More Than Need You (More Than Words 2)

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