Jesus, Harper. Did you really do this to yourself tonight? So much for letting your fingers do the walking down your little black book. You need to get it together, girl. Now you’re stuck putting up with this joker all night.
“Harper. We’re both CEOs of our own businesses. We’re both wealthy. I’m handsome as hell. And you’re not too bad yourself. We make a great team sweetheart,” Brooks spouted off with unflinching confidence.
The church organ music began playing softly in anticipation of the service to start. God, I could just puke. Kill me now, Lord. This man was so full of himself. Brooks Fitzgerald McKenna was the kind of guy that preferred most people refer to him by his full name, always introducing himself that way. He liked to think of himself as a blue blood from a very aristocratic bloodline, despite the fact his family lineage was anything but.
A small handful of people knew that Brooks grew up in an Irish Catholic blue-collar family of hardworking fishermen from Boston, Massachusetts. He broke out of the old neighborhoods, excelling scholastically and earning himself a college scholarship to the University of Pennsylvania, later finishing his graduate studies at the Wharton School of Business. From there Brooks landed in Manhattan, in the garment district, where he worked his way up in the textile industry. Years later he would become highly successful in the industry, owning a slew of import/export garment distributorships, moving fabrics globally by air, land, and sea worldwide anywhere from Hong Kong to Australia. Brooks Fitzgerald McKenna had reinvented himself so successfully that very few people knew his blue-collar roots. Even I had to admit I admired his tenacity.
Most of the Manhattan socialites and wannabes saw him as a proper must-have on their charitable event’s guest lists and summer themed parties in the Hamptons. Brooks had socially climbed his way onto some of the most sought-after guest lists in all of New York. None of that changed the fact that he was an overconfident arrogant jerk that thought way too highly of himself.
It was a good thing I was joyful about the happy marital union of Riley and Noah, or else I would dare not spend my New Year’s Eve like this. If it weren’t for the fact I promised my friend Reese that I would hang out with him later after the reception, I would have run out the cathedral doors kicking and screaming, asking for a bullet to put myself out of my own misery for being stuck with Brooks tonight.
At least Reese and I had tons of things in common both on a personal level and a business level. We took an instant liking to each other, having met years ago when I was a graduate student. He was my Adjunct Professor of Financial Forensics at Columbia University. Reese was the expert in the field, taking me under his wing, teaching me everything he knew. After graduation, Reese often called on my firm, The Montgomery Consulting Group, to do second-level reviews on many of his major financial forensic projects.
“We could light some fireworks of own tonight, sweetcakes,” Brooks said, chiding me further and rubbing his hand on my knee.
I squirmed, trying to put some physical distance between Brooks and me. I was hopeful I’d be able to dump him after this wedding, hook up with Reese, and put myself out of this misery. I wanted to have some real fun tonight.
“Hush, the service is starting,” I said, watching as the bridesmaids were making their way down the aisle. I moved his hand off my knee to back in his lap, throwing water on his plan for fireworks.
I admired the bridesmaid’s elegant, beautiful cream-colored gowns that were tied at the breasts with black sequinned bows. They each shimmered as they glided towards their respective places at the front of the cathedral.
As the groomsmen stood in their appointed places, fury coiled in my gut as I laid eyes on the real Mr. Fireworks himself, Nicholas Miles Becker, bad boy CEO of the Milk Money Angel Investment Firm. There he was. Standing front and center at the end of the aisle. He was the pinnacle of dashing style and timeless sophistication. He looked dynamic in his impeccably tailored Italian-made tuxedo, looking like a shiny new penny. His tuxedo hung well on him in all the right places as he stood picture perfect and statuesque. Nicholas was best man to the groom, Captain Noah “Mico” Dunham. I wasn’t sure if it were me or not, but I’d pretty much lay bets that half the bridesmaids’ eyes were glued on Nicholas. Nicholas had an uncanny effect on women, always making them want to do the panty drop at his feet.
