The Beat Match

by Kelly Siskind

  A couple minutes later, it flew open. “Thanks to you, this merger’s about to bust wide open.” His father slammed the door shut.

  Weston flexed his fingers on his chair arms. “I didn’t fire Allan. I didn’t cut his wages or make his work here difficult. He left because DLP are underhanded bastards.”

  “Losing Allan Merkur is a blow, but he’s not the problem here. Neither is DLP. Karim asked one thing of you, one goddamn thing—to date his daughter. And you had to go and get tangled up with that street girl instead of putting Aldrich Pharma first.”

  Heat blasted up Weston’s neck. All he’d done his whole adult life was put business first. He’d worked instead of socializing, instead of dating and vacationing like a functioning human. Which would have been fine, if he’d felt supported, valued. He lived and breathed this place, had even given up DJing for it, but the words that had Weston wanting to topple his desk were that street girl. “You will not speak of Anthea in front of me.”

  “She’s not our people, son. Dating her cheapens yourself and the family name.”

  Weston laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “You’re right. She’s not our people. She’s better than us. She actually cares about the people in her life. She goes out of her way to show her love and doesn’t lock herself in an office because she’s bitter life took a nasty turn.”

  She was the best person he knew, and he didn’t correct his father’s misconception that they were still dating.

  That reality had slithered around his neck the past week. A python of despair. He couldn’t take a breath without missing Annie. He couldn’t touch his mixing equipment without hearing her playful voice ringing in his ears. He was performing tonight, his last appearance as Falcon, but he’d barely reviewed his set or the video montage. Thoughts of her were in his bed, his heart, his mind, screaming at him to fight for her. Get her back. But he kept replaying her out-of-the-blue phone call. The distress in her voice.

  The way he’d immediately shut down.

  He’d been so quick to believe her change of heart. Not just believe. His initial reaction had been relief. Selfish, short-sighted, idiotic relief. Several deep breaths free from worrying about how far he’d fall if he lost her down the road.

  Then reality had crashed in on him.

  “You’re weak,” his father said. “Always have been. Ruled by your emotion.”

  “How is working myself to death being ruled by emotion?”

  “You don’t work to put Aldrich Pharma on the map. You work as an escape. You work so you don’t have to feel. Emotion drives that, son. Not determination.”

  He wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t exactly right. “I’ve used work as a crutch. It’s been an outlet for me for as long as I can remember. That doesn’t change the fact that Aldrich Pharma has always been my priority.”

  “Not enough of a priority. Not when it counted.”

  Weston pushed to his feet and steepled his fingers on his desk, leaning forward just enough. “Do you know why I let you treat me like I’m gum under your Berluti shoes?” His father’s left cheek twitched, but he didn’t reply. “Because I loved Mom. Because she was strong and kind, and I know how much she loved me. She also loved you, and I know losing her turned what little warmth you had to ash, which always made me sad. I let you behave like a brute because I pity you.”

  His father’s mouth twisted. “Your mother didn’t raise you to be disrespectful.”

  Weston’s muscles tensed, a jaguar poised before he leapt. Or a mutant jaguar-squirrel. Thinking of Annie’s ridiculous jokes pained him, but his father’s jab sharpened his focus.

  No, Weston’s mother hadn’t raised him to be disrespectful. She’d raised him to say please and thank you and to think of the larger world around them. When his life was insular, ripe with wealth and fortune, she’d gifted him with compassion. She’d ensured he’d had outlets and interests to level him, and he’d dishonored her memory by denying how important DJing had become in his life.

  He looked at Victor’s thick gray hair, his chiseled jaw and sharp suit, so much like his own. Weston really looked at this unforgiving man and said what he should have said years ago, “I’m a DJ.”

  The lines around his father’s aging eyes compressed. “You’re a what?”

  “A DJ, like Leo wanted to be. I spin music and play in clubs, and I’m pretty damn good. I’ve been doing it for years and didn’t tell you because I knew you’d panic. Fire me, likely. Or the board would get spooked, worried about investor backlash. But hiding my music was the wrong choice. Mom didn’t teach me to be disrespectful, as you so nicely pointed out. She taught me to respect you, even though you’ve been an overbearing bully since she died. She taught me there’s a bigger world out there than Aldrich Pharma. Which means there are other jobs, too. People who’ll hire me because I’m good at what I do, even if I’m in the music scene as well.”

  Annie left jobs she didn’t like, flipped the pages on half-finished puzzles, because they’d lost their fun. Her laissez-faire attitude had frustrated Weston, but maybe his irritation had been jealousy. As important as Aldrich Pharma was to Weston, as much as he’d hate to leave it in someone else’s hands and worry about the workers under its employ, losing Annie wasn’t the only reason he’d been a mess this week. Work fulfilled him, but DJing did, too. He’d been quick to think he could walk away. Close that chapter of his life. He hadn’t accounted for the edgy void growing at the prospect.

  “You’ll quit that…music stuff,” his father said, vehement. “The board doesn’t need to know.”

  Weston rounded his desk with measured steps, walked to his door, and yanked it open. “I’m not changing for you or anyone. I won’t date a woman to secure a business deal, or stoop to DLP’s level of scum. I won’t quit DJing. So you can deal with this reality or you can fire me, as you’ve threatened. The choice is yours.”

