“You knew I was coming? Damn. I was hoping to make an entrance.” Jenna leaned in and kissed Monty on either cheek before turning to Georgia to do the same. Georgia wasn’t proud of herself, but she cowered behind Monty to keep those ruby red lips away. Air kisses freaked her out.
Unperturbed, Jenna quirked a brow and stepped back, a smile playing on her lips.
“It was nice of you both to see us off, but Georgia and I were hoping to get out of here sooner rather than later. Duty, as you know, waits for no man.” Monty took his role as protector seriously and planted himself even more firmly in front of her. It was alarmingly gratifying to have a wall of man between her and the rest of the Montgomerys.
What a wimp she was turning out to be.
“Oh, we won’t keep you, Georgia.” Mr. Montgomery smiled even deeper, the creases of his face folding up on one another. “Did you want me to have your truck brought around?”
“No. That’s okay. I—”
“Dad, I’m perfectly capable of seeing my girlfriend out on my own. Thank you.”
The first sign of stress cracked in Mr. Montgomery’s brow at the sound of that word. Girlfriend. Such a silly way to describe a woman of her years and yet somehow the best thing she’d ever heard.
Wait. Girlfriend?
“John, I’m not sure if you’re aware what kind of a statement this is sending—”
Again, Monty interrupted. “I know, Dad. I know exactly what kind of statement I’m sending. It’s the same kind of statement you made by calling my little sister home to manage my love life for me. No offense, Jenna.”
“None taken.” If the way her eyes were lighting up was any indication, offense was the furthest thing from her mind. She was enjoying this.
Too bad no one bothered to ask Georgia how she was feeling right about now. She couldn’t make any definitive statements, but she was bordering on a bewildering kind of panic-rage. Surely Monty hadn’t intended for them to be caught red-handed like this. Surely he would have talked to her before deciding to announce to his father—and her employer—that they were an item.
“Georgia, you look like you could use some coffee,” Jenna said brightly. “Preferably with a touch of Irish in it. What say we find our way to the bar?”
“They’re not open yet.”
“They’ll open for me.” She extended her arm. Georgia looked at that arm—elegantly crooked and offering her booze before seven in the morning—and shook her head.
She wasn’t some polished businesswoman who could drink Irish coffees and mimosas for breakfast. She wasn’t dressed for lounging around in a hotel lobby while the rest of this conversation took place. And she definitely wasn’t going to continue hiding behind Monty while she had two perfectly good legs to stand on.
She was a—most likely—unemployed handywoman who had inspectors coming by her build site in less than an hour. And that was fine. As she’d so elegantly told Monty before, she’d never be the type of woman to latch on to a man and wilt. She had shit to do.
“Thanks, but I really need to get going.”
Life hadn’t prepared her to bid goodbye in a situation like this, but she felt it would be rude to stalk away without showing Monty some kind of support. Unfortunately, kissing was out of the question while his dad stood there watching, and hugging seemed forced. The most she could handle was a handshake.
It was ridiculous—a handshake, after murdering imaginary kittens together—but it was all she could come up with. Monty took her hand in his own, a troubled frown pulling at his face. “I’ll call you later?”
“Sure. When you can. You know where to find me.” Even though she wanted to be mad at him—she was kind of mad at him—she squeezed his fingers in a show of solidarity.
“I’m sorry, Georgia,” he said, but it was hard to tell which part of the situation he was apologizing for.
She’d hoped to make it outdoors without having to look back, but the clatter of heels after her had her turning around as she reached the revolving glass doors.
“Take me with you.” Jenna snaked her arm through Georgia’s. “Or at least let me pretend to be going with you. You can’t leave me in there with those two. Crossfire always leaves such a nasty residue behind.”
Georgia wasn’t sure how to respond, so she kept walking, her steps long. Despite enormously spiked high heels, Jenna matched her stride for stride.
“I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were you,” Jenna said conversationally as they passed into the early morning sunshine. She neither seemed to notice or care that Georgia had yet to say a word to her. “It looks scary when Monty and my dad go head-to-head, but they’re both far too dignified to make a scene. They’ll argue politely through their teeth and shake hands and then sit down to dinner tonight as if nothing happened.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Georgia said. At least, not about making a scene. Embarrassing herself in public was just another day in her regular life. But the more she thought about the way Monty had greeted his family—coldly, calmly, as if he’d been expecting them—the more worry that settled on her shoulders.
Monty wasn’t just some nice guy who was willing to tackle her orgasm problem. He was John Montgomery the Third. He had wealth. He had responsibilities. He had a very public family who didn’t take it lightly when he diddled the help.
This is what happens when you fly too close to the sun, Georgia. Somewhere in the midst of all this grandeur, she’d lost track of her flight path and singed off her eyebrows.
“And their argument isn’t about you.” Jenna laughed at her own comment, painting herself as another one of those throaty film vixens Georgia could never be. “Okay, maybe it’s a little about you—but only as a secondary complaint, I promise. Where are you parked?”
Georgia stopped walking. “I can manage, thanks.”
