And ironically, he’d lied to her. A lie by omission was still a lie. Maybe worse because of its intrinsic cowardice.
Harry. No one ever in his life had called him Harry.
Oh God, he had to stop thinking about her.
It was one thing to cling to the mysterious woman and that charged night like a lifeboat while waiting to find out if his sister was alive or dead, but they were returning to the real world. Real life.
And in real life he was Harrison Montgomery, the favorite son of a fifth-generation political family out of Atlanta. And in three months about to be a congressman. The representative in the House for Georgia’s fifth congressional district.
His father was finishing up his last term as governor of Georgia, and appropriately going down with the sinking boat of corruption and scandal that had been his life’s work.
And in order to wipe the mud off his family name, to return some pride to his sister and himself and future Montgomery generations, Harrison’s role, his mission, was to be without weakness. To give no rumors the chance to find foothold, no reporter trying to make his name even the slightest whiff of scandal.
And his night with Ryan to the outside eye was nothing but scandalous.
That night was an anomaly. Best forgotten.
He took a deep breath. Another. Stretched his hands out and then made fists. Pushed his messy, dirty hair back into some kind of order, straightened his dirty tie. Bit by bit he found himself back in control of himself. His body. His thoughts.
Ashley was safe. She was here.
Ryan was forgotten.
And he was Harrison Montgomery, with a family dynasty settled comfortably, familiarly, on his back.
Brody returned and sat down in his seat.
“She’s sleeping again,” he said.
“That’s good.” Harrison flipped the page on the passport paperwork and began filling it out, his mind clear. His hand steady.
“You okay?” Brody asked.
“Fine,” he answered without looking up. “Just fine.”
Chapter 5
Wednesday, August 14
“The good news! It just keeps coming!” Wallace Jones, Harrison’s campaign manager, a whirlwind of spectacularly bad ties and genius brain cells, burst into Harrison’s office without knocking.
“I could use some good news,” Harrison said, sitting back from the dual, equally unappealing tasks of dealing with his mother and fundraising calls.
Financially, he was tapped out. Between getting his sister free and the campaign, he was running on fumes. And credit.
And his mother was here to harass him about Ashley.
So, yeah, he could use some good news.
“Poll numbers!” Wallace said, lifting a handful of papers into the air. “The Education Initiative is working; so is VetAid. We’re still up across all demographics. We’re spanking Glendale in women under fifty, minorities, and college students.”
Harrison left the jubilation to Wallace—he was far better suited for it. Punching the air felt stupid to Harrison. But the 100-proof relief poured through him all the same.
He allowed himself an unchecked smile and loosened his tie. Practically a party.
“College students don’t vote,” Patty Montgomery said.
Across his small office, on the large couch where he’d been spending far too many of his nights since getting his sister back on American soil, sat his mother, Patty Montgomery. Her black suit matched the black of the couch and the gray light from the window illuminated her in a strange way, and he had the brief impression of her sitting on a stage.
And despite having grown up in Manhattan, her Georgia accent with its Buckhead polish was flawless. She sounded local. Several generations of local.
Wallace whirled to see Patty—his enemy in so many ways—on the couch and tossed his hands up in the air. “Jesus, Harrison. How many times do I have to tell you having your mother here does not help our campaign? We are trying to distance ourselves from the mistakes your father has made.”
“Family issues, Wallace. Not political,” Harrison said, though Wallace was right. The education scandal, the housing market, unemployment skyrocketing, increasingly disturbing race relations in Atlanta—all of it Harrison was trying to fix. All of it happened on his father, Ted’s, watch.
“With your family it’s always political!” Wallace sat in the chair across from Harrison’s desk instead of flopping down on the couch, as was his usual practice, and glared at Patty. “I assume this is about your sister?”
“Ashley is safe. That’s all that matters.” Harrison was trying to finish the argument his mother seemed hell-bent on rehashing.
“All that matters?” She laughed, as if the safety and well-being of her only daughter was far down on her personal list of things that mattered. She ran a hand over her perfect, unmoving blond bob, the gold and diamond rings on her fingers gleaming, using all the meager light to her advantage. “You are running for Congress. Your father’s approval rating is at an all-time low, and she is somewhere pouting because I asked her to answer a few questions. Runs off with that man without a word to us? Tell me, how am I wrong?”
“That man’s name is Brody,” Harrison said.
After Harrison and Brody got Ashley back into New York City, Brody had then whisked her away somewhere to recuperate after Mother bullied Ashley with press conferences. Ashley, concussed with bruised ribs and recovering from severe dehydration, exhaustion, and probably PTSD, had not been up for press conferences.
“I knew going to him was a mistake.”
“He was the only choice we had. She’ll call us when she wants to.”
“Does this mean we can actually talk about business?” Wallace asked.
“Ah yes,” Mom said, putting on the Steel Magnolia routine, something she did only when she was truly angry or there was a journalist in the room. “The spectacular approval ratings among people who just don’t vote?”