Yes. That was him. Mr. Cool, Calm, and Collected. God incarnate himself. Every woman’s eyes in the church were fixated on him for the Greek god that he was. No one was immune.
Those piercing emerald eyes reflected that naughty glimmer, always looking as if he had contemplated a thousand different things he could do to you, and you knew you’d enjoy every one. His six-foot-tall muscular frame, his lush eyelashes, the five o’clock shadow accentuating his strong chin coupled with the dimple on the left side of his face when he smiled, did me in every time. His dark brown hair had no hints of grey, although I knew he would soon be turning forty-two. Nicholas was indeed aging well. His crisp white tuxedo shirt hid the physically fit body underneath. He was armed with a hard six pack any twenty-something man would die to have. With his usual confident ease and charm, his eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of me.
Most times I pretended like I wasn’t affected by him. I tried to hide it, but the reality was I hadn’t truly mastered the emotionless mask well. I knew him well enough to know that he too was struggling with the same problem. Hiding. We could not deny that years ago there was an eternal flame that had been lit between that had never been extinguished. Whenever we were in each other’s space, it was almost as if we could both hear the igniting of a flame that radiated between us like a beacon, invisibly tying us together. All these years, I still hated that the memory of his body was branded in the recesses of my brain, igniting a need that I’d never encountered before. I was angry that he still had that effect on me years later. How dare he claim my body as if it belonged to him. There was way too much heat between us. I was determined to extinguish it. It was time I figured out how to put an end to his power over me. It was starting to feel like too much work against his constant magnetic pull.
The only thing a man could do for me now was to give me a baby and keep walking the other direction. The truth was, Nicholas wasn’t even a viable candidate. Mostly because I didn’t want to have to be responsible for killing my baby’s daddy.
“The bride and groom must really be scraping the bottom of their friends list, if they let that womanizing fame whore, playboy money-grubbing, God-impostor Nicholas Becker in this wedding as best man tonight,” Brooks said. “Who let the hound dogs out?” he said under his breath.
I tried to pretend like I didn’t hear Brooks. I wanted to ignore him, the guests standing as the bride came down the aisle.
“I heard the two of you have history, but I still can’t figure out what you could have possibly seen in him?” Brooks sneered.
“Since when is my past any concern of yours?” I asked. “I doubt very seriously that anyone would classify Nicholas as a ‘money-grubber.’ He’s a lot of things, but money-grubber, he’s not. He can’t help the fact that everything he touches turns to gold like Midas.”
“Whatever,” Brooks said, disinterested.
“That’s a bit short-sighted on your part don’t you think,” I said, working to keep my voice down.
Not that I had anything nice to say about Nicholas myself, but I sure didn’t feel like I was going to sit here and listen to Brooks berate him in my presence. After all, my family and Nicholas’s families were close. Real close. I did have some loyalty to his family, if not for him.
“Not golden enough.” Brooks spit back. “Nicholas Becker will never get another chance in life to steal one of my women again. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, shame on him. The next time he tries to get anywhere near what’s mine, I’m going to reckon with him in the most serious way once and for all.” Brooks hissed. “He’s like a gnat that needs swatting.”
I secretly wondered what woman Nicholas had snagged
away from the great Brooks Fitzgerald McKenna that turned him into the green-eyed monster. The mere thought of that tickled me some. Nicholas changed women so fast it was hard for even me to keep up. Whoever she was, Nicholas didn’t keep her around long. Nicholas wasn’t the commitment type. I knew because I kept tabs on him.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the priest said as we watched Noah kiss his bride at the stroke of midnight. My eyes glanced briefly towards Nicholas. He was staring back at me with the look of a panther, gazing at me as if I were his prey, good enough to eat. I noticed his jaw clench at the same moment Brooks whispered in my ear, his chest rising and falling in exasperation.
I gave Nicholas my best forget-about-it-never-in-your-next-life look, rolling my eyes at him and turning my head toward Brooks. I gave Brooks my best you’re-the-greatest-guy smile.
Nicholas glared at Brooks with fiery eyes as if somebody had stolen his candy.
