More Than Need You

by Shayla Black

  ditch all your responsibilities and chase your next piece of ass.”

  “Let’s get one thing straight right now,” I growl. “I left because I thought you’d elected to help Maxon betray me with the estate for that obscure prince. Our breakup had nothing to do with another woman.”

  She rolls her eyes. “So you just happened to decide to move Tiffanii in with you the day after our breakup because she was merely a good friend? And you never had sex with her?”

  It’s a trap question. I’m damned if I tell the truth and damned if I don’t. “You really want to do this now?”

  “No.” Britta closes up. “I don’t want to do this at all. What you did with your brother’s ex doesn’t matter to me anymore.”

  Liar. I love Britta, and it’s hurting me to know she’s been with at least one other guy. I was supposed to be her first, her only.

  I have to live with the regret of fucking that up, too.

  “Tiffanii meant nothing to me.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize they’re so lame they’re counterproductive.

  “At the time, she seemed to mean more to you than me, so—”

  “No.” I spin her chair to face me and brace my hands on the arms, caging her in her seat. “Never. She told me a lot of lies, and I was in a bad place then, so I was stupid enough to believe them.”

  “And then she just happened to fall into your bed, onto your penis, with a camera nearby. That’s one set of pictures I would have liked better if they’d been blurry. But gee, thanks for sending them over and proving once and for all what an asshole you are.”

  I hear the words she’s speaking, but I can’t process them. “Pictures?”

  She huffs and stands, pushing me a safe distance away. “Seriously? Stop. I’m talking about the shots of the two of you in bed that you sent your brother via email shortly after we split up. You knew I’d see that message first.” With a shake of her head, she really looks at me. “If you wanted to make sure I was going to fuck off, you waking up and making love to me, then packing to leave me while I was in the shower more than did it. I stood there dripping and naked in front of you while you called me a backstabbing bitch and walked out. I didn’t need pictures of you and Tiffanii in coital bliss or whatever to prove I meant nothing to you.”

  I still have no idea what she’s talking about.

  “I didn’t take naked pictures with Tiffanii.” If I was going to take sexy snapshots with someone, it sure as hell wouldn’t be her.

  “I saw them. They came from your email address. How do you—” Britta stops herself and shakes her head. “You know what? Never mind. Old news. Water under the bridge. A waste of my time. Like you.”

  When she tries to walk away, I grab her wrist. I didn’t want to do the Tiffanii thing first, but clearly Britta needs me to. “Here’s what went down: That morning, while you were in the shower, I found out about Maxon’s deal. Since you were his assistant, I assumed you were involved, too. I should have asked. I should have talked to you. But I was furious and not thinking straight, so I didn’t demand answers. I just packed, I said a lot of things I wish I could take back, and I left. Tiffanii hunted me down a few hours later to tell me that Maxon had cheated on her and—”

  “Try the other way around.” Britta scoffs.

  “I know.” That doesn’t surprise me—now.

  She tilts her head, suspicion all over her face. “Of course you do. She was cheating with you.”

  “What? No. Fuck no! Listen. To me, she was just my brother’s pain-in-the-ass girlfriend. The day I moved out, she came crying to me that she was pregnant, and when she told Maxon, he threw her out and changed the locks. She needed a place to stay until she got back on her feet. I found a crash-by-the-week motel with two bedrooms. She said she’d help with rent until we could each find a place of our own. I spent the first three days pushing down my anger at everything that had gone wrong and establishing my own business while figuring out how to go on without you. I spent the next three days blindingly drunk. I have no idea what happened.” That whole chunk of time is simply gone.

  “Drunk? More likely in a sex haze.” She pinches her lips, looks away. “She must have been damn good.”

  I’m happy to see firsthand the proof that Britta is no more over me than I’ve moved on from her. But I can’t let her whacked-out assumptions persist. Time to set the record straight. I hope Britta believes me someday.

  For now, I suspect she’ll find the truth hard to swallow.

  I grab her by the shoulders and drag her closer until I see her eyes widen and her soft lips part with a little gasp. Jesus, I want to kiss her so badly, back her onto her desk, lift her skirt, and make her mine again.

  I can’t, which makes me growl and grit my teeth. “I didn’t consciously sleep with that woman for another two months. I only did it because I was so angry.” At everything and everyone. At life. “The minute I did, I knew it was a fucking mistake. It never happened again.”

  “You must think I’m stupid. Maxon told me about the Bora Bora thing.”

