Page 77 of The Beat Match

Simple math. One plus one equaled disaster.

It didn’t matter that she was in her ball-breaker attire. Looking serious and ready to attack didn’t give her superpowers to burst Duncan’s head with her mind. “I call bullshit. If you say nothing, you’re”—she flung her arms angrily—“screwed? Someone hired you to do a job. They’ll be pissed you didn’t come through. How do I know you won’t squeal like the little rat you are?”

She needed time. A few days to get Sarah on this. Dig up enough dirt to bury Duncan under his own shit. Going along with his idiotic bribe worked in her favor, as long as he held up his end.

He didn’t flinch at the insult, just shrugged one big shoulder. “I did what I was paid to do. I got dirt on the key researchers DLP wanted lured away from Aldrich Pharma, with another one not far behind. I’ve been paid in full. Feeding them Weston on a silver platter was a…last minute request. They asked for skeletons in his closet. I provided.”

It would be the nail in Weston’s coffin, and Duncan didn’t give a crap. Or did he? Something shifted in his expression. A hint of remorse? He could choke on that guilt, for all she cared.

“Fine,” she said quickly, surprised her pounding heart hadn’t punched through her chest. “I’ll keep your secret if you delete that recording and stay quiet.” New York’s cacophony of horns, brakes, intermittent music, and voices blurred as she studied Duncan’s every blink and twitch.

“Deal,” he said. “Under one condition.”

His conditions would be as slimy as him. “What?”

“You break up with Weston.”

“Are you insane?” She was a second from kneeing Duncan in the nuts.

He lifted his phone higher, held it out of her reach. “Then I hit Send.”

She tensed, her knee twitching to make contact. “Why would you ask that?”

“Give me some credit, Annie. I know how close you two are. Even if you uphold your end, he’ll know something’s wrong. He’ll get it out of you. Besides, I’m doing you a favor.”

“No, what you’re doing is screwing yourself. He might know something’s off when he sees me, but I can make up excuses. Throw him off your trail. If I break up with him, he won’t buy that crap.” Wes knew she loved him. She’d admitted as much that one time in his office, had shown him repeatedly with her body. Duncan’s plan would backfire in his face.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Annie. I just came from lunch with Weston. He told me he’s not in love with you. Said he buys you gifts, scrapbooking stuff and dresses out of guilt. He loves you, but he’s not in love with you and doesn’t know how to end things, because he doesn’t want to hurt you or lose you as a friend.”

The oxygen in her lungs turned to sludge. She teetered on her stilettos. Wes had been acting strange since his father’s call. Less present with her, his smiles sometimes forced, and not sleeping well. She’d told herself the merger and DLP had been the problem: worry over her, stress with work, frustration with DLP. Had she been deluding herself? Wanting him so badly she’d been blind to his true feelings?

“Like I said,” Duncan went on, “I’m doing you a favor.”

Fat freaking chance. He was a lying degenerate who was trying to shove a wedge between her and Wes, ensure she didn’t cave and spill his sordid secrets. And it was already working, infecting her mind. No more. The second she called Wes and told him she was done with him, his Spidey Senses—or Falcon Feels—would be on high alert. This break-up scheme would bite Duncan in his backstabbing derriere.

“Fine.” She matched Duncan’s nonchalance, because she was chalant as fuck. “I was getting bored of him anyway.”

Duncan’s amusement upped her ire. “Whatever you say. He’s in his office. Call him now, then I delete the recording.”

Oh, he was a piece of work, this guy. One who would spend five to ten in a six-by-eight cell. Curling her lip at him, she pulled her phone from her purse and hit speed dial.

She held her breath.

Wes answered after three rings. “Annie, hey.”

Not I was thinking about you. He hadn’t said that in a while, had he? He’d been more friend than boyfriend, when not in bed or sending gifts. And why was she suddenly doubting him when Duncan was the bad guy here, clearly out for blood?

“We need to talk,” she told Wes, injecting as much double meaning into her words as possible. Duncan is your mole. He could expose you. I’m trying to save you.

Telepathic messaging.

Rustling came from his end. “Okay, shoot.”

So much for telepathy. She opened her mouth, bile rising as the words she needed to say got stuck. A cramp seized her stomach. The idea of breaking up with Wes, no matter the phoniness of the circumstances, made her physically ill.

“If I go down, he’s going with me,” Duncan whispered. “Make it believable.”

The choice really wasn’t hers. Not when she’d do anything for the man she loved. Even break both their hearts for the short term.