by Andrea Kane
“So what did you do?”
Lane gave her a crooked grin. “Now’s the part where you’ll be thrilled. I told Monty he’d better make an honest woman out of Mom. He told me that was the plan.”
“Really?” Devon gripped her brother’s arms. “He said those exact words?”
“Sure did,” Monty confirmed, strolling in out of nowhere and snatching an artichoke off the salad. “And I meant them. Now all I need is a little time—and some privacy—to convince your mother.” He rolled his eyes, chomping on the artichoke. “And here I thought only little kids interrupted their parents at the wrong time and that grown-up kids had more smarts. Guess I was wrong. By the way, Dev, do a better job of locking your front door. Anyone could walk in.”
“Thanks for the tip,” she replied, fighting the urge to cheer. “I will.”
Monty sniffed. “Smells good. Your mother and I are starved. Oh, and cut the conversation. Our relationship is off-limits—the same way all of yours are. You know, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander, and all that. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to show your parents a little respect.” Whistling, he left the room.
Devon and Lane stared at each other and cracked up.
“We’re going to get a ton of mileage out of this one,” Devon gasped out, her shoulders shaking with laughter. “I don’t care how cavalier Monty’s pretending to be. He’ll move heaven and earth not to upset Mom during this courting stage. He knows how easily she embarrasses. The last thing he needs is for us to make sexual innuendos. He’ll be on his best behavior. For a while, anyway.”
“Damn straight,” Lane agreed. “That means no snide remarks about the women in my life having to take a number. And no sentry duty for you to face after spending a night with Blake.” Abruptly, Lane paused, a glint lighting his eyes.
“Uh-oh, I know that look.”
“You sure do.” A corner of his mouth lifted in a smug grin. “Like you said, this reprieve won’t last long. Especially since it’ll take Monty about a New York minute to convince Mom to remarry him. After that, it’ll be bye-bye leverage. We’d better strike now, while the iron’s hot.”
“You’ve got a suggestion about the best way to cash in our chips?”
“Not a suggestion. A brainstorm.”
From out in the foyer, Merry’s voice drifted in, mingling with her parents’. At the same time, the doorbell sounded, followed by a flurry of footsteps and three sets of barking—one deep, two slightly higher, but no less forceful.
“Chomper’s here,” Devon determined. “That’s his, Terror’s, and Scamp’s idea of saying hello and competing for the role of alpha male.”
“Chomper? Good. That means Blake’s here.” Lane grabbed the salad bowl and gestured for Devon to follow. “Time to eat.”
Devon opened the fridge, took out the tray of fresh fruit she’d prepared, and scooted after Lane. Whatever her brother was planning, she didn’t want to miss it.
“Finally,” Monty noted drily. He was standing next to the dining-room table, an arm draped around Sally’s shoulders. “I was about to send out for a pizza.”
“No need.” Devon set down the fruit tray. “I made enough even for you.” She bent down to pat Chomper, then turned to Blake, her gaze intimate. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself.” He caught her hand, pulled her closer, and kissed her. “Judging from whatever smells so great in that kitchen, I’m afraid I’m about to lose another contest.”
“I’m a gracious winner.”
“And a lousy loser,” Lane supplied, picking up the salad tongs and doling out leafy servings. “Don’t ever get into a card game with her, Blake. It’s a lose-lose situation.”
“That’s only because you’re such an arrogant winner,” Meredith retorted, jumping in with both feet. “No one can stand losing to you. You’re so…so…so male.”
Lane arched a brow. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”
“Yes,” Merry, Devon, and Sally said simultaneously.
They all laughed. Then, amid the guys’s sarcastic comebacks, everyone filed around the table to settle down and eat.
Devon took the opportunity to pull Blake aside.
He looked haggard. Then again, he’d had a hellish couple of weeks. Sixteen-hour workdays, seven days a week, with no hope of things letting up for months to come. Not to mention a barrage of mental, emotional, and financial pressure.
