Page 3 of The Beat Match

“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.”

What Weston needed was to fit ten hours of work into five, clear his head for tonight’s non-pharmaceutical job, and prep for an unwanted date with Farzad’s daughter. “Thanks, but I’ve got to work.”

“All work and no play makes for a dull life,” Duncan said as they headed for their cars. “When does the great Weston Aldrich make time for fun?”

“Fun is overrated.” Weston waved vaguely as he unlocked his Audi and slid into the driver’s seat.

Duncan’s version of fun—dating, socializing, relaxing on weekends—was reserved for a different kind of person. Accomplishment drove Weston, professional strides and goals reached, which made the merger’s latest obstacle all the more infuriating.

His car nearly stalled as he decelerated down the garage ramp. He almost sideswiped one of the support columns. Date Karim’s daughter. Hopefully marry her. Rosanna’s awareness of the request made the sham even more confusing. The longer he ruminated, the more erratic his driving became, the city’s gridlock shredding Weston’s already frazzled nerves.

By the time he pulled up to the curb where Annie should’ve been, his grip was close to crushing his steering wheel. He searched the busy sidewalk for a girl in layers of vintage clothing, long blond hair tied into a knot on her head. He often told Annie she was one oversized sweater shy of looking like a tree-hugging hippie. She’d roll her eyes and tell him he wouldn’t know chic style if it bit him in the ass. His designer-filled closet proved otherwise, and there was no sign of Annie or her eccentric wardrobe anywhere on the bustling street.

Then a woman stood from where she’d been sitting on the stairs of the pizza shop, and his heart two-stepped. What in the actual hell?

This woman was definitely Annie. The birthmark above the left corner of her upper lip and striking hazel eyes, so much like her brother’s, were unmistakable. But this Annie’s lace top pushed up her breasts and bared her abdomen. Her black skirt showed more leg than a Radio City Rockette, and her tall black boots had every passing male licking his lips.

This Annie was about to get an earful.

He left his Audi, closed the distance between them swiftly, and removed his suit jacket, swinging it around her. He steered her toward his car, away from the man who’d just winked at him knowingly. Goddamn creeps in this city.

Annie dug her heels into the sidewalk, nearly toppling them both. “Aggressive much, Wes? Are you trying to break my legs?”

“I’m trying to get you into my car before someone offers you a key to a room that rents by the hour.”

She shoved him and his jacket off. “Are you for real?”

Was she trying to give him a coronary? “Since when do you dress like…this?” He motioned to her skimpy outfit, then sneered at a preppy jerk giving her the once-over. “If you value your face, buddy, keep it pointed ahead.”

The idiot snickered and walked on. Weston tried to shield Annie with his body.

She tipped her head back and sighed. “You are such an overbearing asshole sometimes.”

Honestly, this girl. He hadn’t driven through ungodly traffic, instead of poring over this merger disaster, for the pure joy of it. “If my memory serves me correctly, and it usually does, you’re the one who called me. Something about an emergency.”

Her face turned serious. “I was dying for one of those amazing gyros from that place around the block, but when I got to the restaurant I realized I’d snatched my keys but forgot my purse. And I may have left those keys in their bathroom and now they’re gone. Since there’s the teeny, tiny issue of me being late on rent, I can’t speak to my landlord today, and when I explained my situation to the nice man waiting for his gyro, he loaned me his phone so I could call you. Small mercies, right? So I’ll have enough cash for rent after tonight’s shift, but I’m cashless and cardless until then and can’t be late for my new job, so we really need to get a move on. I’ll also need to borrow your key to my place.”