Had To Make You Mine

by Kat Long

  Looking up, she mouthed thank you before sitting at her desk with a wink and leaning to open a drawer. There was a noticeable red, raised bite on her neck. Fuck, that was sexy, seeing my mark on her, my claim. Her eyes met mine, so I touched my neck and raised one eyebrow in my best Sean Connery impression. She immediately fixed her hair and sat down, sending another wink my way.

  Feeling lighter than I had Sunday, my fingers flew across my keyboard, finishing several emails and compiling events. Before I knew it, morning turned to afternoon, and my cell rang with an all too familiar tune. With a sigh, I answered, stepping around my desk to shut the door.

  “Father.”

  “Maxwell,” his voice was crisp, and he said my name like it was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of speaking first, so the silence dragged on until I heard a sharp breath.

  “Your mother asked me to call you.”

  “Please tell her you fulfilled your obligation. Now, if there’s nothing else,” I said, taking off my glasses and laying them on my desk so I could rub my eyes.

  “Don’t take that tone with me. We both agreed it’s time for this charade to stop. Nicole has kept your penthouse in pristine condition in anticipation of your return. The firm will overlook your recent behavior and allow you to practice if you wish. You will book a return flight no later than…”

  “Stop, Father. Enough,” I interrupted, running my fingers through my hair and pacing the floor, feeling the familiar rage course through my veins. My speech and tone reverted to proper, professional, cold, and disciplined, everything my father valued.

  “I beg your pardon. Do not forget who you are speaking to,” he barked.

  “I forget nothing. I’m not coming back. Nicole and I are through. I relinquished the apartment to her to do with it as she wished. I do not wish to speak or see her again.” I paused and dug my knuckle in my eye, preparing my next words carefully. “Father, I hate we parted on difficult terms. Perhaps—”

  “Perhaps you will do your duty as a Smerdon and to this family and not be a disgrace like your brother!”

  “A disgrace? Warren is anything but that. You are a disgrace for disowning your son! You are a disgrace because you value your social status over both of your sons’ happiness. And I’m a disgrace for letting you and Mother control me for so long.”

  The anger dissipated as the words sunk in. I was a disgrace. I was in a situation of my making, undeserving of Annaleigh’s time and affection.

  Pity? Party of one, right this way.

  “Maxwell!”

  “I’m sorry, Father. This conversation is over.” I hung up the phone and sagged into my chair. A blinking icon caught my attention on the bottom of my laptop screen.

  Annaleigh.Mackey: Lunch?

  Annaleigh.Mackey: Lunch?

  Annaleigh.Mackey: I’m bringing you lunch. Back soon.

  Damn, I missed her messages. Her ability to compartmentalize was inspiring. I wish I could do the same. Thinking about her helped the anger melt from my mind, clearing my vision. She was the sweet to my surly, the shade on my sunny day, the ice to my bourbon.

  A knock interrupted my train of thought.

  “Max?”

  “Come in.”

  “Here’s a late lunch for you. How was the rest of your weekend? Er, um…”

  Her voice trailed off, and she nibbled on her lower lip, placing the containers on my desk.

  “Thank you. It was fine. What did you bring?”

  “Mozzarella Caprese sandwich with a garden salad. Hope that’s alright. I got a turkey on rye. Please take that if you’d rather. I was going to give you the choice but didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “This is perfect. One of my favorites, Annaleigh,” I said, opening the container.

  “Okay, I’ll leave you to it. Remember, you have an eight o’clock meeting tomorrow and lunch with Jake,” she said, walking around my desk to hand me a bottle of water.

  When she sat it down, I saw the mark again. Reaching out, I traced it with my fingers, running my other hand along her thigh.

  “I’m sorry, Blue,” I said, pulling her hair so it covered the mark again.

  “I’m not,” she answered before touching her finger to her lips and walking out.

  - 15 -

  DOUBT QUESTIONS

  Annaleigh

  The weeks dragged on.

