The Beat Match

by Kelly Siskind

  “Considering I work here, it’s not a stretch. And I see you’ve met Weston’s new fur child. A striking resemblance, if you ask me.”

  The bunny twitched its cute nose. “They have the same eyes.”

  “So…” Duncan circled her, a panther on the prowl. He propped his hip on Marjory’s desk. “Did you stop by to see me?”

  “Unfortunately, no. I’m on rabbit-squirrel duty.” She pointed at the animal.

  “What’s a rabbit-squirrel?”

  “Just go with it.”

  He nodded, unperturbed by her oddness. “Well, I consider this my lucky day. This finally gives me a chance to ask you out.”

  She laughed at his boldness. She might have flirted on the phone, but the prospect of them dating was comical. He was as stylish as Weston, all done up in a charcoal suit and silk tie. She wore knee-high leggings under her lace skirt, a floral tank blouse on top. Her striped scarf was knotted around her neck, with funky ankle boots and a pink purse rounding out her whimsical outfit. Bohemian style next to his swanky elegance. Pretty much how she looked next to Wes. The thought made her frown.

  “Let me guess—Weston warned you away from me?” Duncan didn’t look annoyed. Amusement lit his eyes.

  “He did. But he warns me away from most things.”

  Duncan twisted his cufflink, aligning it slowly. “Does his controlling nature bother you?”

  “Sometimes.” Always.

  He released his cufflink and met her eyes, unabashed. “So go out with me.”

  This guy was too much. “As what? A way to get back at him?”

  “For whatever reason you want. But I’ll warn you in advance, I’m pretty killer on a date. Once we’re out, I can’t be responsible for you falling for me.”

  “Aren’t you a cocky one?”

  He shrugged. Total player, like Weston worried, but Duncan was straightforward, and he was easy on the eyes. This brash routine of his would get old, but she could handle a guy like him for a date or two. Even better, saying yes could help her get that elevator altercation off her mind: the weight of Wes’s hand on her back, the slight dig of his fingers into her skin. Ugh.

  “Why not,” she said quickly. “Let me know when you’re free.”

  He stood from the desk edge and inched closer. “I’m free tonight.”

  “You don’t waste time, do you?”

  “Not when I’m talking to a beautiful woman.”

  Yep, player central. She sidestepped him and fanned her hand toward the cage. “Unfortunately, I’ll be busy watching the rabbit-squirrel tonight. And before you ask, he’s not allowed to be left alone.” She mouthed the words abandonment issues in case the bunny understood human.

  “I won’t pretend like any of that makes sense, but I could come over and keep you company.” He dragged his gaze down her body.

  Casanova needed to dial down his hormones. “You’re nice enough, Duncan, but I don’t do first dates in my apartment. Or second dates.” She hadn’t lost her street smarts when she quit living on the streets.

  “What if I can get you a rabbit-squirrel sitter?”

  Now that had promise. A sitter meant she could see Falcon after all. “Seriously? Who?”

  “I have a step-sister who’d love the little bugger. She’d be thrilled.”

  Agreeing and chasing Falcon would mean bringing Duncan to the club with her. Not ideal. She’d rather not tell him about her DJing plans, and she couldn’t picture him dancing in a club. Never mind that the maneuver was utterly selfish. But he’d said he didn’t care why she agreed to a date, and she could ask Vivian to tag along as a buffer. “Fine, but I’m making the plans. I’ll text you the address to a club. Seedier area, so don’t flash your money or fancy clothes around. Meet me there at eleven. Unless clubbing isn’t your speed.”

  He hesitated a moment, then raked his hand through his country-club hair. “If you’re there, beautiful, it’s my speed.”

  Duncan was in for a hefty surprise, and so was Falcon. Tonight would be the night she finally spoke with him. She was tired of chasing a ghost. She would not be deterred. Until then, she’d listen to music, get pumped for the club. She’d forget about whatever had zinged through her when touching Wes. She even had a sexy outfit ready to impress Falcon.

  7

  Vivian was at the bar when Annie arrived, unexpectedly chatting with Sarah—the same private eye from several weeks ago. Lots of close talking, subtle touching. Still into each other.