  “I didn’t plan to take Tiffanii on a romantic vacation. We both needed some time away. As a flight attendant, she could get us on a plane for free. I knew the manager of a small resort willing to rent us a villa for cheap after someone cancelled last minute. So Tiff and I decided to get some R and R as platonic friends. I had no reason to bail until I discovered her fucking some random guy on my sofa the afternoon before our departure. Then I grilled her until she admitted she’d never actually been pregnant. She’d only scammed me to get back at Maxon.”

  Britta doesn’t say anything for a long time, just searches my face. She’s not sure whether to believe me. I see the pain in her expression, and I know I put it there. I want to kick myself again.

  My fingers bite harder into her. “I swear it’s true.”

  “Griff,” my brother warns from across the office.

  A glance around the room tells me he’s staring. So is Rob.

  I harassed her in the office. I also made a scene. Fuck.

  “Let me go,” she demands softly.

  “I’m sorry.” Slowly, I peel my fingers off of her. “But I’m telling you, I never touched Tiffanii when you and I were together. And I never had a single romantic feeling for her. I made one terrible mistake with her. I’ve regretted it since.”

  She looks skeptical. “Then how do you explain the pictures of you two in bed I received six days after our breakup? On your birthday, by the way.”

  “After that hellacious three-day bender, I woke up naked in my bed with an epic hangover and no recollection of life for seventy-two hours. She had free run of the motel room, so she had access to my camera, my computer… I didn’t send you any pictures.” I try to stare that truth into her. “I would never have done that to my brother or to you. She must have taken your letter about Jamie, too. I swear to God if I had received it I would have come back.”

  Britta drags in a shaky breath and crosses her arms over her chest. “It doesn’t matter now. Tiffanii might have been the first woman after me.” She scoffs. “Or not. But she was hardly the last. The truth is, I don’t need you in my life. Neither does Jamie. Leave us alone.”

  “I won’t,” I vow softly and force myself to take a giant step back. “But I’ll give you some space for now.”

  She needs to think about everything I’ve laid bare. I know from experience that being up in Britta’s face when she’s upset will only make her shut down.

  I look at the clock on the wall. “We only have a few minutes before the Stowe call. Do you need anything? Did you eat?”

  She’s always been notoriously bad about forgetting breakfast.

  “I’m fine.” Britta tries to brush past me and head for the conference room.

  I step in front of her. “Did you eat?”

  “I had an errand to run. I’ll get some breakfast after the call.”

  “No.” I march into Maxon’s office and rifle through my briefcase, fishing o
ut a spare protein bar, then barrel toward her again. “Eat now.”

  Since this topic isn’t open to debate, I head to the little coffee bar situated at the back of the room and make her a cup of tea. Black and weak with a hint of sugar, the way she’s always liked it. When I hand it to her, she blinks at me.

  “You remembered?”

  “I’ll never forget.”

  “Don’t do this. It’s over, Griff,” she whispers, then gives me a wide berth as she heads to the conference room.

  I follow her, muttering “like hell” under my breath.

  CHAPTER THREE

  As noon approaches, it’s another gorgeous day in paradise. The call with the syrup heirs went well. Maxon and I teaming up surprised George and Vivienne at first, but by the end of the pitch, they saw the benefit.

  They want to confer over the weekend, and I’m not surprised. It’s way past quitting time on a Friday night in Vermont. They’ve recently lost their mother, to whom they seemed close. Most people are. Me? I’ll do almost anything to avoid the viper who gave birth to me. But the Stowes are grieving and need extra time to think their decision through.

  It’s cool. I have a good feeling business will work out in the end.

  Maxon stands and stretches, smiling big, before he holds out a hand to me. “Good job.”

  I shake it. “We always made a good team.”

  Even Rob looks reluctantly impressed. “I’d heard you two together were killer, but damn. You played off one another, had all the answers. It was like a well-oiled machine.”

  Maxon’s marketing guy sounds way more enthusiastic about me being here than he did three hours ago.

  “Thanks.” I look my brother’s way. I can tell it felt good to him, too, being together and doing a deal… We fell back into the old rhythms that kept us on top year after year. I have no doubt we could dominate again.

  “We’re going to make so much money.” Rob now sounds downright gleeful.

  Maxon laughs at the guy. “Get the fuck out of here.”

  Rob glances at the time at his phone. “I’m going to Dairy Queen for lunch. Want something?”

  My brother shakes his head. “I’m good.”

  I shudder at the suggestion. Keeley and her healthy food have rubbed off on me over the last couple of years, and now I rarely want anything else. “Thanks, anyway.”

