The Beat Match
Page 1
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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Copyright © 2020 by Kelly Siskind
Teaser excerpt copyright © 2020 by Kelly Siskind
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All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at kellysiskind@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
First edition: CD Books September 2020
The author is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the author.
ISBN 978-1-988937-14-4 (ebook edition)
ISBN 978-1-988937-13-7 (paperback)
Created with Vellum
Contents
The Beat Match
Also by Kelly Siskind
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Check out Kelly Siskind’s other titles below!
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The Beat Match
Start reading this sexy and heart-wrenching friends-to-lovers romance today!
Praise for The Beat Match
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“A friends-to-lovers and older-brother’s-best-friend book that will blow you away.” ~ Reads and Reviews
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“Fun to read, while also delivering a satisfying, sometimes tear-inducing, and heartfelt love story. Do yourself a favor and read this book!” ~ Bookgasms Book Blog
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“This romance flits between grin-inducing banter and hypnotic dance scenes. Annie and Wes are a couple to remember!" ~ author Michelle Hazen
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“The writing is delicious and Kelly's voice is vibrant.” ~ author Mary Ann Marlowe
Also by Kelly Siskind
Chasing Crazy
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Showmen Series:
New Orleans Rush
Don’t Go Stealing My Heart
The Beat Match
The Knockout Rule (Coming in 2021)
Over the Top Series:
My Perfect Mistake
A Fine Mess
Hooked on Trouble
One Wild Wish Series:
He’s Going Down
Off-Limits Crush
36 Hour Date
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www.kellysiskind.com
The Beat Match
Kelly Siskind
1
Weston Aldrich always dressed for success, from the shined tips of his Berluti shoes, to the crisp knot of his Christian Lacroix tie. Failure in business was for lesser men. A last-minute fumble when applying for a pharmaceutical patent? Fixed with a well-placed phone call and courtside Knicks or US Open tickets. An investor getting cold feet? He could sweet talk a vegan into buying a cattle ranch. He walked through life prepared, his mental rolodex one flip from solving the unsolvable. Which made his father’s shocking statement all the harder to compute.
“Biotrell is entertaining an offer from DLP,” Victor S. Aldrich repeated.
Weston stared at his father’s stark expression as those horrifying words sank in. The prospect was so absurd it was laughable. He’d been working toward the Biotrell merger for two years. Planning. Maneuvering. Clocking more hours than a video game junkie urinating in a bottle to secure a win. Like hell they’d lose this deal to anyone, let alone those shady bastards at DLP. “You must have heard wrong.”
His father straightened to his full six-foot-two height, his custom-made suit creasing as he crossed his arms. “Since I heard it from the horse’s mouth, I’d say my sources are accurate.”
Weston blinked, at a loss for words. An anomaly. His words usually worked just fine. They were pretty damn clever, actually. Up until one minute ago. “We’re the right company for this deal,” he said, his tie suddenly a boa constrictor around his neck. He jammed his finger into the knot and yanked it down. “Biotrell will remain intact if they merge with us. DLP will tear them apart. They must realize that.”
“DLP has promised to keep all their employees on.”
“Because they’ll say whatever they need to get the deal done.” Lie. Steal. Cheat. They made cesspool pond scum look appetizing.
“They may have found ways around promises before, but they’re saying all the right things now. And Mr. Farzad’s listening. But he still wants Biotrell under our umbrella. Seems he also wants something else, and he’s using talks with DLP to entice us to up the ante.”
Frustrated, Weston stared through the window, the sprawling Manhattan views doing zilch to calm his rising agitation. They’d been nothing but accommodating with Biotrell, working with their timelines, ensuring their workers wouldn’t lose wages, offering them enough cash to keep five generations of Farzads living like kings. This would be one of the largest pharmaceutical mergers in history. Why toss a wrench into their plans now? “If they want more cash, we’ll be hard-pressed to find it.”
His father joined him by the window, their polished shoes parallel, matching starched shirts as stiff as their stances. Their resemblance didn’t end there, as people never failed to remind Weston. They both had thick heads of hair—his father’s more gray than black these days; their blue-eyed glares could cut diamonds, and the Aldrich jaw was sledgehammer strong. They had bodies built for athletics and minds sharpened for business. Weston had been groomed to steer their company into the future, to take over when his father eventually stepped down.
Whatever had Biotrell playing hard to get had to be fixable.
“There’s no derailing this merger,” Weston said, unsure why his father was stalling. Victor S. Aldrich was as direct as a compass and twice as obstinate. “We’ll close this deal no matter what it takes.”
