The TakeOver

Tristan

I stand at the window and stare over New York. My hands are in my suit pockets, and a strange feeling is burning a hole in my stomach.

Claire Anderson.

Beautiful, smart, and proud.

No matter how many times I’ve tried to wipe her out of my mind over the last three days since our meeting, I can’t.

The way she looked, the way she smelled, the curve of her breasts through her silk shirt.

The fire in her eyes.

She is the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in a long time, and her heartfelt words are playing on repeat.

“So . . . don’t you fucking dare sit there with that smug look on your face and threaten me. Because believe me . . . Mr. Miles, whatever you’re dishing out isn’t half as bad as losing him. I’ve already been to hell and back, and I will not have some rich, spoiled bastard make me feel like shit.”

I take a seat at my desk and roll a pen beneath my fingers as I mentally go over what I need to say. I have to call her and follow up on our meeting, and I’m dreading it. I exhale heavily and dial her number. “Claire Anderson’s office.”

“Hello, Marley. It’s Tristan Miles.”

“Oh, hello, Tristan,” she replies happily. “Are you after Claire?”

“Yes, I am. Is she available?”

“I’ll put you straight through.”

“Thank you.”

I wait, and then she answers. “Hello, Claire speaking.”

I close my eyes at the sound of her voice . . . sexy, husky . . . enticing.

“Hello, Claire. It’s Tristan.”

“Oh.” She falls silent.

Fuck . . . Marley didn’t tell her it was me.

An unfamiliar feeling begins to seep into my bones. “I just wanted to see if you were okay after our meeting. I’m sorry if I upset you.” I screw up my face . . . what are you doing? This is not in the plan.

“My feelings are no concern of yours, Mr. Miles.”

“Tristan,” I correct her.

“How can I help you?” she snaps impatiently.

My mind goes blank . . .

“Tristan?” she prompts me.

“I wanted to see if you would like to have dinner with me on Saturday night.” My eyes close in horror . . . what the fuck am I doing right now?

She stays silent for a moment and then replies in surprise, “You’re asking me out on a date?”

I screw up my face. “I don’t like the way we met. I would like to start again.”

She chuckles in a condescending tone. “You have got to be kidding. I wouldn’t go out with you if you were the last man on earth.” Then she whispers, “Money and looks don’t impress me, Mr. Miles.”

I bite my bottom lip . . . ouch. “Our meeting was nothing personal, Claire.”

“It was very personal to me. Go and find a bimbo to wine and dine, Tristan. I have no interest in dating a cold, soul-sucking bastard like you.” The phone clicks as she hangs up.

I stare at the phone in my hand. Adrenaline is pumping through my system at her fighting words.

I don’t know whether I’m shocked or impressed.

Perhaps a bit of both.

I’ve never been rejected before and definitely never been spoken to like that.

I turn to my computer and type into Google: Who is Claire Anderson?

Chapter 2

Six months later

I read the invitation in front of me.

MASTER YOUR MIND.

Oh God, what a crock of crap.

I need to get out of this—I honestly can’t think of anything worse.

“I think this is going to be great for you,” Marley says.

I look up to my trusty best friend as she does her best sales pitch, trying to push me out of my comfort zone. I know her heart is in the right place, but this is just going too far. “Marley, I can tell you straight up, right now, that if you think a motivational conference with all those crazies is going to help me, you are more insane than I ever realized.”

“Stop it; it’s gonna be fantastic. You go away, regroup, and refocus, and you’ll come back refreshed, and the company and your life and everything else is all going to fall into place.”

I roll my eyes.

“Come on—can we at least agree that you need to change your mind-set?” she asks me as she sits on my desk.

“Possibly.” I sigh, dejected.

“And it’s not your fault you’re flat. You’ve been through so much: your husband’s unexpected death, caring for three boys, and struggling to keep the company afloat. It’s been hell. And realistically you’ve been fighting since Wade’s death five years ago.”

“Do you have to say it out loud? Sounds even more depressing.” I sigh again.

A knock sounds at my office door.

“Come in,” I call.

The door opens, and Gabriel smiles broadly. “Ready for lunch, Missy?” His eyes flick to Marley. “Hey, Marls.”

“Hi.” She smiles goofily.

I smile as well. “Mr. Ferrara.” I glance at my watch. “You’re early. Lunch isn’t for an hour. I thought you said two?”

“My meeting finished early, and I’m hungry. Let’s go now.”

I look over at the gorgeous Italian, tall, dark, and handsome in his designer suit. Gabriel Ferrara is a rock star in New York, but to me he is just a dear friend. He knew my late husband, and although I never met him when Wade was alive, he got in contact with me not long after his death. He owns one of the largest media companies in the world, and his building isn’t far from here. He gives me advice here and there, and we catch up for lunch when we can. It’s completely platonic between us—he’s a rock that I lean on from time to time.

