Page 79 of The Beat Match

That reality had slithered around his neck the past week. A python of despair. He couldn’t take a breath without missing Annie. He couldn’t touch his mixing equipment without hearing her playful voice ringing in his ears. He was performing tonight, his last appearance as Falcon, but he’d barely reviewed his set or the video montage. Thoughts of her were in his bed, his heart, his mind, screaming at him to fight for her. Get her back. But he kept replaying her out-of-the-blue phone call. The distress in her voice.

The way he’d immediately shut down.

He’d been so quick to believe her change of heart. Not just believe. His initial reaction had been relief. Selfish, short-sighted, idiotic relief. Several deep breaths free from worrying about how far he’d fall if he lost her down the road.

Then reality had crashed in on him.

“You’re weak,” his father said. “Always have been. Ruled by your emotion.”

“How is working myself to death being ruled by emotion?”

“You don’t work to put Aldrich Pharma on the map. You work as an escape. You work so you don’t have to feel. Emotion drives that, son. Not determination.”

He wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t exactly right. “I’ve used work as a crutch. It’s been an outlet for me for as long as I can remember. That doesn’t change the fact that Aldrich Pharma has always been my priority.”

“Not enough of a priority. Not when it counted.”

Weston pushed to his feet and steepled his fingers on his desk, leaning forward just enough. “Do you know why I let you treat me like I’m gum under your Berluti shoes?” His father’s left cheek twitched, but he didn’t reply. “Because I loved Mom. Because she was strong and kind, and I know how much she loved me. She also loved you, and I know losing her turned what little warmth you had to ash, which always made me sad. I let you behave like a brute because I pity you.”

His father’s mouth twisted. “Your mother didn’t raise you to be disrespectful.”

Weston’s muscles tensed, a jaguar poised before he leapt. Or a mutant jaguar-squirrel. Thinking of Annie’s ridiculous jokes pained him, but his father’s jab sharpened his focus.

No, Weston’s mother hadn’t raised him to be disrespectful. She’d raised him to say please and thank you and to think of the larger world around them. When his life was insular, ripe with wealth and fortune, she’d gifted him with compassion. She’d ensured he’d had outlets and interests to level him, and he’d dishonored her memory by denying how important DJing had become in his life.

He looked at Victor’s thick gray hair, his chiseled jaw and sharp suit, so much like his own. Weston really looked at this unforgiving man and said what he should have said years ago, “I’m a DJ.”

The lines around his father’s aging eyes compressed. “You’re a what?”

“A DJ, like Leo wanted to be. I spin music and play in clubs, and I’m pretty damn good. I’ve been doing it for years and didn’t tell you because I knew you’d panic. Fire me, likely. Or the board would get spooked, worried about investor backlash. But hiding my music was the wrong choice. Mom didn’t teach me to be disrespectful, as you so nicely pointed out. She taught me to respect you, even though you’ve been an overbearing bully since she died. She taught me there’s a bigger world out there than Aldrich Pharma. Which means there are other jobs, too. People who’ll hire me because I’m good at what I do, even if I’m in the music scene as well.”

Annie left jobs she didn’t like, flipped the pages on half-finished puzzles, because they’d lost their fun. Her laissez-faire attitude had frustrated Weston, but maybe his irritation had been jealousy. As important as Aldrich Pharma was to Weston, as much as he’d hate to leave it in someone else’s hands and worry about the workers under its employ, losing Annie wasn’t the only reason he’d been a mess this week. Work fulfilled him, but DJing did, too. He’d been quick to think he could walk away. Close that chapter of his life. He hadn’t accounted for the edgy void growing at the prospect.

“You’ll quit that…music stuff,” his father said, vehement. “The board doesn’t need to know.”

Weston rounded his desk with measured steps, walked to his door, and yanked it open. “I’m not changing for you or anyone. I won’t date a woman to secure a business deal, or stoop to DLP’s level of scum. I won’t quit DJing. So you can deal with this reality or you can fire me, as you’ve threatened. The choice is yours.”

His father’s nostrils flared. “If you lose your job, it’ll be because you screwed up this merger. Even without Rosanna, you should have sealed this deal.”

He should have. The failure wouldn’t go down easy. But DLP was the culprit, not Weston. “Whatever happens, I’ll deal with it. But we’re done here.”

His father stood his ground, cheek twitching, temple pulsing, the air around him thick with unspoken censure. Weston matched the man’s obstinate pose. With a final scowl, Victor marched past his son and out the door.

Weston stared after him, breathing hard.

“I’m proud of you.” Marjory appeared in his line of vision. “That was a brave thing to do, and I’m curious about this DJ development.”

“He’s going to fire me,” he said, ignoring her DJ comment. Adrenaline leached out gradually, leaving Weston weary, but no less committed to his decision.

“He might surprise you. But the bigger question is why did you break up with Annie?”

“I didn’t.” There was that python again, twisting around his constricting throat. He may not have initiated their break-up, but he’d instigated their downfall. The only explanation for her about-face had been his distance prior to her call. His internal freaking out had undermined their relationship. Instead of letting her in, he’d shut her out. He was to blame. Or she truly didn’t love him the way he loved her. He wasn’t sure which option was worse.

Marjory crossed her arms, sending the shoulders of her orange blazer toward her ears. “Do you keep me on staff as a courtesy?”

He didn’t reply.

“Do you think I’m bad at my job?”