His father nodded sharply. “I’m glad you feel that way, son. It seems Mr. Farzad wants a personal favor from you.”
Now things were getting downright bizarre. “What do you mean personal?”
“You know his daughter Rosanna?”
“Yes,” he said slowly, the wheels in his head spinning to get ahead of this quagmire. Rosanna was a few years younger than Weston, founder of some cosmetics business, beautiful with a full mouth, dark hair, and striking eyes. A hellcat on wheels, last he heard. Something about a salacious video going viral tickled his memory. “What does Rosanna have to do with a deal that’s already been negotiated and tentatively agreed upon?”
His father stayed facing the window, his only movement a gentle tug on his jacket cuff. “Karim Farzad is a proud man, but all men are willing to admit weakness if it means helping their children. It appears Rosanna is heading down a bad path and Karim thinks you can help.”
West
on had no doubt Rosanna was one bad decision away from landing on a seedy reality show, but his father’s “helping children” comment had him biting his tongue. Aside from lavishing his wife with affection before Weston’s mother passed away, the man was as sentimental as a slab of granite. “How exactly does Karim think I can help his daughter?”
“He’d like you to ask her out.”
Weston sputtered out a laugh. “Excuse me?”
“You’re an upstanding man with an impeccable reputation. You have excellent connections and a bright future. Any father would be honored to call you his son-in-law.”
Weston searched the streamlined wood cabinets, his contemporary sculpture collection, the leather seating area around his coffee table, looking for a hidden camera or microphone or any explanation for this insanity. Surely this was some kind of sick joke. “I’m not marrying some girl I barely know. This merger’s a smart business move for both our companies. Karim knows that. His demand is nothing short of ludicrous.”
His father faced him, unruffled, serious as ever. “Marriage is the long game, if it suits you both. Karim’s only asking that you be open to the idea. But I’m not asking. I’m telling. Take her on some dates. Spend time together. She’s a beautiful girl. Asking her out is no hardship. She just needs a positive, stable presence in her life. Someone who enjoys quiet nights, not wild parties.”
Well, wasn’t that the kicker? If his father knew how Weston spent his nights, the man would have an embolism, or disown him, or both. If Biotrell knew, they’d have squashed this deal months ago, and Karim Farzad would never have made this insane proposal. Thankfully, that secret would never get out, but this request was appalling. “Women aren’t business pawns.”
“Rosanna’s aware of the proposal and has agreed to go out with you.”
Jesus. This was like some kind of villainous matchmaking, with Weston’s father pimping his son out to secure their financial future and market share.
Weston stalked to his chair and gripped the back of it, digging his fingers into the leather. His desk was tidy, papers neatly stacked, pens tucked into unobtrusive holders, keyboard and cell phone parallel with the dark mahogany edge. Everything organized and uncluttered, exactly like his apartment and daily life. Only two framed photos suggested Weston had a beating heart inside his chest: his best friend, Leo, who died nearly thirteen years ago, and his mother, who died a year later.
Weston had no intention of ever marrying. Losing the people closest to him had taught him one paramount lesson: love always ended in pain. He’d been forced to attend therapy. He knew the drill, why he still kept people at arm’s length. Emotional distance, fear of abandonment. He was so textbook the textbooks were jealous of him.
Label him whatever you wanted, Weston planned on a long life of bachelorhood, most of it spent in this towering office. But dating wasn’t marriage, and Karim couldn’t force the couple into a union that would end in divorce. Sealing this deal was Weston’s chance to make his mark on Aldrich Pharma. Prove he deserved to take over the family business and appease shareholders who worried he was being gifted the reins.
“Fine,” he told his father, still angry about this change in circumstance. Business should be business. Dating to secure a merger made this personal. “Tell Karim I’ll try—”
His cell phone rang, cutting him short. The number wasn’t familiar, but it was an excuse to kick his father out and seethe in private. “I need to take this. I’ll ask Rosanna out in the next couple of weeks, once I get my head around it all.”
“See to it that you do, and that you do it soon.” Victor’s heavy jaw clamped shut.
Weston didn’t bother replying or watching him leave. He picked up his phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, Wes. It’s Annie.”
He frowned. It was definitely Annie, but her name should’ve flashed on his screen. “Why aren’t you using your phone?”
“There’s been an incident, and I need a favor.”
“What kind of incident, Anthea?” If she lost her phone, he’d have to get her a new one. He didn’t like the idea of her being without that safety net.
She made an annoyed growly sound. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me Anthea?”