It didn’t matter that I didn’t give a hoot about Brooks Fitzgerald McKenna. Nicholas need not know that. All he needed to know was that I, Harper Montgomery, was out for financial revenge. I intended to keep forcing him to dig deep into his pockets. I was on a roll. This was gonna be like taking candy from a baby.
After all, you only get to crack and break my heart once in a lifetime. Then you have to pay up, because Momma is in it to win it.
Chapter Three
Nicholas
The wedding nuptials at St. Patrick’s Cathedral were executed perfectly at midnight as planned. It was clear when I entered the wedding reception that this would indeed be the high point of the evening. The Marriott Marquis View Restaurant at Times Square was a perfect choice. The decor was a perfect reflection of the bride and groom’s taste and sensibilities. It was a timeless mix of elegance and tradition. You couldn’t help but feel the warmth and ambiance as soon as you entered. There were black sequinned touches here and there that accentuated the candlelit tables, a tasteful reminder of the bride’s signature touch. I didn’t doubt for one minute that Mico must have loved that the room rotated ever so slowly, revolving around on its axis, providing all the guests a magnificent panoramic view of the New York skyline after midnight. The holiday fireworks lighting up the sky on Times Square were spectacular. You could even see the Statue of Liberty just beyond Battery Park on the room’s slow and easy rotation.
I sat to the left of Mico and his new wife Riley at the bridal party table. I gave myself a mental pat on the back having finished my best man duties making a celebratory toast wishing Mr. and Ms. Noah Dunham a Happy New Year with many more to come. After my well-applauded salute, the three-piece jazz combo began playing music in the background, compliments of the bride’s sister-in-law who was a well-known jazz musician.
I’d managed to survive picture taking while putting on my happy face as Harper’s best friend, Mackenzie Rhodes, finished photographing those of us in the bridal party. The intimate gathering of family and friends mingling about wishing each other a Happy New Year, created a jovial atmosphere. Congratulatory remarks were extended to the bride and groom amid lots of hand shaking and dancing. Champagne was flowing freely in tulip-shaped flutes as restaurant servers hustled among the guests at warp speed.
It didn’t take me long to realize I was going to have to fight off a couple of twenty-something beauties who were friends of some of the members of the bridal party. They had managed to plant themselves close to me, and my suspicions were soon confirmed. When I moved, they moved. I suffered through the small talk, but I must admit these gals were beyond chatty. It took a lot for me to get undone by beautiful women. Tempting as it was, the fact remained that I had no real interest in either of them. All that mattered to me tonight was that the newlyweds were happy, and that Harper wouldn’t start World War III tonight.
I nursed my drink, pretending to pay attention to the two ladies that had me cornered, when I shifted my gaze across the room. My business partner Lucia was engaged in a conversation with Mico’s new wife. I suspected she and Riley were trading stories about how the new Mrs. Riley Dunham was using the Milk Money cash infusion for her company Black Sequinned Bows and Champagne Nights. Mico’s introduction of his wife’s company to me had been a profitable investment. I gazed at his beautiful bride, pondering if she and Mico had discussed whether she’d be changing her name or leaving it as is for business purposes so as not to dilute her brand. I suppose at the end of the day it didn’t much matter. Not my business. Not my woman. I sipped more of my drink, hoping it would drown out the background chatter rolling in my head from these two wannabe Real Housewives of New York.
Suddenly, I felt a change in the aura of the room. No doubt Harper had arrived. The head of her security entourage, Malcom Coles, had stepped inside the doorway, which meant Harper’s father, Senator Clayton Lawrence Montgomery was not far behind. Harper never felt she needed a security detail, but the senator insisted. She typically took Malcom off his leash, letting him loose and on display in order to put up a front whenever the senator was around. Harper liked giving the appearance that she was adhering to the senator’s wishes.
As far as I was concerned, Malcom wanted Harper for himself, along with all those other male wannabes who were forever sniffing around her. Malcom, an extremely handsome, articulate African American man, could have most any woman he desired. But like most of the men in Harper’s orbit, he eyed her in a way that suggested there was more he wanted to do besides guard her.
