Maxon jumps on my train of thought a split second later and barks out a low laugh. “Oh, Britta will hate my guts for agreeing to this.”
But my brother does agree. That’s what’s important right now. “I’ll make her very happy in the end.”
“You can’t walk away from her this time. I’ll kill you myself,” he vows.
“That’s absolutely the last thing on my mind, I promise you.”
“So you really still have feelings for her?”
“Yes.” I don’t have to think about it. I know. In fact, I knew the second our eyes met last night. Whatever she once felt for me may have utterly chang
ed, but despite the years and my parade of faceless flings, I love Britta. I’ve always loved her. I was too stubborn and too stupid to tell her that when we were together. For now, I can only add that to my pile of regret.
“We converted your former office into a storage and conference room, but we could do without it for a while.”
I smile. “Excellent. You know, Sheila is having a grandbaby soon,” I say of my assistant. “She’s been eager to visit her son and daughter-in-law in Seattle. I think she’s earned some time off.”
“A month or two ought to do it.” Maxon laughs.
Of being in the same office with Britta and of her being my assistant, too? “Agreed.”
If I have her in my sights all day, I can work on her slowly. Maybe we’ll tackle projects and have lunch together. I’ll look for opportunities to see her after hours. Once I meet Jamie, I will insist we do things as a family…and encourage our natural connection until she no longer has any interest in marrying another man and raising our son with him.
“We just have to secure the listing first,” Maxon points out. “Can you show up about eight thirty? I’ll go over the preso with you. We’ll figure out how to split it up, then make our pitch at ten. I think George and Vivienne Stowe will be pleasantly surprised.”
I hope. Since I fucked it up yesterday, I’d definitely like to make them happy clients now. “Perfect. Maybe you can ask Britta to help me clear out my former office afterward so I can move in again?”
“I could do that. I really hope it works out for you two.”
“Thanks. Once you’ve spoken to her, I’ll take it from there.”
“Cool. Now that we’ve got business behind us, um…have you talked to Keeley lately?”
“Last night. Nothing has changed since you and I met over dessert.”
“I wish I could talk to her.” My brother sounds glum that he can’t.
“Don’t rush her, man. That’s not how she works.”
“I know.”
And he clearly doesn’t like it.
“There’s every chance she’ll come around. Don’t worry. I’m supposed to talk to her later, so I’ll keep you posted. If nothing else, I have to pay her back for the CD of music she left in my car.”
At that, Maxon laughs. “That woman and her songs… Do I dare ask?”
I fill him in on the first few tunes she laid on the disc. “Then it got worse. You’re better with music than me. She passed on this damn tearjerker, ‘Pictures of You?’”
“The Cure?”
I’m vaguely familiar with that band. When we were kids, we had a Goth babysitter who was obsessed. “Yeah. But this version was stripped down. All acoustic.”
And poignant as hell. Stab me now with the lyrics. Something about remembering her standing in the rain and running to her to be near. Yeah. I close my eyes, imagining that. Fuck. The next verse I see all too clearly, too. Her falling into my arms, crying for the death of her heart. I remember that awful morning we split up so sharply it eviscerates me even now. My anger, my righteous sense of betrayal, my need to lash out.
I wish I could take every bit of it back and that Britta and I could go on as if it never happened.
But it’s way too late for that.
“Huh, you’ll have to share that version,” Maxon suggests. “I’d like to give that a listen. What other songs? Because I know she left you more than a handful. That’s how Keeley rolls.”
“I had to turn it off after that wrist-slashing emo ballad. I’ll try the CD again later.”
I couldn’t handle more after seeing Britta and leaving her house feeling infuriated, slightly defeated, and worried like hell I’d never have the chance to tell her I’m sorry, that I still love her, or that I want to make her happy. She’s not ready to hear any of that now.
Did she give Makaio a celebratory fuck last night? Or fuck him as a fuck you to me? If I let myself believe that, I’ll only add to my growing fear that I’m going to be miserable for the rest of my life. I blame myself mostly…but I kind of blame Keeley, too. Before her, I was an emotionless bastard and I weathered any twinges of sadness with booze and pussy. It’s hardly an original tactic, but it was effective enough. Now? That shit won’t fly anymore.
“When you listen to the rest, brace yourself,” Maxon recommends.
“Yeah.” Even now, I’m working like hell to tamp my shit down. But I feel it simmering just under the surface. “See you in a couple hours.”
I’ll see Britta then, too. I hope she doesn’t rip my balls off before I can make her understand.
I arrive at Maxon’s office—in the building we used to share—at ten minutes before eight. It’s like déjà vu parking in the lot I shared with my brother for over six years. I see he’s already here. He’s doesn’t lease the same car he did when we were partners, and I will totally have to rib him about driving his SUV day to day. I own one, too. I can’t show property in a two-seater. Admittedly, his Range Rover convertible number is pretty sweet. But…
As I climb out of the car with my coffee and briefcase, I shove my phone in my pocket and lock up, then stride for the front door. I see the tall wooden sign in the grass out front. It used to have a white background where we had REED BROTHERS PROPERTY ASSOCIATES carved out and painted a really flashy, masculine blue. Maxon didn’t replace the sign, just covered it with a canvas he’s tied to the legs, so it reads MAXON MAUI REALTY. I snort. I thought it was a stupid name when I first heard it. I think it’s a stupid name now.
I’ll be sure to rib him about that, too.
Most of all, I don’t see anyone else in the lot. We’ll have a few minutes before Britta arrives.
I push the door open, and Maxon looks up from his desk. It’s still the same furniture in the same location. I’ve seen this sight a hundred times, but seeing it again now is like a revelation. A homecoming. I smile.
Damn, it feels good to be back. In fact, I feel more like me than I have in years.
“Morning,” I call out.
“Bro…” He goes back to tapping on his keyboard as furiously as he’s able.
I take a sip of my brew as I approach and drop into the chair opposite his desk. “I see you’re still a lousy typist.”
He lifts one hand from the computer long enough to flip me off. “I see you’re still an insufferable asshole.”
I grin. “Oh, I haven’t even started yet. Let’s talk about that mom-mobile you’re driving.”
“That’s a nice fucking vehicle,” he argues.
I scoff at him in mocking tones. “Sure, if I was taking a passel of kids to school on my way to join the ladies’ coffee klatch before my run to the grocery store…”
“Bite my ass. At least I’m not driving an overpriced phallic symbol that looks like compensation for what I don’t have behind my fly.”
I bark out a laugh. “What’s behind my fly has never been the problem. You’re a Reed. You should know that.”
“Okay, true enough. Besides, I think your ‘personal number’ is even scarier than mine.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I have no doubt he’s right. “So, what do you want to tackle first?”
Maxon sips his coffee and puts on his older-brother