More Than Need You, Page 4

  expression. “Before we dig into the presentation for the Stowes, we should talk.”

  Uh oh. Here comes a lecture.

  “Lay it on me.”

  Because he will, regardless.

  “We need ground rules, man. I’m all for giving you time with Britta so you’ll have the opportunity to meet Jamie and maybe the three of you can finally be a family, but there are a few things you can’t do.”

  “Like sexually harass Britta at work. I know.”

  “Exactly. I don’t think she’s the type to sue, but right now she enjoys her job. I’d like to keep it that way. I’ve done her enough favors over the last few years to keep her from quitting the instant she realizes you’re officing here. But those favors will only go so far. If you push her too hard or too fast, she’ll resign.”

  “You think so?” That doesn’t sound like Britta. “She values loyalty more than almost everything.”

  Another reason getting her back will be an uphill battle. She probably thinks I left her to boink Maxon’s ex, Tiffanii, the moment they broke up. Nothing could be further from the truth.

  “She does but she already threatened to quit earlier this week.”

  “Really?” That shocks the hell out of me. “Why?”

  “Britta thought I was grooming Keeley to be your next lover and she hated that idea.”

  I smile. Britta being jealous is good news. It means she still gives a shit what I do. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “That Keeley was really in your camp and you two decided to make her my downfall? Yeah. How did you never fuck her? God, I wanted to in the first ten seconds.”

  I shrug. “I needed her digging in my head and trying to straighten me out so badly that I just didn’t see her sexually. It…wasn’t there for us. How have you never touched Britta?”

  Because I want to every single time I see her and I always have.

  Maxon shakes his head. “She’s like another sister to me. Besides, she’s always belonged to you.”

  I’m eternally grateful for that, especially since I’m the one who stepped over the line. “Thanks. You could have been a real bastard and repaid me in kind after I slept with Tiffanii, but then I would have had to kill you.” I’m half joking. Kind of. “I’m sorry about your ex.”

  He shrugs. “I was mad at first. Then I realized I was only pissed off because you went behind my back, not because I actually cared about her.”

  Thank God.

  “The other thing we have to be clear about is this: the Stowe estate is going to be high-maintenance. We have to stay focused.”

  “Of course.”

  “Your dick leads you astray. You lose concentration about everything but sex. And Britta is your Kryptonite. You can’t let her mess with your brain. Or we’re screwed.”

  I want to argue…but he’s got a valid point. Historically, I’ve been a fuckup when I let sex twist my cock into knots. It started with my one and only school play at fifteen. I got banned from the set for caring more about the contents of Sarah Morrison’s bra than the background I was supposed to be painting. It continued when I interned for my dad in high school. I knew he was banging his secretary, AnnaBeth. She was happy to do me, too. I didn’t say no. She was twenty-three, stacked, and loved giving blow jobs. One afternoon, I totally zoned out while she had her head between my legs, and I missed a phone call that my father wanted me to attend a meeting on his behalf. We lost the account. No one took me seriously after that. Dad fired me.

  “I’m aware,” I tell him. “The good news is, this isn’t about me getting laid.” Well, not exclusively. “I have to stay focused all the way around or I’ll lose out to Makaio. What’s up with him, by the way?”

  “He’s not right for her.”

  “No shit.” I am.

  “He’s a banker. Nice enough guy.” Maxon shrugs.

  Maybe too nice. “Does he have any balls?”

  “I haven’t seen them. But he treats Britta decently and he seems good to Jamie. I can’t say anything negative there.”

  Maxon is being fair. It’s my problem that I hate it. “Does he love her?”

  “I haven’t seen them together lately, but my impression was that he has definite feelings for her.”

  I’ve been hoping she couldn’t possibly return those feelings, but I have to find out what I’m truly up against. “Does she love him?”

  “No.”

  His swift, emphatic answer fills me with dizzying relief. “You’re sure?”

  He nods, slowly at first but the gesture picks up speed and conviction. “This past Monday when she threatened to quit? That same day, she admitted…” He sighs. “God, you can’t ever tell her I told you this.”

  “Sure,” I promise. Anything to hear whatever secret of Britta’s he’s keeping.

  “She admitted she still loves you and thinks about you every day.”

  A big smile spreads across my face. I want to fist pump, let out a whooping holler of joy, hug someone. The only person here is my brother, who would poke fun at me for all three. Instead, I opt for the truth. “Well, it’s mutual.”

  “Now you just have to convince her.”

  “Yeah.” I already know Britta won’t make that easy.