“In the political stone age, that might have been true. But the world is changing, Patty.” Wallace was young and black, a political street fighter with very little respect for the old guard. Mother would never say it, but Wallace was her worst nightmare.
“Well, one thing doesn’t change,” Patty said. “Money. And Arthur Glendale is getting some big money from contributors. His media budget is three times ours.”
“And so far it hasn’t mattered,” Wallace said.
“You’re foolish if you think it won’t.” Patty got to her feet. “A million will barely keep us on the air.”
“I’m working on the money,” Harrison said, lifting the call sheets.
“There’s not a million on that list,” Patty said. “Not even close. So we need a miracle.”
“By miracle,” Harrison said, “you mean I need to get Ashley to show up to some campaign events. And I’ve already said I’m not doing it. She’s been through hell.”
“Your sister is a Montgomery,” Patty said. “She knows her responsibility, and I’m not sure why expecting her to be grateful for your part in getting her out of Somalia makes me the bad guy in this.”
Of course she didn’t.
“The press release about her kidnapping and rescue gave us a bump,” Harrison said. “Let’s just give her some time to heal.”
“You know,” Wallace said, sheepishly running a hand over his dark hair. “While I appreciate you wanting to protect your sister and I dislike agreeing with the Queen Mum, Arthur Glendale has pockets deeper than anyone has imagined, and without something to break up the media message that you are too young, too inexperienced, too rich, too goddamned Montgomery, and somehow too handsome to be a trusted public servant, you might lose what started as a shoo-in run for the House.”
“I thought you came in here with good news,” Harrison said.
“Your mom killed it.”
“Am I required to say it again?” Mother asked, holding out her arms. “All those problems would be solved if you were married.”
“It’s true,” she insisted. “If you were married, you would immediately be considered more substantial.”
Marriage was Mother’s Band-Aid. Respectability the solid wall she hid all the family sins behind.
“I can’t just pluck a woman out of thin air.”
“You’re not even looking,” she cried. “You’ve spent all your time in school or with VetAid and not enough starting a family. Waiting to fall in love is not helping your career.” Her tone conveyed quite clearly her derision toward love.
Harrison had no feelings about love, derisive or otherwise. He had no time and no energy to waste on chasing something he felt quite convincingly was not meant for him. Not meant for anyone in politics. Or his family.
Marriage and family were tools.
Love was a yeti.
He was thirty-one years old and this was his entire experience. His entire life. Since he’d turned twenty-two, every minute of every day was spent becoming who he was right now. Every turn in the road led him here. Not to a family, not to a wife, but to correcting his father’s mistakes. Making the Montgomery name something he could be proud of.
What else was he supposed to do but exactly this?
In the end, it didn’t matter how he got into office. All that mattered was that he got in.
“We’re in this and we’re leading in the polls. If the matter is more money, we’ll get more money. As for the Ashley miracle, I’ll ask,” Harrison said, bowing under the pressure because they were right. He looked like a kid standing next to Glendale. “When I get her on the phone. I will ask.”
“Well, will you look at that,” Wallace said, grinning at Mother. “Look what happens when we work together. We should channel our powers for good more often.”
Mother did not smile. She picked up her purse from the couch and slipped the strap over her shoulder. If there was a prototype for politician’s wife, Mother was it. Elegant, genteel, and calm. Stylish. Never flashy. Confident and contained. She gave the impression of still, deep waters. And even in his shabby, cluttered, crowded office that was basically just a cement box, she exuded a sense of Old World money.
There was a flash in his memory, the image of a woman in high leather boots and a thin tank top with a tattoo peeking over the edge.
Despite his efforts, he’d been unable to forget that night in New York City.
Raw. Rough. Unpolished.
Ryan had been the opposite of Patty Montgomery on a cellular level.
Perhaps that was why he’d been unable to stop thinking of her.
With effort, he refrained from smiling. Stopped that one flash from turning into a lightning storm of memory.
He stood and opened the door for his mother. Outside his office the campaign headquarters was crowded with staffers and interns, doing the hundreds of large and small tasks that made this campaign a real and tangible thing every day.
Outside the wide plate-glass windows was Peachtree and the downtown city center, cloaked in a gray rain. Mom’s car and driver were outside waiting for her.
Noelle, her assistant, waited outside the door like a loyal pet.
“I’ve told your secretary to put a Friday luncheon on your schedule for the twenty-third,” Patty said to Harrison.
“Fundraising?”
“Family.”
“Our family?” Family meals were not something that happened at the Governor’s Mansion. Not on Fridays. Not anytime.
“It’s an article for Southern Living,” Noelle supplied, glancing up from her iPad, where she seemed to have all her plans for world domination. “The Holiday edition.”
Right. The only reason his family would sit down at a table together was if there was a chance someone would take a picture. Mother was very good at making them look like a typical family, with family dinners and vacations to the shore and trips to amusement parks, when in reality they didn’t do any of those things without a camera crew making it happen.
