The Casanova (The Miles High Club #3) by T.L. Swan



“Hey, beautiful girl,” says Mike.

“Hi.” I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he’s had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He’s sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me.

It sucks, because he’s a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life.

“The usual?” Mike asks.

I take a seat by the window. “Yes please.” I look around.

Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. “What’s new?” he asks.

“Not much.” I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. “I’m thinking of joining the gym at work.”

“Yeah?” Mike’s gaze looks over to the building across the street. “You have a gym in there?”

“A huge one, on level fourteen.”

“Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?”

“No, it’s free for employees.” I take a sip of my coffee.

Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I’m sitting.

“I can come with you,” he offers with a cute wink.

“Sorry, it’s for employees only and I can’t afford to go to another gym.”

Mike rolls his eyes.

Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Miles Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Elliot Miles climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he’s wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fucked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant.

Arrogance personified.

I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he’s gorgeous.

It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it.

Although I’d never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates.

I know more about Elliot Miles than I care to admit.

I mean, I should—I’ve hated the man for the whole seven years that I’ve worked for him.

I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Miles Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise.

Elliot Miles, the epitome of a rich bastard . . . pisses me off.

It’s just three in the afternoon and my email pings.

I open it.

Elliot Miles.

CEO Miles Media UK.

Kathryn,

Have you finalized the tracking report?

Asshole.

I clench my jaw and type my reply.

Dear Mr. Miles,

Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you.

Your manners are as impeccable as ever.

The report isn’t due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then.

Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule.

Enjoy the rest of your day.

Sincerely,

Kathryn.

I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Elliot Miles is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in.

Good afternoon Kathryn,

As always, your dramatics are unappreciated.

I didn’t ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it.

Please pay attention to detail, I don’t want to constantly repeat myself.

Have you finished the report or not?

I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fucking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I’m surprised I don’t break a finger.

Mr. Miles,

Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines.

Thankfully, one of us is a professional.

Please find the attached report.

If you have trouble understanding it, I’m happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board.

I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it.

Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure.

Kathryn Landon.

I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that.