More Than Need You (More Than Words 2)

The counteroffers fly back and forth, Lian signing with legal authority on behalf of the buyer’s corporation. The Stowes push for a sooner close. After all, a bunch of their inheritance is tied up in this place until it’s officially sold and money changes hands. But the mystery buyer is firm. On May seventh, he will close. That’s nonnegotiable. In exchange, he agrees, after a lot of haggling, to come up to twenty-five-point-eight million. Not a penny more. At four p.m. Hawaii time, which I know is six hours later in Vermont, the deal is finally done.

“Let’s go out for a drink!” Maxon says about three seconds later. “I’ll call Keeley. We should raise a glass or two. This is great money we didn’t have to work terribly hard for.”

“Amen.” I slap him on the back.

Rob is definitely in. If it involves quitting early and imbibing, he’s all for it. “Where to?”

Only Britta demurs. “Thanks for the offer. I’d rather use this time at home to—”

“Nope.” My brother isn’t having any of her excuses. Good. I’m not, either. Maxon protesting thankfully saves me from being the bad guy today. “You’re part of the team. We celebrate together.”

Despite my silence, she shoots me a glare—about the hundredth for the day. I do my best to ignore it, hiking back to my desk to grab my car keys and shut down my computer. Through the internal window, I see Britta grab Maxon by the elbow and drag him into his office.

I can write the script on this conversation. I’m forcing her to move in with me. She already has to put up with me in the office all day and now under one roof all night. She doesn’t want to socialize with the same rat bastard who will only end up fucking up her life seven ways from Sunday again, etc.

This is when it pays to know my brother. He can be both persuasive and stubborn. In less than two minutes, he’s shaking his head, patting her shoulder, and leaving his office. Britta stomps out, looking ready to take off someone’s head, preferably mine.

“Ready, angel?” By the front door, I toss my keys up and catch them as if I don’t have a care in the world. “Let’s get your suitcases and boxes into my Escalade.”

Yes, I drove it today. I also installed a snazzy new car seat in the backseat early this morning. I’m a dad now. Jamie is going to be spending plenty of time with me. We’ll be going on adventures. We’re going to be close. I’ll damn well work hard to be the dad he needs.

And I know Britta. Wherever Jamie is…she won’t be far behind.

She insists on taking her own car. Fine. If it makes her feel more in control of the situation, I have no problem with that.

We all arrive at a nearby bar/restaurant on the ocean that serves greasy food and good times. Best of all, it’s less than half a mile from Jamie’s daycare.

Rob’s live-in girlfriend, Alania, joins us. She’s quiet and pretty, a good foil for the brash asshole we share an office with. Maxon arrives a few minutes later since he had to pick up Keeley to bring her over. They come in hand in hand, looking ridiculously in love. Their smiles are contagious. A ghost of something soft and envious plays at Britta’s mouth.

I rise to hug my bestie. “Hey, gorgeous.”

“Get the fuck away from my girl,” Maxon grouses.

We laugh as Keeley hugs me back, then whispers in my ear. “You all right? Britta looks like she wants to kill me right now.”

“She’s right, bro. It’s going to take a lot of fast-talking to keep you from crashing and burning with her.”

I pull back and fist-bump my brother, glad my angel can only see my back. “It will be a bumpy ride for a while, but I’ll work it out.” Then I turn back to Keeley. “I need to talk to you when Britta isn’t around. I need a huge favor.”

Keeley smiles. “You got it.”

We break apart and sit at a couple of small tables Rob pushed together. Maxon and I maneuver Keeley and Britta beside one another and exchange a glance. We’re both hoping like hell that they become friends. Britta and Tiffanii barely tolerated each other, and that made for an uncomfortable Super Bowl party, tense cookouts, and a really crappy Fourth of July.

Everyone orders a drink and some appetizers. The place isn’t crowded since it isn’t yet five o’clock, so the silence, other than Rob speculating about the buyer’s identity, is telling. Britta looks so taut, glancing at her phone and completely ignoring everyone, especially Keeley and me.

As soon as the waitress sets down our first round, Keeley swallows back some of her Crown and Coke, then shifts to face Britta head on. “I’ve never slept with Griff. I don’t have any interest in hitting the sheets with him, either. Never have. You don’t have anything to worry about from me.”

I look over Britta’s head at my bestie and I have to restrain a laugh. Well, that’s one way to break the ice.

“I never said I…” Britta shakes her head. “What you and my ex have or haven’t done doesn’t make any difference to me.”

I sense Keeley resisting the urge to give my angel a disapproving frown. She’s pretty good at spotting lies, and I personally think this one is a whopper. If the tables were turned and Keeley was talking to me, she would give me a thorough dressing down. But I respect that she’s not completely jumping on Britta all at once. Her opening maneuver probably feels like a headlock, but at least she didn’t go for the body slam, too.

Keeley raises a dubious brow at Britta. “Did you know that I first met him because he was seeing a psychotherapist to try to work through his problems? He was a real mess.”

Oh, shit. I didn’t want her to spring that on Britta.

“What?” Britta turns to me with a frown. “You?”

I’m sure it’s a shock that I was volunteering to talk about my feelings—or even admit I had them.

“Briefly. I only saw Dr. Wilson for a couple of weeks.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat. This is not how I wanted to start my first evening with Britta.

“His stint in her office wasn’t brief because Griff didn’t need more therapy,” Keeley clarifies. “He totally did. When he first arrived in the office, he’d barely slept in four months. His focus was shot and—”

“It was a patch of stress. That’s all. I got over it without Dr. Wilson’s ‘help,’” I cut in before Keeley makes me sound any more like a head case.

“You’re a liar. Zip it. This is my story,” she scolds, then turns back to Britta. “Griff was suffering from way more than stress, and he was an absolute asshole.”

Britta’s face tightens with an acid smile. “That I can believe. Some things never change.”

“He used to storm out of his therapy sessions because Dr. Wilson was too clinical and—”

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nbsp; “She had the compassion of a steaming pile of shit,” I set the record straight.

“I’ll give you that,” Keeley murmurs with a nod. “Anyway, I overheard in his sessions that he was also suffering from an erratic heartbeat and what he called ‘periods of anxiousness.’ He was working twenty hours a day and picking up a new bed partner every three or four days, so I—”

Britta chokes on her wine, then shoots a stunned look over her shoulder at me. Her expression says that I’m the devil. “Are you serious?”

I glare at Keeley, silently asking what the hell kind of friend are you? “You’re distressing Britta.”

She gives me her most innocent expression. It’s utter bullshit. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

Of course, I plan to tell Britta everything about our time apart, including my “number,” but not until she’s ready to know. When she finally asks, I’ll make it clear that every single one of those women meant nothing to me. It’s the truth. But until then,