  Annie dodged a few people and joined them. “Looks like you two have been here awhile.”

  Vivian cozied up to Sarah’s side. “We’re celebrating. I got myself background checked and passed with flying colors.”

  Sarah raised a dubious eyebrow. “I overlooked her college arrest. And the vandalism incident.”

  “Graffiti art isn’t vandalism.” Vivian danced as she spoke, cozying up to Sarah.

  “Tell that to the gas station you decorated with Kama Sutra poses.”

  Vivian pouted. “It’s not fair. All I can do is stalk her on social media.”

  “Y’all are too cute, digging up dirt on each other.” Annie ordered a margarita and settled against the long bar, facing out to watch the action. “I’m guessing this place used to be a theater.”

  “With that kind of attention to detail,” Sarah said, “you could be my assistant.”

  As much as Annie enjoyed detective shows, a private eye she was not. She’d get bored in the middle of a stakeout and miss the big event. It wasn’t tough to see the history in this remodeled club, though. Whatever seats had lined the auditorium had been removed, but the soaring embossed ceiling was still extravagant, the stage breathtakingly broad. A crimson curtain hung behind the current DJ. The woman playing was knocking out some funky beats, but she was no Falcon.

  “When’s your date showing?” Vivian asked.

  “Eleven-ish. And don’t laugh when you see him. He’ll be a fish out of water in here.” For the life of her, she couldn’t picture Duncan mingling with this crowd. Half of them had neon makeup painted on their faces, some wore threadbare clothes and Freed by the Falcon T-shirts. Others looked like they’d raided a spandex factory.

  “You certainly dressed to impress.”

  “What? This old thing?” Annie was totally on the prowl, but Duncan wasn’t the man set in her sights. She’d pulled out all the stops and shimmied into a mini skirt and a gold sequined tank, red thigh-high boots completing her look.

  She loved piecing together thrift-store outfits, feeling chic and comfy when out and about. Her club style was tapping into another side of her she’d never explored. Wearing skimpier attire at bars made her feel sexy, confident. Her inner vixen unleashed. She’d used her newfound feminine wiles to sweet-talk a bouncer tonight, ensuring she’d be let backstage after the show.

  “I’m here for the music,” she told Vivian. She was about to admit she’d been taking DJ lessons and planned to work with Falcon, but a woman, who looked exactly like Sarah, waved their way. “Did you know you’re dating a clone?”

  Vivian followed Annie’s wide eyes and laughed. “That’s her twin. They even dress similar and love all the same stuff, spend tons of time together. My sister and I are lucky to see each other on holidays.”

  “I can’t tell them apart.”

  “Yeah, it’s nuts. What about you? Any siblings? An identical twin with stunning hazel eyes and a sexy birthmark by her lips?”

  Annie glanced down, feigning embarrassment. Compliments made her blush, but this wasn’t self-consciousness. All these years later, she never knew if she should save people the awkward interlude and tell them she didn’t have a sibling. Or smile and say she had a brother, or admit he’d been killed in a club like this. On July 27th. Twelve years, three hundred, and sixty days ago.

  Her breathing turned shallow. Heat stung her eyes, the sudden rise of emotion horrifying. She never cried. Keeping herself together was a well-honed skill. Yet the urge to blow past Vivian and escape to the ba
throom had her tensing.

  “There she is,” Duncan said, his head appearing over Vivian’s shoulder.

  Annie let out a shaky breath. She never imagined she’d be this thrilled to see her date.

  “Glad you showed.” She walked over and kissed his cheek. His potent cologne made her eyes water more.

  He flashed his white teeth. “Told you I would. And you look…” He whistled.

  Everyone introduced themselves. Duncan’s black slacks and slicked hair stood out as expected, but he seemed at ease, chatting easily with the girls. Slowly, Annie sloughed off her discomfort.

  He linked his elbow through hers and led them back to the bar. From behind him, Vivian mimed picking her nose with a hooked finger—their save-me-before-I-die signal. Annie shook her head. She didn’t need an escape, but it was nice having a friend nearby, and even nicer that the personal questions had ceased. Duncan knew enough about her past to hopefully steer clear of that minefield.