  Waiting for her to arrive is making me nervous. To pass time, I check my emails on my phone. Predictably, Keeley has sent me a YouTube link to a song. Because I really need more food for thought. It’s called “Where I Stood” by Missy Higgins. I read my bestie’s accompanying message:

  This one’s an emergency. Now that Britta is engaged, you need to give this a listen before you decide what to do. Reverse the genders. You’ll understand.

  Dreading this more than a little, I drag out my earbuds. If I don’t give this hear this now, she’ll just hound me. And okay, I’m curious.

  After a single strum of the guitar, the vocalist jumps in. The first few lines nail me—utterly. I don’t like what I’ve done. Or who I’ve become. I’m not even sure I know me anymore. But back then, something told me to run, that I should go, that Britta and I should end. Like a dumb ass, I listened.

  As the song rolls toward the chorus, I’m amazed that Keeley continues to locate these dead-on tunes that make me think at the same time I want to throttle her for forcing me to feel.

  The music changes, and the vocalist admits a terrible, painful truth…just like I should. I don’t know who I am without Britta. And I certainly don’t know if I could stand another hand upon her…but I left, and I’m no longer the man in her life, so I should.

  I listen to the next lines roll around. They seize my breath. I tear the buds from my ear and kill the music. Britta might think that bastard who dares to stand where I stood would love her more than I could.

  She’s wrong.

  A moment later, the front door creaks open. I turn to the sound, disappointed to find a slightly familiar guy with bad eighties hair striding toward us. I’ve never met him in person, but I know of him.

  When he hits the threshold, he takes one look at me and shoots me a death glare.

  “Morning,” Maxon calls. “Come in and meet my brother. Griff, this is Rob.”

  I stick out my hand. He ignores it.

  “You didn’t follow through?” he asks Maxon obliquely instead.

  On his ridiculous plan to use Keeley to distract me into fucking up a multimillion-dollar deal?

  “No.” I drop my hand. “News flash, dude. Keeley is my best friend. If anything, I sent her to seduce your boss, not the other way around. There was no way she was going to succeed in undermining me.”

  “What he said,” my brother backs me up. “So we’ve decided to do the Stowe deal together. Are you really going to quit over that?”

  He must have threatened to at some point. I wince.

  “You stupid motherfucker,” Rob mutters. “You’re going to split the money and glory without a fight?”

  This guy sounds like a kinder, gentler version of my father. The garter snake when compared to the rattl
er, my dad. But at the end of the day, they’re both still snakes.

  “Yeah. And if everything goes well, we’ll merge firms and go into business together again,” Maxon says. “There will be plenty of work for everyone. I’d love it if you stayed.”

  Rob’s face says he could give a shit about the motivational speech. I’m not a fan of the guy’s attitude, but if my brother wants him here, I’ll try.

  “I’m not going to cause trouble,” I swear. “You’re my brother’s marketing guy, right? You do a hell of a job. Don’t leave because of me.”

  “I’m against this.” He ignores me and tsks at Maxon. “Griff fucked you over once. What’s to stop him from doing it again?”

  Ouch. That’s a hard blow…but not an unfair one. “I’ve learned since then.”

  “We’ve talked, and I believe him,” Maxon insists. “He’s family. He’s staying if he wants to.”

  I tend to rate pretty high on the macho scale, but I have to admit that my brother’s words give me a warm fuzzy. “Thanks, man.”

  He nods in acknowledgement without looking my way. “Are you in, Rob? Or packing up your desk and pouting your way out the door?”

  The other man hems and haws, shaking his head as if he’s trying to reconcile himself to something he really doesn’t want. “Son of a bitch… Do we need to go over the presentation before the call?”

  “That’s next on our agenda,” my brother assures as he gestures to the other chair in his office, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Have you talked to Britta this morning? She’s not usually late.”

  Rob shakes his head. “No.”

  I frown Maxon’s way. Britta is always punctual. Worry nips at my gut.

  “She’ll be here,” my brother insists. His phone dings two seconds later, and he plucks the device from his pocket. “She says she just dropped Jamie off at daycare and she has to swing by to see Mr. Kāle, then she’ll be here.”

  “Who?” Rob asks.

  “Makaio’s father?” I raise a brow at Maxon.

  “I guess so.” He sounds as confused as I am.

  “Why would she see him on the morning you have the biggest presentation of your career?”

  “Our career. I can’t think of a reason.” Now he sounds as troubled as I am.

  I rake a hand through my hair. “Shit.”

  “It’s probably nothing. Let’s start rehearsing the presentation. We’ll figure out what she’s up to later.”

  You can bet on that.

  After a quick run-through, we hammer out a few issues. I give input based on my conversation with the Stowe heirs yesterday, and Maxon looks grateful for the insight. We’re done prepping about forty-five minutes before show time.

  Which leaves me to stare at the clock.