Jenna took her animosity in stride, and in an extreme violation of the rules of personal space, reached up and tugged the elastic out of her hair. Georgia had to use a mega-grip version to keep the band from slipping out, so it took a firm tug, but Jenna didn’t let that deter her. She even went so far as to spread the strands of her hair like a fan, holding the boring brown color up to the sun as if it might catch a sparkle.
It wouldn’t. Georgia absorbed all light and glitter.
“There’s just so much of it,” Jenna said, mostly to herself.
Georgia held herself perfectly still, as though confronting wildlife in its natural habitat, hoping the other woman would eventually move on.
She didn’t.
“And the uniform is probably fine for work, but you should carry something lighter in your car for afterward. Or you could layer. How do you feel about layers?”
“I like them in cake?”
Jenna pressed her hand against Georgia’s shoulder, twirling her so that she faced the parking lot. Without asking for permission, she tugged her head back and began doing something to her hair. It hurt, but Georgia wasn’t about to say so, so she stood there and let Jenna finish whatever it was she was attempting.
“Perfect. It’s still out of your face but infinitely more attractive.”
Georgia noticed a fat braid fall over one shoulder.
“And here. It’s better if you’re not quite so tightly packaged.” Jenna reached up and undid the top two buttons of her coveralls. Since cleavage was the last thing any woman needed in a construction zone where every ounce of respect had to be wrested out of belligerent masculine grips, Georgia waited until the other woman was done and then promptly did them back up again.
“Fine,” Jenna said with a sigh. “I can see I have my work cut out for me on more than one front. You get to work. I better go inside and deflate the tension.”
Georgia was still feeling bewildered and uncomfortable enough to want to flee, but she waited until the other woman waggl
ed her fingers in farewell before letting out a long, soul-deep breath—and then she looked at the sky and realized she was going to be late.
Fan-freaking-tastic. The day had started out so well too.
With bacon and everything.
* * *
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how you’ve opened us up to public outcry.” Monty’s dad spoke in the calm, level tone of a calm, level man—though anyone familiar with the tight press of his lips would know that the older man was rapidly reaching his limit. “Never mind the legal ramifications. How would it look to the community if they knew you were sneaking out with our handywoman?”
“Her name is Georgia.” Monty didn’t move as he spoke. Jenna—in a perverse fit of good humor—had poured him a coffee from the cart and set it at his elbow, but he didn’t dare lift the china to his lips. There was a good chance one of the three of them would end up wearing the beverage.
“I know her name. Stop saying that.”
“Then stop referring to her as our handywoman. She’s not a bogeyman. You won’t accidentally summon her.”
Jenna snickered and covered her indiscretion by taking a sip of coffee. A decent sister would go find something to entertain herself, but Jenna had never been the decent sort. She loved a good family drama too much.
“I know I’ve been putting a lot of stress on you lately, especially regarding this wedding, but you have to understand—”
“I don’t feel stress regarding Ashleigh’s wedding.” Monty interrupted his father yet again. He was finding it surprisingly easy to conjure the words he wanted to say. Anger had a way of loosening the tongue. “I already told you I found my own date. If I decide to attend, I’ll take Georgia, not some monochrome robot of a woman whose bank account you admire. Sorry you wasted your time in coming all this way, Jenna.”
“Oh, time enjoyed isn’t time wasted,” Jenna said, holding her cup up in a mock toast.
“So, what? This is part of your newfound adolescent rebellion? This is you trifling with a woman who’s been a part of our family for almost twenty years?” His father’s words grew tighter and more controlled. “I have to say—I might have expected this sort of thing from Jake before he got married, but not you. Never you.”
His dad might grow more contained as his anger took over, but Monty felt the exact opposite. His emotions had grown to proportions equal to the hotel lobby, threatened to spill out over sidewalks and into the streets.
“No.” He got to his feet, done with this pretense of a family discussion over a breakfast table. “This is me making my own goddamned decisions for once. This is me putting my desires before the family’s for once. Think about what you just said, Dad. You’d have forgiven Jake for sleeping with one of your retainers. You’d have slapped him on the wrist and made a show of your disappointment, but you’d have ultimately forgiven him.”
“And I’ll forgive you too, as long as you stop acting like a child who’s had his toy taken away.”
“Georgia isn’t a toy.”
“I’m glad you recognize that.”
“And she isn’t going anywhere.”
“John, you can’t—”
“I can’t what? Continue seeing a woman I care about? Make my own decisions regarding an ex-girlfriend’s wedding? Go to South Dakota if I feel like it?” Monty gave up on the pretense of caring. He didn’t care that he’d wasted an hour sitting here in a hotel lobby instead of making headway on his morning email. He didn’t care that several people had stopped what they were doing to listen in. And he didn’t care that both his father and Jenna were staring at him with their mouths open and shocked looks on their faces.
No—scratch that. He did care about those shocked looks. Those shocked looks said much more about him than they did the people wearing them. He’d become so predictable, so dependable, so much a cog in the wheel that it never occurred to his closest relatives that he might want more out of life.