  Max was over-the-top professional, exactly what I asked for from him. But whenever he thought I wasn’t looking, I felt the heat of his gaze. Our touches lingered, our eyes smoldered, and my resolve was crumbling.

  We were leaving for the conference in Tennessee Sunday morning, and thinking about spending the entire week with Max had me on edge. My nerves vibrated when he was near. He had taken over every empty corner of my mind.

  On Friday, I got to the office first and put a quart of strawberries on Jake and Elaine’s desk and coffee on Max’s, taking a moment to glance around before I sat at my desk to peel an orange and reply to emails. Jake walked by and gave me a two-fingered wave before disappearing into his office for a call, tapping his watch to remind me we had a meeting afterward.

  Nodding and adjusting the paper stacks on my desk, my eyes landed on the white envelope Uncle Bob sent me in the mail. I slid the letter-opener under the seal and removed the check and note with a groan. I hated getting these checks, and I hated how guilty they made me feel.

  Annaleigh,

  Use this check as a reminder of how strong and talented you are.

  Spend the money.

  Do what makes you happy. Music heals.

  Love,

  Uncle Bob

  I read the note twice and stared at the check, popping another slice in my mouth and thinking about what happened.

  After Bird’s accident, I got drunk. Really drunk. I wrote song after song, telling our story. It started as a cathartic release to get over what happened. The words poured out of me like the bourbon I drank. One drunken Twitter contest, a trip to California, and two double-platinum albums later, and I was left with nothing but guilt. I had exploited our life, our music, and Bird’s pain. I didn’t deserve the royalties. Running my fingers over Uncle Bob’s note, I folded the check and tucked it in my purse.

  Hearing Jake’s heavy footfalls brought me back to the present. He stopped in front of my desk and smiled.

  “How have you been feeling, Annaleigh? Is everything ready for Sunday?”

  “I’ve been good. Thanks, Jake. More tired than usual, but this will help,” I said, holding up the orange. “The car will pick us up that morning, and our flight leaves at eleven o’clock. All our Elite Passes are active, and we have that evening free before Monday. I emailed you and Max an updated itinerary earlier. No major changes. Are you sure you’re okay flying? We can always drive.”

  “I’ll be fine, thanks. I want to make sure we’re rested for Monday, and an eight-hour car ride is not the way to do that. Remind me when…”

  “I’ll meet you at the baseball field Saturday to drop Baxter off. I appreciate Katie and the kids watching him.”

  “No problem, you know they love to spoil him. My Martin D-15M will be delivered this afternoon. Are you good to sign for it?” Jake said with a smile.

  “Do you even have to ask? You know I’ll be glad to sign, as long as I can open and tune it for you, to make sure it arrived in pristine condition, of course,” I said, my fingers tingling thinking about the delivery.

  He’d ordered another acoustic guitar and had it shipped to the office, hoping to slip it by Katie. But she knew exactly what he was doing and only acted blissfully unaware.

  Jake knew most of my history with music, having played at B’s a time or two with his jam band, Wulfe. He wore dark clothes and sunglasses when he played. Katie thought it was hilarious, telling him it was unlikely he would
see a client, at midnight, in a bar.

  “Ha, you know it. I’m out for the afternoon. See you Sunday,”

  “Sure thing. Thanks, Jake.”

  By late afternoon, the office was empty, and I felt that familiar tingle at the base of my spine. On top of lyrics sticking, I was getting the itch to play more these days. Maybe Max was what I needed to breakthrough my guilt.

  Nope, not going there.

  While I waited for the delivery, I stepped into Max’s office to water his plants. He handled the renovations like a pro, choosing to keep the sleek black desk and matching table, but adding a soft gray couch on the opposite wall and new high-back leather chairs. It was all hard edges and clean lines, matching his personality. I smiled and moved a letter opener from one corner of his desk to the other, wondering if he would notice, then watered his dragon trees and evergreen, noticing they had fresh fertilizer.