  With a wave, Rob exits the building. I see Britta at her desk. She’s on the phone, jotting notes, nodding and listening intently. Client call. At her left, a bridal magazine sits open. Tape flags in various colors lay strewn around the glossy pages in a semicircle.

  “Got another lunch suggestion?” Maxon asks.

  “Keeley introduced me to a little place for vegan and raw foods…”

  He swallows as if he might be sick. “And she likes it?”

  “Yeah. We actually go there a lot.”

  He blows out a breath as if he’s worried he’s taking his life into his own hands. “What do you think?”

  “It’s good.”

  I see the moment my brother decides he wants to be close to Keeley if he can’t be with her. “All right. She said anything new?”

  I shake my head. “Her return ticket is scheduled to bring her home on the sixteenth. I won’t know what she’s thinking for sure until she tells me whether or not she’s gotten on the plane. Try to be patient.”

  “Maybe I should go to Phoenix.”

  “We’ve been over this.” I shake my head. “Don’t do it.” I look over my shoulder at Britta again. “It’s like me rushing that one. A stupid waste of effort and breath. Trust me when I tell you it’s no easier when the woman you want is right in front of you and you can’t have her.”

  “I see your point.” Maxon drops his voice. “Don’t confront Britta in the office again.”

  “Sorry. She wanted to talk about the Tiffanii thing.” I feel more than vaguely ashamed. “I told Britta the truth, that I voluntarily slept with that woman just once, but she—”

  “Seriously?” Maxon looks stunned. “That’s it?”

  “Yeah.” I fill him in. “I really don’t know how you lived with her for two years.”

  “Now that I know what the hell having an emotional connection with a woman means, I don’t either.” He grabs his car keys and phone, shoving the latter in his pocket. “Hey, Britta. We’re going to lunch. Want anything?”

  She looks up at us, her stare seeming to pass me over as if I don’t exist. “I brought something. I’ll eat here. I’ve got a few phone calls to make.”

  As we walk toward the door, I see what’s up on her screen. HAWAIIAN TIME WEDDINGS.

  Every reminder that she intends to give the rest of her life to another man twists my gut.

  Maxon nudges my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  I really don’t want to, but we’ve already hashed this. I can’t push her now. I’ve given her the Tiffanii information she wanted. She’ll have to decide if she’s going to believe—or forgive—me.

  My brother and I have a productive lunch and start to talk about other business we’ve got in the hopper, possible ways we might consolidate it in the future. Maxon has some good suggestions for me. I give him possible insight into things he’s working on.

  It’s like old times…but better.

  In the past, we bonded over our mutual hate of our philandering father. But when we didn’t have the monster around to give us a common enemy, I turned on Maxon. He turned right back. So this is the more mature version of us. It’s nice.

  On our way back, I suggest we swing by my business digs so I can move my stuff into my former office, on the other side of the wall from Maxon’s. While I’m grabbing essentials, he calls Britta. Even through the window, I can tell the discussion is heated.

  When I emerge again with a box of my belongings and a spare briefcase of papers, I toss it in the back of his car. “How did she take the news that I need her help cleaning out the storage room?”

  He looks grim. “She’ll do it.”

  But not happily. It’s her job, and Maxon is her boss, so she grudgingly agreed.

  “That wasn’t the question,” I point out.

  “Let’s just say that if you don’t act like a pushy prick, we might be okay.”

  Right. How do I not behave like myself?

  When we hit our shared office, Rob is at his desk with some noise-cancelling headphones, whipping up something on Photoshop. Maxon gives me a head bob toward Britta, who’s in the storage room, loading knickknacks from the table into boxes. Holy fuck, now that I’m really looking at the place, it’s obvious my brother has become a pack rat and shoved everything in this room since I left. If the mountain of crap fell on her, she’d be buried alive.

  I jog in. “Hey. I’m here.”

  “Sorry your throne isn’t ready yet, your highness.” She doesn’t even look at me.

  I clench my jaw and remember restraint. I’ve earned her anger. Now I have to be patient enough to let it burn out. “I don’t expect you to clean this place alone. It’s going to be my office, so I’m perfectly happy to do the heavy lifting. Anything ready for me to carry out yet?”

  Britta pauses. Apparently she can’t think of a snappy comeback for that. “That box over there.”

  When she points, I cross the room and grab it, then haul it past her and out the door. “Any ideas where to store this?”

  Since most of the box’s contents are day-to-day items, she suggests we shove them in the little cabinet under the coffee bar so they’re within quick reach.

  After that, we start tackling the stuff choking the rest of the room. I can use the long, mango-wood table carved with