Page 80 of The Beat Match

“You’re the best secretary in the building.”

“I am.”

“And?” He was in no mood for her games.

“And…don’t treat me like I’m dense by telling me lies. You’re worse off than the last time you two split. The bunny’s back, and so is”—she gestured to his face—“that look. And Annie wouldn’t break up with you.”

“She would and she did.”

“Did you cheat on her?”

“Fuck, no. She said she didn’t love me, that she just wanted to stay friends.” Because Weston had pulled back, scared of a million what-ifs, instead of showing her the extent of his love. “I didn’t treat her like she deserved,” he said.

“Listen to me, Weston Grayson Aldrich. I know that girl. I’ve seen her grow into a beautiful woman and fall in love with you all from that desk chair out there.” Marjory hooked her thumb toward her leather throne. “I’ve seen you fight your feelings for her until you damn near choked on them. I’ve spent years biting my tongue so you two could get here in your own time. Annie wouldn’t walk away just because you’re acting like your emotionally stunted self.”

Marjory was short. Five-foot-nothing with big, curly hair, a sweep of nineties bangs, and a pointed nose she poked into everyone’s business. Still, when she spoke, she had a way of making Weston feel like the smaller of them. “Doesn’t change the facts. She called me and ended things.”

“And when you told her no, you wouldn’t let her get away, what did she say?”

He glared at his secretary.

She huffed. “Just as I thought. Fix it, Weston. Standing up to your father won’t mean much if you’re standing alone. And stop bringing that rabbit into work. He smells.”

Weston glanced at Felix. Aside from feeding him and cleaning the little guy’s cage, he often forgot Felix was there. His only company the past week. A sad state of affairs.

Marjory left and closed the door. He rubbed his eyes and replayed the past week’s events. He’d assumed Annie’s break-up call had been a reaction to his prior behavior. He’d been so in his head after his father’s ultimatum, distant with her at times, but maybe it wasn’t so cut and dry. He hadn’t been outright rude, and it had only been two weeks of his panic-induced nightmares. They’d already had three insanely good weeks before that. Addictive. Intimate. Hot.

And she’d been as on board as him, wild in bed, affectionate, teasing. She’d been the brave one who’d said I love you. Only once, but she’d said it. If Annie hadn’t broken up with him because they’d had a rough couple weeks, then why? To show him what he could lose? Had she found out about his father’s ultimatum to cut him from the will? Thought she was doing him a favor?

None of it made sense, and Marjory was right. Standing up to his father and being a DJ wouldn’t mean much without Annie at his side.

His mother’s impassioned advice rushed back to him: If you don’t let yourself care about others, you’ll only live half a life.

He’d assumed the teaching had been about philanthropy, not relationships, but maybe he’d been wrong. She could have been nudging him to open up to the idea of love one day—advice he’d warped over the years. Pain of losing her and Leo had distorted good memories into bad, love into fear, so efficiently he’d perverted her wisdoms to protect himself: If I let myself care about others, I’ll live half a life and end up like my father.

If she were here, she’d probably tell him to open his eyes to what he had, that loving meant living a fuller life, no matter the risks. She’d tell him he was too strong to turn out like his father, even if he lost his irreplaceable person. But, at the heart of it, the outcome didn’t matter. Running wasn’t living. Letting fear dictate his choices wasn’t making the most of his time. He was stronger than that, because of his mother’s guidance. Because Leo had shown him how music and DJing could fill a person up.

The notions settled in him, awareness he’d somehow missed. Along with how royally he’d screwed up with Annie.

Unsure how to fix this mess, he picked up his phone and called Duncan. It went to voice mail. He’d called him earlier in the week as well, his first time reaching out socially, needing a friend. Duncan had been busy then, unavailable now. Rosanna was on a business trip in London, and there was no way Weston was going to start talking to his rabbit, asking for dating advice.

He needed more people in his life. Friends like Leo. He’d always assumed their connection had been unique, that no one else would understand Weston, get it when he’d moaned about his father and the expectations that had come with his life back then. Maybe he hadn’t given others the chance to live up to Leo’s memory since losing him. He’d missed his friend so much, he hadn’t wanted to move on, get close with others. Not just out of fear of losing. Fear of forgetting. If was time to stop being afraid.

First was Annie. He had to speak with her, tell her he loved her and should have fought for her. Grovel. Crawl on his hands and knees. Explain that his fears had made him a coward in the end, as he’d worried from the start, and find out exactly why she’d ended things. He may not have bolted on her physically like he had with Lila, but he’d done a mental runner.

Furious with himself, he picked up his phone and dialed Annie’s number.

* * *

Annie stared at her cell phone, at the name Weston flashing as it rang, and her heart sped. She wasn’t sure why he was calling, but she desperately wanted to answer his call. Unfortunately, it was the last thing she should do. Sarah said she’d have evidence soon. If she talked with Weston before then, she’d cave and blurt the truth. Confess her love and apologize for the ruse. Maybe he’d apologize right back for his cold brushoff. Maybe he’d continue protecting his heart.

Either way, once he learned about Duncan’s deceit, he’d tear after that man, ruin Sarah’s diligent work, and sink himself in the process.

Annie had to stay strong.

She forced herself to ignore the ringing and finish her latest scrapbook page. The idea for the creation had come to her while drowning in chips and chocolate this morning, sad about her current reality. The page was centered around a photograph of Wes in a suit—shocker—with two dogs cut and pasted around him. One pooch was peeing on his leg. The other was taking a dump on his expensive shoes. She’d smiled maniacally while adding the words you suck, spelled with cut-up magazine letters, like a serial killer.

She was still hurt by Wes’s reaction to her call, even if his flat “okay” had been his issues talking, not his heart. Scrapbooking always helped her work through her discomfort, and he’d find this funny when they kissed and made up. Because they would kiss and make up. She’d force him to face his fears. Or she’d been wrong and Wes truly wasn’t in love with her in the end.