  He’d love my terrace. I had it divided into four sections: flowers, fruit, ivy, and succulents. There was also a large hammock that I loved to lie in and read. I closed my eyes, and for a second, I could picture Max and me laying together in the hammock, sharing a bottle of chilled wine, watching the stars, and talking. I’d love to know about his family, his hobbies, his favorite foods, his likes, his dislikes, and his ticklish spots.

  Damnit.

  The buzz on my desk was a welcome distraction, and I thanked Charlie for the call before meeting the UPS driver at the elevator and signing for the guitar.

  I was a glutton for punishment, taking the package and walking back into Max’s office just to feel close to him and be near his space. But he had the most comfortable office chair, high back, and black leather with plenty of spring for leaning back to stretch and to play.

  I sat down and carefully opened the guitar. The fretboard was polished heavy wood, and the color was a deep mahogany brown. I ran my fingers up and down each steel string, tuning, listening, breathing in the sounds. The strings should be replaced soon with the guitar being so new, but for now, I couldn’t wait to play.

  Music was a language ingrained in my soul, and strumming the strings was oddly hypnotic, a place I could get lost in the notes and melody. Uncle Bob was right. Music was a place where I could heal. Maybe Bird’s accident wasn’t my fault.

  I began in A-minor, listening as the sounds washed over me and feeling at peace. Softly singing, I started with Cat Stevens’ Wild World and moved onto Something by The Beatles.

  Closing my eyes, I played Dave Matthews Band next, swaying slowly as the words to Crash flowed then morphed to Crush soon after. Maybe that’s what this was with Max. Just a crush that had gotten out of hand. Way out of hand.

  Damnit.

  “You’re beautiful,” said a quiet and all too familiar voice from the doorway.

  I had a hard time sharing this part of me with anyone. And now, Max was standing at the door, staring at me like I had just bared my soul to him. Maybe I had.

  “Don’t stop,” he stepped into the room and walked closer. “Please. Keep going. You look… Sound… Sing, Blue.”

  I didn’t answer. Instead, I closed my eyes again and switched to F, playing one of my grandfather’s favorites, Blue Gardenias, by Nat King Cole. I could feel him coming closer, his presence thickening the air in the room. But something was different. There was no nervousness, no worries. I felt at peace. I played the last chord and opened my eyes, smiling.

  “How long have you been playing?” he asked, coming closer and bending down in my space. Max was looking at me like he’d never seen me before. And he hadn’t, not this side.

  “Um. Since before I could walk.”

  “Why are you blushing, Blue? Do you not want me here?”

  “Yes. No. It’s rare I play in front of anyone anymore. Mostly, I listen and sometimes write.”

  “Why?” he asked, leaning against the desk. The guilt tightened like a vice in my chest, but Max reached out and traced his fingers up my arm. His touch was soothing, calming, and I leaned into him.

  “I was in a band, years ago,” I said, laying the guitar back in the case. “My best friend had an accident during our last show one summer, collapsing on stage. I was too caught up in the music to see the warning signs.”

  I looked down at the floor, then out the window. Anywhere but those bourbon eyes. But talking to him, my thoughts flowed freely, like something inside of me recognized something inside of him. Something familiar, something that calmed my mind and soothed the guilt.

  “You blame yourself?” he said, leaning closer. He wasn’t judging, wasn’t offering advice, and wasn’t trying to fix anything. He was just here, listening, giving me what I needed. I’d missed his touch, so I leaned in. As if he knew, his fingers started the pattern again, tracing up and down my arm.

  “Yes, and no. I blame myself, and I blame the music,” I said. “If I hadn’t been so caught up in the next show, the next song, the next lyric, I could have seen the signs. I feel like it was a deciding moment in my life. A sign to show me consequences.”

  “I don’t know, Blue. Maybe it was just an accident. But you shouldn’t stop doing something that makes you as happy as you look now,” he said, looking at the way my hands caressed the strings in the case.

  “I understand the hurt, but you can’t let it define your life. You can’t let it define your happiness. Trust me, don’t let it consume you.” He traced his knuckles along my jaw, and I sighed, moving closer.