“Distance, Harrison,” Wallace said. “We don’t need pictures of you and your dad standing arm-in-arm over a turkey, for God’s sake.”
“The magazine won’t come out until after the election,” Mother said. “And considering the way you’ve been tearing your father apart in speeches, a family photo shoot and article will go a long way toward showing there are no hard feelings.”
She meant publically. Because personally, it was far more than hard feelings between him and Ted—there was a cavern of disappointment and anger. Of disgust.
Some men were created in the image of their father. Harrison grew up in his father’s negative space. In the holes Ted had left behind. Harrison was who he was in spite of and to spite his father.
But Ted had clout and loyal followers—an Old World liberal guard that didn’t like Harrison, and it would do his career good to get them on his side.
Harrison glanced at Wallace, who after a moment shrugged.
“What time do you need me?” Harrison asked.
“All day. I’ve had your schedule cleared.” Mom glanced over her shoulder. “Goodbye, Wallace,” she said.
“I can’t come for lunch?” he asked.
“No.”
And with that Mother was gone, down the center aisle of the room, a warship sending smaller vessels—interns and staffers—scrambling out of her way.
“Your mother terrifies me,” Wallace said.
“You have a funny way of showing it.”
“It’s a very complicated fight-or-flight response. I can’t explain it. I feel that way around most women.”
Harrison smiled. Thought again of that tattoo and the long, silky brown hair falling over it, revealing and obscuring at the same time.
“Let’s get back to work,” Harrison said, walking back to his desk and the call sheets there. The destiny he’d been groomed for his entire life was waiting for him.
And there was no place in his destiny for that tattoo and the woman it belonged to.
Chapter 6
Sunday, August 18
The nausea woke her up. The nausea always woke her up. A greasy, sick pull from sound sleep, from pleasant dreams about money and being able to go a day without barfing.
It was all-consuming, the nausea. Like an untrained puppy who kept jumping up when it shouldn’t. Or a shitty friend with too much drama. It was, in fact, so paramount that it wasn’t until she opened her eyes that she realized she wasn’t in her own bed.
The ceiling was yellow and lacked the water stains from the time her upstairs neighbor left the sink running. Television news was on in the room and she didn’t have a TV in her apartment.
The bed was funny. The mattress uncomfortable and beneath the sheets, covered in plastic.
She lifted her hand to find an IV tube stuck in her vein.
Uh-oh.
“Hey. You’re awake.” It was her brother’s voice and she turned her head slowly, keeping the world steady, to find him sitting beside her bed.
“Hey,” she whispered. Joy bounced through her, momentarily pushing aside the dizziness and exhaustion. Wes. Her big brother, who’d braided her hair after Mom died and forged Dad’s signature on notes so she could skip school and go with him to Phillies games and showed up with pizza and milk at the end of the month when Dad’s check had been stretched so thin it could barely keep the lights on.
It had been a few months since she’d seen him and as usual, it was a shock. Wes was a shock.
He’d always been an intense guy, an explosive kid and teenager. A lesson in extremes, that was her brother. Slow to love, quick to fight. Short temper, long memory. Smart brain, stupid heart.
But this man version of him seemed … dangerous. As if the years had worn away the middle ground between his extremes. He was all or nothing. In or out. All of his filters were gone, and he sat beside her bed in a sea of palpable anger.
Wes turned and pointed a remote at the TV in the corner behind him, putting the news on mute.
She reached o
ut and touched his beard. Tugged it. An old welcome.
His lips curled in a familiar half-smile.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Flushing Hospital,” he said.
The world rolled off its anchors and her stomach pitched.
“You need to throw up?” he asked.
She breathed through her mouth until the wave passed. “No. I’m okay. It’s just strange being the one in the hospital bed,” she teased.
He smiled so sweetly at her. “It’s a little strange for me too, but it’s been a while since I was the one with the IV tubes.”
“Allen Hayes?” she asked, remembering the last fight that got him in the hospital.
“I had no idea his sister could pack such a punch.”
She ran a finger down the bumpy ridge of his nose. It had been broken more than once. He grabbed her hand and pressed his mouth to the back of it.
“Do you remember what happened?” Wes asked.
“You were coming to take me to dinner.” Excited, nervous, not exactly sure how she was going to break this insane news to her brother, she’d buzzed him up to her apartment, unlocked her door, and then run to the bathroom to vomit.
“I found you passed out on your bathroom floor. It looked like you’d vomited blood, so I called an ambulance,” he said.
Blood she remembered, but that was all.
Oh God. She put a hand to her stomach.
“Did I—?”
“You’re fine. Both of you.” She could hear it in his voice, the lecture he was dying to give her.
She blew out a long breath, trying to get the sudden spike of her heartbeat under control.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That must have been scary.”
“Well, it’s not a moment I want to relive anytime soon, seeing my sister passed out in a pool of blood. You hit your head on the corner of the sink. Split the skin over your ear and knocked yourself out.”
Indecent Proposal (Boys of Bishop) Page 5