And he wanted more. He deserved more.
“I’m done,” he said, and tossed his napkin to the floor. It fluttered underneath the chair, that white square of defiance, and they all watched as it came to rest. “I’m going to head back to the office and make sure my files are in order, and then I’m done.”
His dad also got to his feet, his movements not quite so self-assured. “What do you mean, you’re done?”
“Done. Finished. No longer willing to agree to your terms of employment.” Monty felt an unexpected burst of excitement flood through him, lifting both his shoulders and his spirits. He’d had no idea that even the act of declaring his freedom would be its own kind of release. “Don’t worry—I’ll write you up an official resignation letter before I go. I’ll even say whatever you want so you don’t have to lose face or appear weak. I know how much you hate that.”
“But you can’t—”
“Yes,” Monty said firmly. “I can. I’m not Jake, Dad. You don’t have any financial control over me. You did too good of a job training me to always make the responsible choice. I probably have more liquid assets than you do at this point.”
There were many things he could have added—several things he probably should have added, a few parting words for the little boy who never did get his bike ride—but he didn’t feel like explaining himself to this man anymore.
And as he turned to leave, he realized this was the first time he’d ever taken steps as a Montgomery in name only. He was walking away. He’d cast off the shackles.
For good or for bad, he was finally free.
Chapter Seventeen
Monty had been sitting in his car for ten minutes before he realized he had company.
All the lights were off at Georgia’s apartment and the accompanying house, so he’d relaxed enough to push his seat back and unknot the tie at his neck, which had been feeling more and more like a noose as the day wore on. He sat up now, peering closer at the empty back porch. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a dark figure folded up on those stairs, a curly wisp of smoke rising from fingers and lips and fingers again.
A shadowy hand lifted in greeting, and Monty realized he’d been made some time ago. With a sigh, he shut his phone and got out of the car. It would have been preferable to talk to Georgia before he spoke to her family, but short of backing out of the drive and pretending he was invisible, it was too late now.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” Monty said as he approached the back door.
It was a stupid comment to make—he didn’t know much about the man other than that he was good with computers and liked garlic bread—but he needed something to break the ice. Besides, it felt kind of nice to be back to the conversational wasteland he’d inhabited for most of his life. It was the only familiar ground he had right now.
“I don’t.” Danny unfolded himself from the stoop and crushed the butt underneath the heel of his heavy black boot before kicking it into the bushes. “And if you’re smart, you won’t tell anyone otherwise.”
Monty sighed. More threats, more antagonism, more people to hate me. At some point in the past decade or so, every person on the planet must have gotten together and decided he was their mortal enemy—standing up against fun and pleasure and justice everywhere.
“You think I’m going to go running to your mom or sister?” he asked. “Really? You look at me and the first thing that comes to mind is, ‘I bet that guy loves a good tattle’?”
Danny’s face broke into the wide, crooked smile Monty was coming to associate with all of the Lennoxes. “Okay, maybe that was unfair, but you never know with you straight and narrow guys.”
“I’m not a straight and narrow guy.”
“Oh, you’re straight. You’re the Washington Monument of upright citizenry.”
Monty had no idea what that meant, but he suspected it wasn’t a compliment.
“G
eorgia’s not here,” Danny said, anticipating his next question. “We got back from the build site around six, but she was called away for an emergency flood at Mrs. Peabody’s place. She could be hours.”
“Oh.” Disappointment pinged in his chest. After the way Georgia had left the hotel this morning, upset and determined not to let it show, he’d wanted nothing more than to reach out and reassure her, so he’d made her house his first stop.
But maybe it was himself he’d wanted to reassure all along. She was the one hard at work on a twelve-hour day when he was suddenly facing nothing but open air.
“Do you think I should head over and see if she wants help?” he asked.
Danny laughed and slapped an arm over Monty’s shoulder. “No. Georgia most definitely does not want your help. One of these days, you’ll figure that out. Care to come in and wait for her?”
Monty bristled, alarmed at this sudden show of hospitality. He also touched his hand to his pocket to make sure his phone hadn’t been lifted.
“I can’t offer much. Frozen burritos and a Halo marathon is all I’ve got, but it’s better than sitting in your car. Less obvious too. I thought you were a really bad FBI agent at first.”
“If I were an FBI agent, I would’ve parked under that tree a few houses down.”
Danny pushed through the door. “If you were an FBI agent, you’d lease the house across the street and pretend to be a blond married couple with a Yorkie. Come on. I’ll take you to my lair.”
* * *
“I can’t find the rocket launcher. Are you sure this is where you saw it?”
“It’s next to the boulder. Hurry up—I can’t hold this bastard back forever.”
“Oh, here it is. Extra ammo too. I’m on my way.”
Georgia rubbed her eyes and blinked, certain that exhaustion was playing tricks with her mind. That was not Monty sitting in a gaming chair next to Danny, rocking back and forth as he navigated his way through Blood Gulch. He was a mirage. A manifestation of three hours spent wading through a basement with a sump pump dragging behind her.
Because I Can (Montgomery Manor) Page 24