Because I Can (Montgomery Manor)

by Tamara Morgan

  “You’re sure I can’t try and convince Monty to give you a call instead?”

  “I’m sure.” Jenna waggled her fingers again, this time with impatience. “I won’t eat you, Gigi. I promise.”

  Georgia swiveled her head to stare at the other woman. “What did you just say?”

  “Gigi. It’s what I’ve decided to call you. All the best society hostesses use repetitive, vowel-heavy nicknames. Now come on.”

  There was no gainsaying her. If asked a few months ago which of the family offspring was most like Mr. Montgomery, Georgia would have said Monty without a moment’s hesitation. The commitment to work, the quietly domineering way of leading, yes, even the wooden personality—they all spoke to a strong tie between father and son.

  But she’d have been wrong.

  Monty was nothing like his father. He was gentle and quiet and good. He cared about other people so much he’d dedicated his entire life to helping them, even though ninety-nine percent of the population would never take the time to appreciate him the way he deserved.

  This sister of his, though... Georgia narrowed her eyes at Jenna. There was no telling what she might do, but Georgia suspected a new nickname was the least of her worries.

  “So, tell me,” Jenna said as she led her through the swinging double doors and down the hall. Georgia had no idea where they were headed, but she didn’t dare ask. It seemed like one of those situations where it was better if the hostage went in blindfolded. She wouldn’t have to be silenced later. “What’s that brother of mine been doing with his newfound freedom?”

  If Georgia was startled at how closely Jenna’s words echoed Monty’s—that leaving this family was a kind of release from servitude—she didn’t have the courage to say so out loud.

  “No—don’t answer me. I can guess. He’s organized your taxes, come up with a more efficient way for you to store your canned goods, anticipated your mailman’s arrival time so he can be out there to meet him every day to save him the trip up the drive, and looked over your retirement plan to come up with ways you can diversify.” Jenna rattled off the items without batting an eyelash. “Am I close? Three out of four?”

  Georgia couldn’t help it—she laughed. “Only two. I haven’t told him where the tax or retirement information is yet.”

  “But he asked, right?”

  “Yes. He asked.”

  He’d also spent an alarming amount of time playing with Danny in the backyard. They said they were trying to invent a way to get the Frisbee out of Old Hardwood without climbing the tree, but so far, all Georgia had seen was a really long series of sticks duct-taped together. Which was ridiculous—as if they hadn’t tried that at least eight times before.

  “If you want my advice, it’s best if you give him a project to work on.”

  “A project? What do you mean?”

  “You know how you can’t leave a new puppy alone for the first few months without coming home to find all your shoes chewed to pieces?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Georgia was more of a cat person herself, but Charlie had a pair of chocolate labs who’d devoured his college textbooks when they were young. Personally, she’d thought it was the best way to treat the table of elements, but Charlie hadn’t been quite so understanding.

  “It’s kind of like that,” Jenna said. “Monty has always needed more chew toys than other men—he needs thousands of them. If you aren’t careful, he’s going to destroy your house.”

  “Wait. Where are you taking me?” Georgia’s head was reeling, so she’d somehow failed to take note that they were now on the third floor of the Manor and moving persistently down the hall.

  “My room. I want you to try something on.”

  “Like...a hat?”

  Jenna laughed, filling the empty hallway with her mirth. “Yes, Gigi. Like a hat, except you wear it on your body. I told you to start thinking about layers. Did you assume I was kidding? This whole blue-collar-working-woman thing you’ve got going on is fine when you’re actually working, but you can’t expect to blend into life upstairs without at least a few day dresses.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Georgia took a page from Adam’s book and voiced her complaints so there could be no mistaking her. “I’m not here for anything but work. I have no desire to blend in upstairs.”

  “Maybe you should have thought about that before you enslaved my brother.” Jenna’s glance was pointed but not cruel. “Like it or not, things like image matter to this family. Meetings, dinners, parties, weddings—it’s a never-ending whirl of social obligations. Or didn’t you know?”

  “I...” She knew, of course, in that vague, hazy way one was always aware of things going on in and around the Manor. Over the years, she’d done her fair share helping Holly and Sarge prepare for a big party or society tea, but she’d never stuck around long enough to watch the guests arrive.

  And why would she? They weren’t her guests. They weren’t Monty’s guests, either—especially not now that he’d renounced all ties to the family name and fortune.

  “Of course you know—you’ve been here longer than almost anyone.” Jenna squeezed her hand. “Since it’s become clear Monty has every intention of keeping you around, I’ve been assigned the monumental task of making you look the part.”

  Look the part? Georgia didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She wasn’t the sort of woman you dolled up and dragged to social gatherings to show off. She was more the type you locked in the closet until polite company left.

  “I think you’re missing one important thing in all this,” Georgia said, feeling trapped. “He left. He quit. He doesn’t want to be part of this anymore.”

  She might as well have been talking to a rock for all her words made an impression on the scarily composed redhead.

  “It’s not often that I receive a summons from my dad, Gigi. He and I deal together best when we’re thousands of miles apart from one another, but I dropped everything the second he called. Did it occur to you to wonder why?”