  His father’s nostrils flared. “If you lose your job, it’ll be because you screwed up this merger. Even without Rosanna, you should have sealed this deal.”

  He should have. The failure wouldn’t go down easy. But DLP was the culprit, not Weston. “Whatever happens, I’ll deal with it. But we’re done here.”

  His father stood his ground, cheek twitching, temple pulsing, the air around him thick with unspoken censure. Weston matched the man’s obstinate pose. With a final scowl, Victor marched past his son and out the door.

  Weston stared after him, breathing hard.

  “I’m proud of you.” Marjory appeared in his line of vision. “That was a brave thing to do, and I’m curious about this DJ development.”

  “He’s going to fire me,” he said, ignoring her DJ comment. Adrenaline leached out gradually, leaving Weston weary, but no less committed to his decision.

  “He might surprise you. But the bigger question is why did you break up with Annie?”

  “I didn’t.” There was that python again, twisting around his constricting throat. He may not have initiated their break-up, but he’d instigated their downfall. The only explanation for her about-face had been his distance prior to her call. His internal freaking out had undermined their relationship. Instead of letting her in, he’d shut her out. He was to blame. Or she truly didn’t love him the way he loved her. He wasn’t sure which option was worse.

  Marjory crossed her arms, sending the shoulders of her orange blazer toward her ears. “Do you keep me on staff as a courtesy?”

  He didn’t reply.

  “Do you think I’m bad at my job?”

  “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 s
aid 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.

  Her phone quit ringing, and she exhaled. Tried her hardest to ignore the possibility that she was wrong about his feelings.

  A minute later, it started again. Dammit.

  Steeling herself, she glued letters down on her scrapbook page. Her phone rang another five times while she worked, going silent then blaring back to life. Her page ended with her last letter glued at an awkward angle.

  When her cell quieted for longer than five minutes, she picked it up gingerly, as though it might explode. There was one message. From Wes.

  Her heart resumed racing.

  He was likely calling to keep their friendship intact. Wes would never abandon her and walk away, even with his fears. Or he’d discovered Duncan’s betrayal and was calling to warn her. Or Duncan had found another way to bring Wes down and Wes needed her help. Or he’d been hanging out with Rosanna again and had discovered they actually cared for each other and he wanted Annie to know before their dating went public.

  Swallowing the square of chocolate she’d popped into her mouth, she pressed the phone to her ear and listened.

  “I fucked up. I miss you like crazy. I let you walk away because I thought losing you now would be easier than losing you later in some horrific way, like my mom and Leo, which was cowardly and cruel. I’m done being scared. I need to see you. Please let me explain and grovel in person. I can do better, be better. Please come to tonight’s show.”

  Annie bit her lip. She pressed her hand to her chest.

  He missed her. He’d realized how wrong he’d been without her having to shove her scrapbook page in his face. He’d admitted it, no matter how scared he’d been. God, she loved him so much it hurt. She was so damn proud of him, wanted to kiss every inch of his gorgeous face. But she would no
t. Not yet, at least. Not until she had that evidence in her hands.

  If not calling him before was tough, it was torture now. Good thing she was built of tough stuff. She did listen to Wes’s message again, though. Five more times, his deep voice telling her he’d fucked up, begging for another chance. Tears blurred her vision and crowded her throat. She really couldn’t wait to smother him in kisses.

  Her phone buzzed again, this time with a message from Sarah.

  Sarah: We’ve got Duncan. Not enough for an arrest, but enough to shut him up and bury him professionally. I can have the files to you this afternoon.

  “Yes!” Annie fist pumped the air and did a seated jig. Things were finally going her way. Soon, everything would be right. This time she and Wes would be free to be together, nothing between them. She moved her thumbs on her phone, ready to call Wes and put them both out of their misery, but she paused.

  This was the part in crime movies where things went sideways. The good guys were so close to victory, then they were undermined one final time before the grand finale. A chance she wasn’t willing to take. She needed those files in her hand, then she’d make her move. She also wanted to see Wes’s face when they made up. Gobble up that memory and store it next to one of Leo playing piano and Wes working on his awful scrapbook and Joyce mastering her piano chords.

  Bad memories often overshadowed good ones. Unless you locked down the good. Reveled in them. Saved those moments for when things got tough, as things always would. And she knew how to make this memory extra special. At his big show tonight.

  24

  Weston peeked through the curtains and scanned the hopped-up crowd for Annie but couldn’t spot her through the growing crush. The two-level club was filling fast. Neon lights lined the stairs. The balcony was packed, the massive iron-wrapped disco ball illuminating the dancing bodies on the main floor. He searched every woman through the pulsing lights to no avail.

  Tons of merchandise flashed up at him from the crowd, though: Falcon shirts, Falcon hats, Falcon glow sticks flashing in pumping fists. Mick had certainly come through with the last-minute merch. Weston’s cut would fund local shelters, and his plans to distribute QR-code cards at the exits, with ways to help gun control movements, would touch many hands, as long as his video feed had the desired impact. The turnout and energy couldn’t be better. All signs pointed to success. But Annie should be here, and he had no clue if she planned to come.