod once. “Keep them coming.”
I read down the list of unopened emails, and I frown.
Anderson Media.
She emailed me from her work account. I click the email open.
Dear Mr. Miles,
I have fought all I can, I have nothing left to give. With no financial relief in sight,
I would like to accept your offer to acquire Anderson Media.
I would like assurance that all staff will keep their positions within the company or offered alternative employment.
Please find the attached financials and spreadsheets that you require for the due diligence.
Your first offer will be accepted.
Sincerely,
Claire Anderson
I stare at the email, void of emotion. How long has she been struggling to keep her business afloat?
Why didn’t she tell me?
My mind goes back to the first time we met and how aggressive I was with her.
I was so hell bent on taking her company that I didn’t care about anything else, no matter how much I was attracted to her—it was the company acquisition that I wanted.
I remember how determined she was to fight to the end.
The fire she had inside of her was so bright that I could feel it. It was the thing that drew me to her. Determination like that is so rare these days; it’s not often I come across it.