Right after Edward’s arrest, Blake had been named interim CEO of Pierson & Company. Under the most grueling of circumstances, he’d assumed responsibility for all the company’s day-to-day operations. His days were spent locked in nonstop closed-door meetings with outside counsel and public relations firms who’d been hired to manage the fallout from the impending allegations of improper business dealings. In the midst of this turmoil, he’d called an internal meeting of all Pierson employees, in which he’d tried to put the staff at ease about their job security, asking for their support during this stressful time. And then, finally, he’d broken away from the in-house pandemonium to jump on the corporate jet and make a whirlwind trip to all Pierson’s customers, assuring them that Pierson & Company would survive this crisis while continuing to earn their current and future business.
Then there was the personal side of things.
Edward and Anne were ensconced at the Pierson farm, under house arrest and awaiting trial. They’d hired David Lange, one of New York’s most prominent criminal attorneys, to represent them. Given their age and Edward’s physical condition, Lange was serving their best interests by making sure the proceedings dragged on as long as possible. As for James, he was out on bail and cooperating fully with the authorities. Therefore, in lieu of jail time, Lange was angling for a hefty fine and community service. In the meantime, James was following his advice and keeping the lowest possible profile. The show circuit was out; the only riding he was doing these days was for personal enjoyment.
The rest of the family was all on overdrive, but the brunt of the hard work and damage control fell to Blake.
Devon searched his face, hurting for the lines of stress and fatigue she saw there. “You look beat,” she murmured, her voice drowned out by the sound of the chairs scraping the floor.
“I’m hanging in there.”
“What about your grandparents? How are they holding up?”
Blake’s shoulders lifted in a resigned shrug. “Healthwise, they’re fine. My grandfather’s not showing any more signs of a second heart attack. And my grandmother’s a steamroller—but only in private. When she talks to the cops, she’s a broken, elderly woman. She’s paving the way for Lange to argue diminished capacity or undue duress or whatever the hell he plans to argue so her confinement will be at some gracious convalescence facility rather than prison.”
Devon sighed. “Have they softened up toward you?”
“Nope. They’re civil. They know I’m the best person to run the company. But they’ll never forgive me. So don’t hold your breath.” He rubbed a strand of Devon’s hair between his fingers. “Don’t look so upset. I expected this. I knew what I was doing. It was the right thing. The only thing. I can live with myself. It amazes me that they can.”
“What about the rest of your family? Are they supporting you?”
“Across the board.” A trace of dry humor. “Except for James. Big surprise. Then again, he’s a lot more subdued than usual. So he might not sing my praises, but he doesn’t get in my way, either.”
“I guess that’s a plus.” Devon paused. “Any word from Louise?”
Blake’s jaw tightened. “Not since I told her to pack her things and get out. After hearing what your father learned—frankly, I couldn’t stand the sight of her.”
Devon couldn’t argue that one. “How’s the interviewing for her replacement going?”
“Pretty well. I’ve seen a couple of strong candidates. The change will be good for Pierson & Company. A clean sweep of the broom is what we needed after all the corruption. And frankly, I feel good about
heading up that campaign. Restoring integrity to the Pierson name—it’s a goal I can be proud of. And I have you to thank for it.”
“Me?”
“Actually, all the Montgomerys. You gave me a crash course in what family’s all about.”
“A crash course—that’s a good choice of words.” Devon grimaced at the clatter going on behind her.
“Hey!” Lane called out, interrupting them. “Private time is later. Now’s dinner.”
“Leave them alone,” Sally admonished. She rose, glancing over at Devon. “Why don’t I start serving?”
“Good idea.” Monty jumped up. “I’ll slice the prime rib; you serve it. It’ll be just like old times.”
“What old times are you remembering?” Sally asked, flashing him a teasing grin. “Prime rib wasn’t in our budget.”
“It’s still not in mine,” Devon admitted. “I’d be eating Cheerios for the next two weeks if Lane hadn’t kicked in.”