  “What if I don’t deserve it, Max?” My words were a whisper, a plea, a desperate attempt to move on from the past and to a future with him by my side.

  “You deserve it, Annaleigh,” he said, brushing his thumb against my lips.

  This moment would stick with me. This man was not the wrong decision, and he was not someone I could walk away from either. I wanted to hear his hurt, hear his story, and hear his heart. And I wanted him to hear mine. Somehow, I wanted to give us a chance.

  “You deserve everything, Blue. Deserve more than me.”

  “Max. I think I made a mistake. With you, with us.”

  “Maybe Blue. But you need to be sure.”

  With those words, he kissed my forehead and then the corner of my lips, letting his strong, long fingers run through my hair. He didn’t break eye contact this time, and I wanted nothing more than for him to open his arms so he could hold me, so I could feel his strength surround me.

  But I was the one that said no. He was respecting my wishes, my mistake. Not knowing what else to say, I watched him walk away.

  “I’ll see you Sunday. I’ll be the one in jeans,” he said, stopping at his office door and turning around.

  “And I’ll be the one in blue. Good night, Max.”

  - 16 -

  WHISK ME AWAY

  Max

  A high-pitch, soft whistling roused me from my daydream as the plane made its descent into Nashville. During the short flight, Annaleigh dozed off, resting her head on my shoulder. The soft whistling was coming from her nose as she slept, and her hand rested on my thigh. I squeezed her lightly and brushed my thumb over her knuckles, “Baby. Wake up.”

  “Humm. Five more, Max. Not sleeping well.”

  Why wasn’t she sleeping? Was she as restless as me? Honestly, I selfishly hoped so. These last weeks had been torture. Getting serious with someone was not something I had planned, and if I was honest, we’re not serious, yet. Her desire to keep everything professional stayed at the forefront of my mind.

  But her skirts kept getting shorter, and every time we talked, I learned more, fell harder. She was like a drug, and my world revolved around getting another hit.

  Her book laid open on her lap, and judging from the paragraph I saw earlier, she likes to read contemporary romance—sexy, dirty, romance. I adjusted myself in the small airplane seat as she snuggled in closer, burying her hand under my Henley to stroke the dark hair on
my abdomen.

  Fuck, she felt better than I remembered.

  When the car pulled in front of her house this morning, and I saw her in leggings and a baseball shirt, my resolve crumbled. She had an orange juice in her hand and her hair tied in a messy bun. I wanted to claim her lips. Consequences be damned.

  “Come on, Blue. Open your eyes.” I shook her lightly, and her slender fingers scraped hard across my stomach as she stretched her legs. I thrusted my hips up, hoping she got the memo before the entire plane saw what was happening in my jeans.

  “What? Oh, Max, I fell asleep,” she said, looking around. Her hand stayed underneath my shirt, and I was afraid to move, not wanting her to take it away.

  “Yeah, I figured that out. We’ll be landing shortly,” I said, reaching out to twirl a strand of hair that had fallen loose from her bun. I had to touch her. This fucking sucked.

  “Oh. Right. Sorry, I’m not sleeping well.” She removed her hand from under my shirt and pulled it back down in an oddly intimate gesture. Her eyes didn’t reach mine as she stretched her arms up over her head. I got a tantalizing peek at her toned stomach before she lowered them and looked around. Jake was in front of us, and our other partners weren’t arriving until mid-week.

  “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, facing the window and biting on her thumbnail. I reached over and took her hand in mine so she would look at me.

  “Why not?” I asked again.

  “Because talking about it won’t fix anything.” She was vague on purpose. I could see it in her eyes, in her face.

  “Why not?”

  “You are infuriating. You know that, right?” she said, pulling her hand away and straightening her bun.

  “Maybe I’m just trying to get to know you a little better.” I shrugged my shoulders and took a sip of water, passing over her orange juice.

  “Well, don’t,” she said, finishing the bottle. I watched her throat swallow and her pulse flutter. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be short, Max.”

  “So make it up to me and tell me why not?”