  “So, Annie Ward, this is your thing.” He leaned on the bar, close enough to brush arms.

  She tried to avoid deep whiffs of his spicy cologne. “If you mean the club scene, then yeah. I’m guessing it’s not yours.”

  “Not at first glance, but I’m a believer in stepping out of my comfort zone. Just wouldn’t have pegged you for a club rat.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Although you look stunning tonight, you don’t normally dress the part. And I figured…” He scanned the space, swallowed twice. “With your history, I figured you’d stay away.”

  Her history. Leo’s death. The club shooting.

  Instead of avoiding that minefield, Duncan had stepped right in it.

  She often wondered what it would be like to just leave. Start fresh in a new town where people didn’t know her. A blank slate in a blank life she could fill the way she filled her scrapbooks, with hope and happiness. The non-deface-Weston-style of scrapbook. But Wes lived in New York. No matter his faults and her recent troubling fantasies, she couldn’t picture her life without him. Plus moving wouldn’t keep innocent questions like Vivian’s at bay.

  “I got into this scene recently,” she told Duncan. The truth. “If you let memories haunt you, they control you.” Talking about them was a different story. “How about a drink?”

  He waved a credit card at the bartender and handed it over. “Start us a tab. Martini extra dry for me. And the lady will have…”

  “Another margarita,” she finished. “You don’t have to buy my drinks, though.”

  “I told you, I’m basically a professional dater. Just try to resist me.”

  “So, that makes you a male escort?”

  He recoiled. “Me? No. That’s ludicrous.”

  The guy made it too easy. “Professional implies paid services.”

  He paused, narrowed his eyes, then laughed. “Quick on the jabs, Ward. I see why Weston likes you so much.”

  “Weston likes me as much as he can control me.” If he knew she wasn’t home rabbit-squirrel sitting, or that she was on a date with Duncan, his head would implode. But she didn’t want to talk about Wes. Part of this date was about pushing thoughts of him from her mind.

  “You should give the guy a break,” Duncan said. “You know how much he works. I’ve actually been worried about him lately.”

  Something in Annie’s chest pinched. “Worried how?”

  Duncan shrugged.

  The DJ was finishing her set while another guy set up. Annie didn’t imagine Falcon would play in that narrow section of stage. He was likely setting up behind the curtain, would add a theatrical element to his performance. He was creative like that. She should watch the stage in case he appeared early and she could flag him. Instead she angled her back to the action and searched Duncan’s face. “Wes is used to working hard. It’s his motto. Why would you be worried?”

  “You know about the merger?”

  “Only that it’s a big deal to him.”

  “Well, it’s getting complicated. Wearing him down. He looks more tired than usual and seems distracted. I’ve tried talking to him, but he brushes me off. I was hoping he’d confided in you.”

  Weston didn’t lean on others. He was his own pillar of strength, one she’d leaned on more times than she could count. If she really thought about it, their relationship was pretty one-sided: him giving, her taking. His generosity often came in the form of orders, advice, and money, but it was because he cared. Yet he’d asked her for a favor today and she’d pawned it off on Duncan’s step-sister the first chance she’d gotten, all while Wes stretched himself thin to keep his moving pieces in check.

  She pictured his busy office building, the floors filled with thousands of employees. And that was just New York. Aldrich Pharma had offices in multiple cities, all those employees relying on Wes and his team. The strain on him must be incredible. “I’ll talk to him. But I’m not sure I can help.”

  “Just talking might help, and you can always come to me. I know what he’s dealing with. I might have some insight you can relay to him.”

  She pressed her hand to Duncan’s forearm. “Thanks. I’m glad Wes has you in his corner.”

  Duncan’s eyes darted to her lips. He moved closer. She stepped back, needing distance from him and all that cologne. She sipped her drink, savored the kick of lime and salt, tried not to picture Wes at his late-night meeting, then home alone, sleepless, stressing over a million worries. Nothing she could do about it tonight.

  “On a happier note,” she said, “you’re in for a treat. The last DJ is insane.”