“Yeah, well, you had a bet to win.” Lane gave her a broad grin. “And priorities are priorities.”
Meredith watched their parents disappear into the kitchen. Then she glanced quickly and assessingly at Devon and Blake. “Hey.” She poked Lane. “Would you help me pack up my computer? It’ll be one less thing for me to do after dinner.”
Chuckling, Lane came to his feet. “In other words, give both couples some time alone. Gotcha, Dear Abby.” He joined Merry and crossed over toward the staircase. “You’ve got five minutes,” he informed Blake as they passed. “Then we’re eating.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Blake replied. “And Meredith?” He winked at her. “In your case, just thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” She followed Lane up the stairs.
Devon smiled, turning back to Blake. “Merry’s driving up to the house with Monty and Mom tonight,” she explained. “They’re taking her back to school in the morning. And Lane’s flight leaves tomorrow afternoon. So, after that, it’ll just be me and my pets.”
“Hmm.” Blake wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. “That has possibilities. Our marathon nights in my apartment are starting to wear thin.”
“I’m too much for you, huh?” Devon’s eyes sparkled as she smiled up at him.
“Uh-uh.” He lowered his head and kissed her. “Not even close. What’s too much for me is having you to myself for just five hours a night.”
“That’s because of your crazy schedule, not my family.”
“I know.” Blake regarded her intently, threading his fingers through her hair. “But I want more.”
Devon studied his expression, her smile fading. “So do I.”
“We’ll have to probe the options.” He kissed her again, this time more explicitly. “Tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow night,” she murmured. “Consider it a date.”
At that moment, there was a commotion from the kitchen. First, a shout from Monty. Then a “Pete, grab the tray!” from Sally, followed by a grunt, a splat, a few yips, and the pad-pad of running paws. Finally, Terror darted out, a slice of meat dangling from between his teeth. He peered from left to right, spotted Devon and Blake, and veered away from them, bolting down the hall. Scamp burst out on his heels, jumping and snapping in an attempt to grab the piece of prime rib. Seconds later, Chomper exploded into the room, also in hot pursuit of the meat, his chunky little legs sliding out from under him as he sprinted after Terror and Scamp. Behind the vying male canines, Connie exited, her feline expression the picture of disgust as she gazed after them. She turned to blink at Devon, gave an exasperated meow, and headed in the opposite direction.
“Talk about a bucket of ice water in the face,” Devon said with a rueful shake of her head. “I think they’re telling us not to count on too much quiet alone time tomorrow night.”
“Great,” Blake muttered. “Any chance that SUNY Albany would be willing to start an undergrad program for matriculating pets? We could send the whole bunch of them up with Meredith.”
“Nice thought.” Devon’s lips quirked. “But doubtful.”
Monty poked his head out of the kitchen. “Your dog, your portion,” he informed Devon, glaring after Terror. “Expect to see one less slice on your plate. And be grateful that I have lightning reflexes, or your whole dinner would be on the floor. By the way, your mother and I are about to carry out the food. So lip-lock time’s over.” He disappeared back inside.
Devon rolled her eyes and glanced from the three dogs—who were now in the hall playing tug-of-war with the meat—to Blake. “Those five hours alone at your place are starting to sound good.”
“Uh-uh.” Blake gave her a heated look, then released her. “Like I said, I want more. And I don’t just mean time.”
Something in his tone struck Devon, a profound note that told her that whatever he had on his mind was significant.
Unfortunately, it would have to wait.
The entire family reappeared at once, this time along with platters of food, as Sally and Monty placed Devon’s meal on the table for all to admire and enjoy.
Devon served, and everyone dug in, offering their high praise in between mouthfuls.
“I didn’t taste Blake’s salmon, but I still say you win,” Monty announced.
“Then that’s that. I win.” Devon put down her fork, giving her father a teasing look. “The judge has spoken. And he can overrule the jury, no matter what verdict they come back with, right?”
“Yeah. Right.”
