Page 25 of Miles Apart
“Carter.” I aim a glare up to reach its target and set my mouth in annoyance. “Why are you here?”
A dry chuckle rattles the camel sweater over hunter-green slacks. There could be six feet of snow on the ground, and Carter would still model those bony ankles in Italian leather shoes with no socks. I’m no better in my heels, but every man I’ve met with sockless ankles thought he was God’s gift to women, and their ringleader is standing next to me.
Unlike Miles, Carter moves with a confidence sponsored by an Ivy League education, the opinions of low people in high places, and years of his fan club feeding his ego. The man is fine, but I never fell in line, which makes me both irritating and intriguing to him.
The corner of his mouth twists before it settles into a stiff smile, one formed after years of practice on Capitol Hill. “I told you I’d come for you.” Bitterness spills into his voice as he cuts his blue-green eyes at Miles, who hasn’t moved. “Who’s your friend?”
I sigh. “Go back to wherever you came from, Carter. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll leave in good time. Does he not speak?” He flashes a grin. “That’s a new one for you, Em. Maybe he—”
“Maybe he’s trying to figure out who the fuck you think you are coming over here so reckless.” Miles leans back and waits with a grin of his own, challenging Carter to keep up his antics.
Twice Carter’s size in muscle, Miles would have no trouble knocking his ass out if he wanted. I’m sure he wants to, but grown men don’t engage little boys in their childish games. Boys like the one still hovering over me. The entitlement and lack of basic manners for anyone he perceives to be beneath his social status is why I stay far away from Carter, and most of the people in our families’ circles.
Maybe that’s the reason I fix my lips to utter words I never imagined coming from my mouth. But they slip out with ease as I turn to face Carter and raise my chin. “Miles is my man, and I won’t tolerate any more of your disrespect.”
Chapter 11
Miles
If Emma wasn’t sitting across from me stunned by her own words, I’d check her for head trauma. I damn near choked on my drink the second “my man” left the soft pink lips that have kept me in a chokehold since she let me taste them.
Women have tried their luck at cornering me into a commitment, but no one ever claimed me as a way to defend me.
She’s still staring at Carter, who hasn’t gotten the hint to bounce. It’s unclear what they are to each other, but there’s no mistaking Em’s dare for him to say something else. She gets annoyed, but I’ve never seen her fury, the way it hardens the lines of her mouth into a scowl and coils her satin curves.
The Carters of the world roll off my back thanks to years of practice toughening my skin. The shit is laughable, but if he keeps pushing up on Em, his ass will roll out of here on a stretcher.
He blinks slowly and looks between us. “Your man?” His brows bunch; his eyes widening on the woman whose poker face is back in place.
“That’s what I said.”
“Him?He’s not your type.”
I know this prick with his ankles out in ten-degree weather isn’t casting stones. I’m about to tell him to fuck off but stop at Emma’s head shake. It’s subtle, but I catch it.
Go off then.
She shifts half her body and stands to lean into Carter’s personal space. He flinches.Bitch. “Who I see is none of your damn business. Now, if you don’t get out of my face, I will call my father and have you explain why you’re harassing me on taxpayer dollars.”
His jaw ticks at the threat, and I rise to my full height when his eyes flicker at Emma for putting him in his place. Carter is tall, but I’m taller and big enough to cast a shadow over his lanky frame. He steals another glance but refuses to face me head-on.Thought so. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says in a sneer to Emma. “Be ready to leave by six.”
“Make sure you note my plus-one.Wewill meet you in the lobby.”
Carter swallows his pride and steps back so he doesn’t run into my frame when he leaves.
Emma and I watch him stomp to the other side of the restaurant. Then she sinks back into the booth with a heavy sigh and rubs her temples.
I push over my bourbon, and she reaches for it with a nod. Our fingers graze before she takes a long sip. “Thank you.”
We sit in silence as bookends to a paper “Reserved” sign on the table and unspoken words, which I cut through with an amused smirk.
“I’m your man now?”
“Don’t start.”
I laugh at her groan but ease up. If she needs to pretend we’re together, whatever is going on must be serious.