  Jenna didn’t wait for a response as she opened the door to her room and ushered her inside. Georgia couldn’t recall ever receiving a work order for the room before, but she doubted it would’ve made a lasting impression on her either way. It was a functional bedroom in blond woods and pale peach linens, the only sign of adornment a mirror opposite the bed.

  “It wasn’t just to find Monty a love life, if that’s what you’re thinking. My dad has been worried about him for months now.” She appraised Georgia through narrowed eyes. “You’re, what? A size ten?”

  Georgia nodded before she realized she was playing into Jenna’s twisted mind games. “I think I’d better go. I’m not comfortable doing all this behind Monty’s back.”

  “Sit. Calm down. No one is going to ask you to do anything against your will.” She softened, her already gorgeous features relaxing into a look of sympathy. Jenna was unquestionably a striking woman under any and all circumstances, but in that moment of genuine human emotion, Georgia found her breathtaking. “He won’t last out there on his own for much longer. He can’t. He’s physically and mentally incapable of separating himself from work for that long.”

  “You can’t be sure of that,” Georgia said, but it was a halfhearted protest. Poor Monty was already showing signs of wear. She loved having him around, there was no question of that—and they’d managed so far to get her off by escaping an alien invasion, withstanding a heat wave and avoiding a particularly devastating meteor strike—but he’d been growing increasingly tense as the days wore on.

  Like a puppy in desperate need of something to chew.

  “The Montgomery empire can’t exist without my brother—you know that, right?”

  Georgia felt sick. There was nothing Jenna could say that she hadn’t already told herself a thousand times.

  “Maybe it’s not fai
r for all the pressure to rest on his shoulders, but he put most of it there himself. He lives this place. He breathes it. He always has.”

  Georgia steeled herself, determined to take Monty’s side. Even if she agreed with everything Jenna was saying, he deserved to have at least one person on his side. Family was supposed to take your side. It was what her own family had always done.

  “You guys might have a hard time seeing it, but there’s still a person underneath all that deadline-meeting efficiency. There’s only so much he can take before he cracks.” Georgia paused. “I think he was closer to cracking than you realize.”

  “We know,” Jenna said. “Why do you think I dropped everything to come to Monty’s rescue? He wasn’t so bad a few years ago—I mean, he’s never been good at finding a work-life balance, but at least he went out occasionally. After he and his girlfriend broke up last year, he all but locked himself away out here.”

  Georgia grew unnaturally still. She wasn’t jealous—she wasn’t—but she couldn’t help remembering the way he’d so casually admitted to loving that woman, as if there was never any question otherwise. Of course he was struggling to get over a love like that.

  “Was he devastated?” Georgia asked quietly.

  “No, no—don’t misunderstand me. Devastation is too strong a word. It was more as if he decided not to bother anymore, like he finally had the excuse he’d been searching for. Dates, romance, a social life—he wrote it all off and started working twice as many hours as he used to.” Jenna offered her a wry smile. “My dad thought maybe he could strong-arm Monty into putting himself out there again, or that he could entice him out on low-obligation dates with some of the women he knows, but you can see how well that turned out. And when he found out about you, well, he panicked. He thought Monty finally had cracked—and that he cracked in your general direction.”

  “He’s not mad at me?”

  “No—God, no. Half of him is convinced Monty is holding you against your will, and the other half thinks you’re a godsend. He’s not...holding you against your will, is he?”

  Despite the revelations of the past twenty minutes, Georgia laughed. She blamed it on the relief of not being held responsible for corrupting the Montgomery family scion—at least, for not being held completely responsible for it. “No, and I doubt he’d have any luck if he tried. I have a very overprotective, overinvolved family.”

  Jenna shuddered. “My deepest sympathies.”

  “I’m still not trying on your clothes.”

  “You will,” Jenna said with a confidence so substantial it could have shaken floors. “If there’s one thing I know about my brother, it’s that he can’t exist for very long without the Montgomery Foundation. It’s his whole life—and if you intend to be a part of that life, you’re going to have to start thinking about where you fit in.”

  Georgia’s urge to be violently ill only intensified. Not because Jenna was mean or wrong, but because she was right. For other people, the idea that one’s entire life could be wrapped around a job might sound pathetic or exaggerated, but Georgia wasn’t other people. If someone took away her Handywoman Express and Homeward Bound in the same day, she wouldn’t know how to function anymore. Fixing things, building things—it was more than a job, more than a hobby. It was everything.

  Jenna smiled. “You might even like it. Dresses are quite freeing.”

  Georgia shook her head, unwilling to commit to anything that involved ingratiating herself into the family without Monty’s knowledge. It was too much. He’d made the decision to leave Montgomery Manor, and he could make the decision to come back. He was a grown man, not a puppy.

  But Jenna’s smile only deepened. “I’ll let you go this time, Gigi, but when you change your mind, you come straight to me.”

  * * *

  Monty had never been so bored in his life.