“Lane just told me the incredible news that he’s moving back east,” Merry interceded, her eyes bright with excitement. “Isn’t that fabulous?”
“It’s wonderful,” Sally agreed, gazing affectionately at her son. “We’ve all been angling for this for five years. Looks like we finally wore him down.”
“Yup.” Lane chewed a bite of meat and swallowed. Then he shot a swift glance at Devon—purposeful enough for her to realize he was about to set in motion the plan he’d alluded to earlier. “Problem is, I’ve got nowhere to stay.”
“Of course you do.” Sally waved away that nonsense. “There’s more than enough room at my house.”
A flicker of displeasure crossed Monty’s face. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he’d be less than thrilled to have Lane move in right now. Or why.
“True.” Lane pretended not to see his father’s displeasure. “And I really appreciate it, Mom. But that won’t work. You’ve got a life to get back to. You need your privacy….” A hint of a pause—just enough to make Devon wonder if he was about to embarrass Sally.
Judging from Monty’s scowl, he was worrying about the same thing.
“Plus, I’ll be spending most of my time in the city,” Lane concluded, visibly stifling a grin as he let them off the hook. “The commute would kill me.”
“You could stay here.” Devon watched her brother’s face as she made the offer.
“Thanks, doc.” Lane rose to the challenge. “But the same problem exists here. Not the long commute, but the privacy. I think it would be easiest if I lived right there in Manhattan. Assuming I can find a place.”
“My brownstone has a ton of room,” Blake suggested. “And these days I’m rarely there. You’re welcome to share it.”
Lane’s response told Devon this was the opening he’d been waiting for. “I have a better idea. How about if I sublet it?”
Blake started. “Sublet—you mean the whole brownstone?”
“Yeah. You won’t be needing it for long. I’ll save you the time and trouble of listing it with a broker. Let’s do it now. You can bunk down there as long as you need to. If you need to. Otherwise, you can move in with Devon right away.”
Everyone’s head snapped around, all eyes on Devon. Monty, who’d been drinking water, began sputtering, glaring at Devon between coughs.
“Dev?” Merry was the first to speak. “You didn’t tell me Blake was moving in.”
“I…” Devon had no idea what to say. She’d expected a lot of things from
Lane, but this?
“You didn’t mention it to me, either.” Having recovered from his choking bout, Monty was all over Lane’s announcement. “Was it supposed to be some kind of surprise?”
“Pete.” Sally ran interference, her tone and expression telling him to restrain himself.
“What? I just want to know—”
“She’s a grown woman,” Sally interrupted quietly.
“I realize that. I’m just asking when all this was decided.”
“It wasn’t,” Devon announced loudly. Whatever game Lane was playing, she wanted no part of it. “Lane was just pulling your chain. Blake has no plans of moving in here. So everybody just calm down and…” Her voice trailed off as she saw the strained expression on Blake’s face. “Blake?”
Lane was also staring at him, looking totally baffled. His shoulders lifted in a questioning shrug.
“We haven’t had a chance to talk yet,” Blake answered.
“Shit.” Lane dragged a palm across his jaw. “You’d said…So I assumed…I just thought this would expedite…” He blew out a self-deprecating breath. “I’m sorry.”
“About what?” Monty demanded. “What the hell is going on?”
“Nothing,” Lane said, looking totally miserable. “I screwed up. Leave it alone.”
Devon blinked. “That’s not likely. What secret are you two hiding?”
“No secret,” Blake assured her. “I ran into Lane in midtown the other day. I asked his opinion. He gave it to me. I was supposed to discuss the idea with you last night. By the time I left my office, it was after midnight. The timing was wrong. So I decided to wait until tomorrow, when things here settled down. That’s what I was referring to before.”
“Oh.” The pieces fell into place, and Devon’s heart skipped a beat.
“You wanted Lane’s take on the idea of your moving in with Devon?” Monty sounded incredulous. He turned to his son. “And you thought it was a good idea?”