Ugh. I needed to rid my mind off this notion. The mere thought of Malcom’s hands on Harper left me feeling a rush of pissdom that coursed through my veins at high speed. So what if Malcom was an ex-Army Ranger who’d spent several years fighting the Taliban in the invasion of Afghanistan as a part of the War on Terror? I’d match my Navy Seal bodyguard Stephen’s skills against his any day of the week. The fact Malcom did a pretty decent job of keeping Harper safe made me happy, so I forced myself to ignore the look of lust in his eyes. But still, his closeness to her bothered me immensely.
My mood shifted again as Lucia, moving like a gazelle, approached me. She was a perfect wingwoman. I needed her to cock block so I could ditch the Young and the Restless camped too close, boring me to tears with their constant chatter about the Twitterverse and Instagram. While I admired attractive women, I had no intention of robbing the cradle tonight. Lucia’s arrival into my little circle of doom sent their smiling faces into a serious pout when I redirected my attention to Lucia.
“Nicky, there’s a call for you,” Lucia said, handing me my buzzing cell phone previously tucked in her clutch while I posed for pictures with the bridal party. “I think it’s Three,” she said, referring to my big brother Blake Ross Becker, III.
“Happy New Year, God speaking.”
“Can you knock it off with the God shit, Nicky?”
“Fuck, Three, lighten up. It’s New Year’s. Don’t you take a break? What do you want?”
“What makes you think I want something?” Three quizzed.
“Three, whenever you call, you typically want something. I can’t help it if my alter ego shows up and shows out,” I laughed. “Your prayer is my command, my brother, what do you need?”
“It’s not what I need. It’s what Big Daddy needs,” Three said, his voice clipped and professional.
Three had his family lawyer voice on, trying desperately to maintain a serious tone with me. I loved pushing his buttons, making him crack his legal armor.
“And that would be what?” I said, putting my defenses up, knowing the tables were getting ready to turn and I was being primed to get dragged into something I’d likely not want to be dragged into.
It was predictable whenever Big Daddy came into the equation. Big Daddy used Three against me whenever he could, simply because he knew Three and I got along well. Three could get things out of me that Big Daddy never could.
“Well this is a heads-up, Nicky. Two things: One, Big Daddy says it’s time you settle down, get yourself a wife, make some babies, and st
art thinking about the family legacy. He respects what you’ve done with Milk Money, but he wants more grandkids, specifically some male grandkids.”
“You call me on New Year’s Eve with this agenda?” I said, feeling a tad agitated.
“I’m following orders, Nicky.”
“So you give him some more kids, Three. You having trouble cloning yourself again or something?”
“I have girls, brother. Big Daddy’s got this thing about having grandsons. Marcy has no interest in making any more babies with me. She claims she’s made her contribution to the Becker clan punching out three kids. She doesn’t intend to have any more. She claims babies are messing up her figure.”
“You’re the man, Three. Tell your wife to punch out one more and you’ll buy her an island in the South Pacific or something.”
“She’s not having it, Nicky. She won’t let me get anywhere near her now as it is,” Three pleaded. “She claims if I so much as look at her, she’ll get pregnant. She’s threatened to cut Mr. Magic off and separate him from the boys.”
“God, Three. T.M.I. Please don’t tell me you let Marcy refer to your dick and balls as “Mr. Magic and the boys. I. Don’t. Want. To. Know. This. Shit,” I said, mentally shaking his words off, deciding this conversation was getting gross.
“Well, God knows all, now doesn’t he?” Three snapped. “So if you aren’t God, shut the fuck up claiming that you are. A bit of divine intervention would be in order right about now.”
“Well Julianna can make some babies. Big Daddy just has to wait a few years.”
Julianna was our younger sister. She was in Europe studying at Le Cordon Bleu, training to be world-class pastry chef. I doubted babies would be on her radar anytime soon.
Milk Money Page 3