“Sorry, Anthea, but it’s hard to hear you over the whine in your voice.”
“God, you’re annoying.”
He chuckled at her irritation. Needling Annie with her full name was the only thing that could amuse him on a day like today. “Well then, Squirrel, do fill me in on this favor.”
Another growl. Something snarky under her breath. She enjoyed his nickname for her as much as her given name. Instead of biting back, she said, “I need a lift.”
“Did you forget how to use the subway? Are you allergic to taxis? Did your Uber app malfunction?”
An exasperated sigh slipped through the line. “I lost my keys and my purse is locked in my apartment.”
“So ask your landlord to let you in.”
“It’s more complicated than that, and I need to get to work. So can you pick me up or not? This is an emergency.”
Everything with Annie was an emergency. The night she ran out of glue for her obsessive scrapbooking hobby and dialed 9-1-1 had been a special level of absurd. The time she spotted a vintage purse she just had to have and bolted from his still-moving car had been stroke inducing. Anthea—Annie—Ward had the attention span of a fruit fly and was as organized as a Black Friday sale. He had no clue how she made it through each day. “Tell me where you are and I’ll rescue you before the sky falls.”
He felt her trademark evil stare as she barked out the address and hung up.
He shook his head at Leo’s photo. “When you told me to look out for your little sister, you didn’t tell me she’d be this big of a pain in my ass.”
He smiled sadly, wishing Leo could bust his gut laughing, or punch Weston’s arm and tell him to suck it up. He wished Annie had more people to rely on. As it stood, he barely had time to sleep, let alone nag her to stick with a job longer than a month, or go back to school for a useful degree.
Weston snatched his keys and wallet from his desk drawer and left his office. After quick instructions to his secretary to divert his calls, he cracked his neck and jabbed the elevator button twice. Go on a date to secure a merger. Be a son-in-law for hire. It was unprofessional. Exploitative. His vision turned spotty as he marched into the opening elevator.
Duncan Ruffolo slipped in before the doors slid shut and nodded at Weston. “Hey.”
Weston grunted.
Duncan rocked back on his heels, hands clasped over a new, astronomically expensive suit. Weston of all people would know. Where some fathers played ball with their sons or shared laughs and shouts over a sport telecast, Victor S. Aldrich dragged Weston to his tailor to be poked and measured and told to stand straighter. “The suit doesn’t make the man,” his father would say. “The suit reinforces the man’s greatness.”
If Weston didn’t know better, he’d say Duncan was wearing a Guanashina suit, the luxurious fabric exceeding greatness. The blend of guanaco, baby cashmere, and kid pashmina was so fine it felt like silk against the skin. At fifteen thousand dollars a pop, it sure as hell better feel like heaven.
“Have we given you a raise?” Weston pressed the button for the parking garage.
Duncan chuckled. “Only you would notice the suit. And no, sadly, you haven’t. My father came into some cash, spread it around his kids. Thought I’d have some fun with it instead of saving.” He brushed non-existent lint from his lapel. “I also ordered a new bed,” he said, smug.
Duncan was an exceptional executive assistant, flexible with senior managers and shrewd enough to anticipate needs. Resourceful and efficient when coordinating events and arranging travel. He was personable and well-liked by all the staff. He was also well-liked by most of New York’s female population, as he never failed to boast.
“Careful putting those notches on the bedposts,” Weston said. �
�You might weaken the structure.”
Duncan smirked. “Crashing would only heighten the fun.”
Normally Weston laughed at Duncan’s jokes, but he wasn’t in a laughing mood. And he didn’t envy Duncan’s player status. Weston may not be relationship bound, but he believed in treating women with the respect they deserved. With Duncan’s All-American blond hair and quarterback build, his once-and-done attitude often left a trail of unhappy women in his wake.
“Saw your father leaving your office,” Duncan said. “He looked pleased about something.”
Weston sure as hell wasn’t pleased. “You mean he wasn’t scowling.”
“The man won’t be hired for a toothpaste ad anytime soon. But, yeah, he seemed less lethal than usual.”
“Well, he shouldn’t be. Not when—” Weston cut himself off before launching into a tirade about Karim Farzad and this merger turning into a Match.com slumber party.
Duncan had proven he could be counted on and was as discreet as employees came, but no one could know how low Weston was sinking to get this deal done. “Some final things are snagging the merger’s momentum, but nothing detrimental. My father was just filling me in.”
Duncan studied him as the elevator hit the garage floor. “Care to join me for a Scotch at Leverage tonight? Looks like you need to unload.”