  “What are your plans for the day?” Georgia entered her tiny kitchen with her coveralls on and her work boots clomping. The sight of those coveralls filled him with an unaccountable surge of jealousy. What once had been his favorite outfit—a sign of Georgia’s industriousness, of her lack of concern for outward appearance—was now the last thing he looked forward to in the morning.

  Those coveralls meant she had work to do, a big project ahead, people who counted on her to get things done. Like the suits he wore regardless of the day of week, it was less about wearing clothes and more about making a promise to herself about what the day contained.

  As his current attire of jeans attested.

  “Oh, you know,” he hedged. “This and that.”

  “This meaning playing video games with Danny and that meaning organizing my sock drawer?” she teased.

  That had been his task list on Monday. Her socks could hardly be that much of a mess already.

  “Actually, I thought I might look over the Homeward Bound contracts and proposals to see if I can come up with a marketing angle you might be missing.” He spoke casually, his attention focused on the eggs he was stirring to give an appearance of ease. “I’ve got a few ideas about how you can boost local interest.”

  “Ideas?”

  “One in particular. I’ve found that for a lot of the smaller grassroots organizations, all that’s needed to garner interest and funding is the right publicity. Have you considered asking one of the families if they’d do an interview to tell their story?”

  The silence that greeted him wasn’t a good sign. Of all the things he’d come to learn about Georgia—that ever-growing list of things to avoid—being pushed out of her comfort zone was the most distasteful to her. Challenges were welcomed as long as they included feats of physical strength, but the second anyone called into question her other capabilities, she shut down.

  The idea that she might put too much emphasis on orgasms and not enough on enjoying the act of love for what it was? Unacceptable.

  The idea that her lack of success with relationships had less to do with her looks and more to do with her inability to accept her own value as a human being? Not a chance.

  And the idea that she might be driving her own organization into the ground by refusing to accept assistance? She wouldn’t even consider it.

  But that didn’t make it any less true.

  “It doesn’t have to be a big publicity push,” he continued without losing his casual air. “In fact, smaller is usually better. I’ve found that when you give people a face—someone to sympathize with, someone to root for—they tend to take a more vested interest in the outcome. There’s a similar phenomenon in disaster relief. You can report that five thousand people died in an earthquake and no one will lift a finger. But show one picture of a mother holding her deceased son, and the whole country mourns his loss.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  There went the appearance of ease. He abandoned the eggs and turned to face her—this woman he cared about so much it overwhelmed him, this woman who was driving him absolutely insane. It had been easy to pretend her stubbornness wasn’t a prohibiting factor when he didn’t encounter it every day, but now that he was here, he saw for himself how she was her own worst enemy where Homeward Bound was concerned.

  “This is ridiculous, and you know it.” He crossed his arms, determined to out-glare her. “There’s no reason for you to continue struggling when you don’t have to. I have time on my hands and I have the expertise to do something about your staffing problems. Why won’t you take advantage of that?”

  “Because I don’t need to. I’m fine. I’ve got this.”

  “I’m not trying to take your project over, if that’s what you’re afraid of. All I’m trying to do is find a way for you to keep doing what you love.”

  “Dammit, Monty. You promised you wouldn’t get involved.”

  He hadn’t promised that. He hadn’t promised Georgia anything. In order to do so,
she’d have to admit to needing something first. So far from needing him, he’d become an accessory in her life, the shiny toy she played with at night. The sexual objectification that had seemed so fun at first was now a painful reminder that he still hadn’t earned the elusive respect she reserved solely for her brothers.

  “You’re the most infuriating woman I’ve ever met. Why do you insist on making it so hard for people to help you?”

  “You’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever met. Why do you have to be helping someone all the time?”

  “I don’t want to help someone, Georgia. I want to help you.”

  “And when I want your help, I’ll be sure to ask for it.”

  The eggs started smoking. With a grunt of frustration, Monty clicked off the stove and tossed the ruined breakfast pan under running water. The interruption gave him a moment to collect himself, and he could only be grateful for it. Arguing with Georgia wouldn’t get him anywhere—as a woman born to obstinacy, it gave her the home-field advantage. He needed to find another way in.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and pulled her into a hug. As he expected, she fought for a good ten seconds before she finally yielded. “I didn’t mean to start the day off with a fight—I’m usually better at timing my battles than this.”

  “That’s not really apologizing,” she said, her voice muffled. “It’s rescheduling.”

  He laughed and held her tighter, loving how warm she felt against him. “I don’t hear you offering any apologies in return. How’s this? I know you hate it when I make suggestions about Homeward Bound, but I can’t help it. Solving problems like these has been my job for years, and I haven’t been able to turn that part of myself off yet. It’s been a lot more difficult than I thought to transition away from life at the Manor.”

  That was an understatement of epic proportions. For years, he’d operated under the impression that the world outside his office was a seething, swirling orgy of entertainment. People had fun and did what they wanted and answered to no one but themselves—while he and he alone remained bent over his desk. It was a truth he saw reinforced by Jake’s never-ending pursuit of enjoyment, in Jenna’s jet-setting to places he’d only ever seen in pictures, in families like Georgia’s gathering for weekly dinners.