  I have a good feeling about this pitch. The Stowes will be thrilled. We’ll get the listing, sell this mansion that once belonged to the Vermont syrup-maker’s widow, and Maxon and I will start doing great things together again.

  I’m hoping the future looks even half as bright for Britta and me.

  As I pace in worry at how slowly the hands are moving on the clock, I see Rob head to the restroom. Maxon takes a phone call from what sounds like another client. I leave his office and pace the main area, hovering around what’s obviously Britta’s desk. It must be. Rob’s is cluttered with empty soda cans and Snickers wrappers with a few empty bags of Cheetos. Britta is too meticulous for her workspace to resemble a dumpster. And when I peek at the surface, I hit the jackpot. She has framed pictures of all sizes of Jamie. My heart stops. It’s like a visual history of his young life.

  The first pic that catches my eye is of Jamie asleep and swaddled in a gauzy blue blanket like a papoose in a wicker basket with sprigs of greenery all around. He looks weeks old at most. I see a picture of him on his first birthday, grinning at a chocolate cake covered in frosting soccer balls, half of which is smeared across his face. There’s a photo of him and Maxon at the beach, and another of him and Britta in a go-cart. I spot a still of him and Makaio at the library, solemnly reading a book together. At that, I grit my teeth.

  On the cubicle’s left wall, she’s tacked up more recent pictures—Jamie waving good-bye as he walks into daycare, him playing beside another boy with some Lincoln Logs, my son running across the backyard at Britta’s house with a big grin. He’s cute, yeah. But the glimpses of everything I’ve missed and can never experience for myself wrench at my goddamn heart.

  A glance toward the far side of her keyboard reveals another photo, this one obviously taken in the hospital when he was born. Britta sitting up in bed looking pale and exhausted but more beautiful than I’ve ever seen as she glances down at infant Jamie with naked love all over her face, one arm supporting his little body, the other stroking his downy head.

  I would give anything to have been there the day my son made his way into the world so I could hold him, protect him. Tell him I love him. I wish I’d been there to give Britta the same devotion, that she’d been wearing my ring, that we’d gone home as a family. I’m shocked to feel tears sting my eyes.

  Then I hear the creak of the door behind me and whirl around.

  Britta.

  She’s wearing a black pencil skirt that hugs her body and a tuxedo-style blouse, white with black cuffs and collar. The black-and-white peep-toe heels complete the look. She’s accented with red—purse, belt, lips.

  The urge to fuck her is blinding and instant. Her chilly expression as she approaches me vows we won’t be having sex soon. If she has anything to say about it, not until hell has frozen over for good.

  Carrying a stack of magazines, she proceeds to her desk.

  “Good morning,” I say.

  She nods stiffly and tosses down both her purse and the magazines.

  They are all bridal publications. Dresses and flowers, smiling beauties and lace, updos and bows. Every edition seems focused on summer weddings. My heart stops. My sister, Harlow, has taken over a year to plan hers. I thought I’d have more time.

  “When’s the wedding?” I ask.

  “We haven’t set a date. Could you excuse me? You’re standing in front of my chair.”

  I take one step to the side. “I was just looking at your pictures of Jamie.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” she says as she sits at her desk and proceeds to ignore me, tucking away her purse, spreading out her magazines, and turning on her computer. Then she tunes me out.

  She’s definitely withdrawn this morning. Dark circles under her eyes tell me she hasn’t slept much. That makes two of us. Despite the fuck-off vibe she’s giving me, I catch Britta sending me a sidelong stare when she thinks I’m not looking.

  “Too bad, angel,” I murmur the endearment I once called her for her ears alone. “I made myself clear last night. I know you heard me.”

  With a press of her sin-inspiring lips, she turns to me. “Can you please think of someone besides yourself this once? Consider your son, the upheaval you’ll create in his life. He’s too young to understand. He’s too impressionable to—”

  “I didn’t demand that he call me Daddy right now. I said I’d like the opportunity to be a part of his life, whatever you and I can work out like rational adults.” I settle closer, brace my forearm across the back of her chair, and bend close to her ear, trying to ignore the sultry jasmine scent that wafts up and stiffens my cock. “I think the bigger problem is you. Jamie doesn’t know a reason to hate me. But you do.”

  That finally has her gaze darting up to mine as she rolls her chair sideways, a good foot away from me. Our eyes meet. Zing. I know she feels it, too. There’s no way she doesn’t.

  Britta’s face closes up as she jerks her gaze back to her scarred wooden desk. Does she think that will somehow make me go away?

  “You don’t affect me one way or the other. I’m protecting my son because I know you too well to believe you’ll stay for long. Then I’ll be left to pick up the pieces—again—when you decide to