“Gabe, tell Claire that she needs to go to this conference.” Marley sighs in exasperation.

He frowns as he looks between us. “All right . . . Claire, you need to go to this conference,” he repeats unenthusiastically. “Now let’s eat. Sushi awaits.”

Marley’s eyes find mine. “Can you just have a week off and go to Paris? Take some time for yourself. Get away from the kids. I can look after everything back here at the office. We had that cash injection—things are okay around here for the moment. Use the time to recharge.”

I exhale heavily. I know I need to pull myself out of this funk. My life is so dull; I’ve lost enthusiasm for everything. My life that was once wild and carefree has been replaced with animosity. Sometimes I’m so furious at Wade for leaving me with this mess that I tell him off in my head, as if he can hear me, and then afterward, I feel so guilty because I know he would have given anything to see his sons grow up and that leaving me would have never been his choice.

Life just isn’t fair sometimes.

They say that only the good die young—what about the best? Why did he have to go too?

“Go to the conference,” Marley urges me. “You are not going to lunch until you agree to this.”

“Hurry up, woman. Yes. It’s agreed; she’s going.” Gabriel tries to finish the conversation. When I don’t move, he exhales heavily and falls onto the couch.

“You know I don’t know how to do the motivational mumbo jumbo.” I stand and begin to pack files away. “The crap that they go on with is next-level batshit crazy.”

“I think you need some batshit crazy, because batshit broke isn’t a fun place to visit.” Marley sighs again.

I smirk.

“This is true.” Gabriel smiles as he scrolls through his phone.

I continue putting things away. This is true. Batshit broke is not somewhere I want to visit at all. I sit back in my chair and stare at my hopeful friend.

“Go, recharge. It’s in Épernay in the Champagne district of France, for fuck’s sake. It doesn’t get any more beautiful than this, Claire. It’s a tax deduction; you either pay for this or pay it in taxes—the choice is yours. At the very least, you can get a massage every afternoon and then drink two liters of champagne every night with your gourmet dinner and fall into bed in a blissful stupor.”

“Épernay is beautiful,” Gabriel mutters, distracted. “I would go just for the location.”

“You’ve been there?” I ask him.

“A few times. I went with Sophia last summer,” he replies. “She loves it there.”

I imagine myself alone in a luxurious hotel room. It’s been so long since I’ve gotten away. Five years, actually. “Now, a gourmet dinner and champagne . . . that is tempting.”

“If the conference part of the trip is boring, just ditch it, and have a week to yourself in France. You need this break,” Marley says.

Gabriel stands. “Agreed. You’re going. Hurry up; I’m ravenous.”

I exhale heavily.

“Will you just go for me?” Marley takes my hand in hers. “Please.” She smiles sweetly and bats her eyelashes as she tries to be cute.

Oh God, she’s not going to let this go. “Fine.” I sigh. “I’ll go.”

She bounces off my desk and claps her hands in excitement. “Yes, this is going to be so good for you, Claire—just what you need.” She rushes toward the door. “I’m going to book flights now before you change your mind.”

I roll my eyes as I pick up my handbag. “I’m already dreading it.”

“Eep, I’m so excited.” She flaps her hands around and rushes out of the office.

“We going?” Gabriel asks.

“Yeah. I’m not feeling sushi, though.”

“Fine.” He holds his hand toward the door. “You choose, but make it fast. I’m about to faint.”

“Okay. Let’s go over the details,” Marley says as she sips her drink.

I nod as I take a bite of food. We are in a restaurant having lunch. It’s the day before I leave for my conference. “Your bags are packed.”

Marley gets out her diary and begins to read from her list.

“Uh-huh.”

She ticks the first checkbox on her list. “Hair done—tick.” She continues going through her list. “Appointments cleared,” she mumbles to herself as she reads through her list.

I keep eating my lunch, totally unexcited about the next week.

“Oh.” She frowns and looks up at me. “Did you get laser?”

I roll my eyes.

“There are a lot of hot opportunities at these kinds of conferences, Claire.”

“Are you kidding me?” I stare at her deadpan. “You want me to go to this conference so I can get laid?”

“Well.” She shrugs. “Why not?”

“Marley.” I drop my knife and fork with a clang. “Sex is the very last thing I want. I still feel very married to one man.”

Her face falls, and she puts her pen and paper down. “But you’re not, Claire.” She takes my hand over the table. “Wade died, honey. Five years ago now . . . and I know for a fact that he wouldn’t want you living alone forever.”

My eyes drop to the plate of food in front of me.

“He would want you to be living life to the fullest . . . for both of you.”

I feel a lump in my throat begin to build.

“He would want you to be happy and cared for . . . loved.”

I twist my fingers together on my lap. “I just . . .” My voice trails off.