  “Can’t say dance music is my jam, but this place has atmosphere.” Duncan raised his voice. “And it’s loud.”

  “It helps you feel the beat better. And if you don’t dig this, what music is your jam?”

  “Whatever’s on the radio, I guess.”

  Someone jostled her from behind. Her drink spilled a little. Hopefully the fumble distracted Duncan from her pinched “judgy” face, as Wes called it. She didn’t understand how people existed without music in their hearts. “What about hobbies? What makes you tick?”

  “Golf, golf, and golf.” He grinned. “Got myself a new set of clubs that are smooth as silk.”

  He talked over the music, droning on about the weight and balance of the clubs, the swanky courses he’d played and a trip he’d booked. She zoned out and scanned the room. A guy walked by wearing a beaded necklace similar to one Leo had owned, and her eyes stung again. She bit her cheek and checked the stage for Falcon.

  “I also play racquetball,” Duncan said, yelling in her ear as people crowded them. “And I love talking with beautiful women.”

  She snort-laughed. Yeah, no. She was feeling zero attraction to Duncan. The guy was all-American attractive, but her intellectual interest was falling faster than an under-baked soufflé. Hopefully he’d at least dance with her when Falcon played, and his concern over Wes had been sweet. They could say a friendly goodbye afterward, no future dates in store.

  Another drink and more mundane chitchat later, the lights dimmed. The crowd roared. Annie’s heart beat wildly. Falcon.

  “Let’s get closer to the stage.” Without waiting for his reply, she grabbed Duncan’s hand and dragged him as she elbowed her way closer. No points for kindness when her favorite DJ played, and she wasn’t the only one in pursuit. She lost Duncan’s hand in the crush. They got separated. She should turn and find him, but the first wave of violin trilled. Immediately, she was entranced, staring at the crimson curtain as lights danced and people cheered. The next segment of music was different. Melancholy. An emotional cello filling the space.

  People quieted. Shivers sailed down her neck.

  She closed her eyes, felt more than heard his transitions, gusts of sound breezing around the room. The soaring melody made her throat burn, as though the notes had been written for her, a soundtrack to that approaching anniversary. Sorrow bleeding into healing, coming out the other end hopeful, but still sad.

  The bas
s cut in. She opened her eyes.

  The curtain lifted and…wow.

  As always, Falcon was a beast on stage, tall and commanding, a bird of prey surveying his domain. The stage was a different story. TV screens filled the space, different sizes at various heights arranged in a dramatic pattern. Images flashed to the beats: falcons swooping in slow motion, weather footage whipping through the sky—hail and wind and rain. The scenes moved from one monitor to the next, as though crashing through the room.

  All went black. The music paused.

  A new song exploded, sunshine beamed and flowers grew in a hypnotic time-lapse sequence, and…wait, was that? She whooped. He was playing the new song she’d heard at her DJ lesson. It was sensory overload.

  Falcon pumped his hand in the air, head tipped up slightly, that stunning mask making him look like a feral king.

  She tossed up her hands and danced. Let the rhythm slide through her bones, every troubling thought shaking out of her head. His gaze swept the floor as it often did, and her body loosened, moving just for him. She forgot about Leo’s anniversary, Vivian’s and Duncan’s tough questions. She didn’t worry about losing Falcon again tonight. She let everything go but the music. Until a hard body lined up behind her.

  She tensed, ready to stomp on some dude’s foot, then she smelled that heavy, familiar cologne. Duncan. He was closer than she liked, but there wasn’t much room with this crowd, and it wasn’t fair to ditch him again. He danced with more rhythm than expected, his hips and torso rocking behind her. She matched his moves. Relaxed while maybe picturing Falcon behind her instead. She imagined turning, pressing closer to him, digging her fingers into his thick shoulders, licking a line up his neck, lifting his mask for a peek at his face. She closed her eyes, reveled in the fantasy…and saw Weston.

  The wrong face. The wrong daydream.

  A-freaking-gain.

  She whipped her eyes open, searched the stage for the man she was allowed to crush on. Falcon was safe. He was infatuation material. His gaze suddenly locked on hers, and the song screeched to a stop.