Page 13 of The Beat Match

The anniversary of Leo’s death wasn’t far. Hitting clubs and partying could be her way to forget. She wasn’t a hardcore drinker, but dancing and music were powerful distractions. None of it explained her infuriating attempts to corner him after the shows.

Her persistence was troubling. Hearing her name on Duncan’s lips was doubly distressing. “I thought I told you she was off-limits.”

Duncan held up his hands in mock surrender. “I was asking about her, not asking for her hand in marriage. And, if I remember, she was the one who answered my call.”

Because Annie lived to exasperate Weston. Even now, her antics were infecting his office. They were standing near Weston’s secretary. Marjory hadn’t glanced up from her work, but he’d guess she was eavesdropping on their conversation. She was gossip central at Aldrich Pharma.

Weston lowered his voice. “If you value your pretty face, you’ll forget Annie’s name.”

Duncan laughed. “It’s sweet how protective you are of her. Unless…” He made a show of leaning back and studying Weston’s face. “Is there something going on with—”

“No,” Weston barked out the word, his voice ringing off the marble floors and glass-walled offices. So much for discretion. A few employees stopped mid-stride. His secretary did glance up, Marjory’s eyebrows disappearing beneath her bangs.

Duncan looked amused as hell. “I’m glad you still spend time with her. If you won’t go for drinks with me, I hope you at least talk with Annie. The merger stress must be taking its toll.”

Everything was taking its toll these days. He had another gig this weekend and couldn’t handle seeing Annie again. Last weekend, the urge to dance with her had blindsided him. Along with a kick of attraction. Impulses he couldn’t indulge. Annie was off-limits, and she could never know he was Falcon. Weston also had another woman to wine and dine.

He had to find a way to keep Annie busy, away from his shows.

Away from Duncan.

“Like I said,” he told his executive assistant, “I suggest you forget Annie’s name.”

“As you wish.” Duncan winked, purposely antagonizing him.

Weston glared at the man’s back as he walked away.

Marjory poked her head around her computer. “You make it too easy.”

Weston slid his scowl to his secretary. “I make what too easy?”

His disgruntled tone was far from pleasant, but she stared back, placid as ever. “You’ll know when you know,” was all she said.

Infuriatingly typical. The fifty-three-year-old woman had answered to Victor S. Aldrich before working for Weston. She had been present for most of their personal and professional highs and lows, often stepping in when others turned a blind eye. Marjory had been the one to insist Weston seek counseling following Leo and his mother’s deaths. The feisty woman had faced his father and said, “He goes or I quit.”

It took more than one hard look to fluster Marjory Edelstein, and Weston hated how she always seemed to know something he didn’t. “Shouldn’t you be working right now?”

She held his gaze while typing. “I never stopped.”

Infuriatingly typical.

Weston tried to forget Duncan’s impish smirk and Marjory’s cryptic comment as he closed his office door and exhaled.

Annie was a big girl. She’d always been able to handle herself and would never date a guy like Duncan. The bigger issue was her obsession with his Falcon alter ego. He couldn’t avoid her during a set, and giving her the slip afterward was getting tricky. That left ensuring she never showed up, something he’d deal with before his next gig. Tonight was all about winning over Karim Farzad’s daughter, hopefully an easier task than avoiding his late best friend’s little sister.

* * *

As it turned out, dating Rosanna was as tedious as avoiding Annie. Weston cleared his throat—a feeble attempt to draw Rosanna’s attention away from the phone glued to her hand. “Our waiter wants to know if you’d like dessert or coffee.”

She peeled her eyes off her device, casting a derisive glance at their patient waiter and her impatient date. “Coffee. Black.” She returned to texting or tweeting or whatever it was self-obsessed women did.

She’d paid more attention to her phone than Weston all night, blatantly ignoring him at times. She hadn’t smiled once. Since she’d agreed to this setup, her rudeness made no sense.

“An espresso for me, thank you,” he told the waiter kindly.

The man gave Weston a pitying look as he left, and Weston’s temper flared. “I know tonight’s date wasn’t our idea, but you could at least make an effort. Put your phone down for half a second.”

Rosanna’s dark eyes shot up, her hands still clutching her precious device. “Talk to me once you’ve lived under my father’s thumb for a while. Until then, I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourself.”