I took a deep breath. This was exactly the response I expected Elizabeth Carmichael Montgomery was going to have.
“Well mother, you know it’s not like there are any decent men out here,” I said, raising my voice a couple of octaves.
I glanced at my computer, hearing the ping on my Gmail account letting me know that Nicholas had pumped the artwork bid up two hundred thousand more. Eight hundred thousand dollars? Oh so he’s gonna play serious. Guess I have to snap that moneymaker’s God-like dick off. I emailed Charlotte back and ordered that my bid increase another hundred thousand.
“There are plenty of suitable men out there Harper.”
“Don’t you dare say Brooks Fitzgerald McKenna, Mother.” I was hoping Mother didn’t think for one minute that I would ever consider Brooks as marriageable solely because she saw me with him a couple of weeks ago.
“The thought never crossed my mind. That is not your husband,” Mother said firmly. “That’s beside the point Harper.”
“And your point is . . . ?”
“My point is that I do not intend for my only grandchildren to be spawned by God knows who?” Mother argued, her voice getting more excited. “It would completely”—okay, here comes the guilt—“it would break my heart.”
I called that right on time. Mother was sounding like she might be on the brink of tears.
“You have to think about the family legacy. Stop being childish Harper. Your grandfather did not build an empire to let it be inherited by some . . . some . . . some . . . stranger,” she said again. “I simply will not sit for this”—here she goes with all three names—“Harper Carmichael Montgomery.”
“My child would be half me Mother. That does not equal a stranger,” I said, thinking it might be in my best interest to deescalate this discussion.
I cocked my head back again, tossing another fork of rolled up pasta, wondering if this was an inherited trait of the rich and famous to utilize the first, middle, and last names of their children all in one breath. I hoped I’d never do that to my baby. But then again, I did have my mother’s genes.
“You know there’s nothing wrong with stopping this war of yours and maybe giving him a chance to . . .”
“I gotta run, Mother.”
I was not giving her a chance to finish that sentence, glad that the concierge was buzzing my intercom to let me know that I had a guest. I knew whose name she was going to call next. The good news was I was certain Mother could hear my buzzing intercom in the background. Reese Nelson was waiting for permission to enter. Apparently Malcom was insisting on an okay from me to let any guests enter the penthouse elevator. Geez, Malcom was really showing his behind these days. I couldn’t imagine what was going through his mind. Malcom’s known Reese Nelson for years. He knows that he’s not a threat. At least not to me.
“Fine, but don’t think for one minute”—here we go again—“Harper Carmichael Montgomery, that I’m through discussing this subject,” Mother stated firmly. “Clayton will not be pleased. I know you think you’re Daddy’s little girl and it won’t matter, but even the senator has boundaries when it comes to you, Harper. Especially if he plans to live with me,” she hissed.
“Love you mother, we’ll talk more later,” I said, hanging up.
Mother was seriously pissed. But I expected it.
“Reese Nelson is here to see you Ms. Montgomery.”
“Send him up,” I said, wondering what was happening to my peaceful night at home, chilling. Reflecting. It was a good thing company was turning out to be Reese, otherwise I would have turned everyone else away so I could come down off this to-be-expected awkward phone conversation with my mother.
Sooner or later I was going to have to have had this discussion with her. It might as well have been sooner. I was giving her a chance to adjust to the idea, in case this turned out to be the path I would take.
Over the years, Reese had taught me how to think strategically in business. I found it worked well in my personal life, too. That’s what made Reese good at being the most sought-after financial forensics executive in New York. Reese was a strategic thinker. He was cool, calm, and collected under most circumstances that didn’t involve his family. In those moments he became Mr. Overprotective.
I heard Reese enter the foyer double doors and ran to meet him.
“Hey, babe. What’s with Malcom today? He practically gave me his ass to kiss, screening me like I’m some stranger or something. Did he forget about the fact that he and I are both Army? Practically comrades,” Reese said, with a curious look on his face.
“He’s been in a funky mood all week. Ignore him. Can I offer you some pasta or wine? I was finishing up my dinner.”
“I’ll take a pass on the pasta. Gotta watch my figure,” Reese said jokingly, patting his six pack. “But, I’ll have some wine with you, beautiful.”
Reese walked into the kitchen pretty much knowing his way around, grabbing a clean wine glass.
“You? Watch your figure? That’s a joke right?” I laughed. “Everybody with eyes and any semblance of a brain knows that Reese Nelson is Vin Diesel incarnate,” I replied, admiring his soulful eyes that were wrapping me in warmth.
“And you’re the beautiful Zoe Saldana,” he said, kissing me on my forehead, grabbing the wine bottle, and pulling us closer to the fireplace. He was tugging me in such a way that we both plopped down together on my oversized stuffed chair. Reese placed my feet and his on the ottoman, kicking my moccasins off and then shedding his driving slippers. His faded relaxed denim jeans hugged his buttocks as he moved with masculine grace. His skin-tight grey t-shirt with the word ARMY written on the front emphasized the chiseled muscles in his chest, shoulders, and arms as they swung around my shoulders cupping me under his chest. Reese Nelson was my male BFF. For a moment I wondered with curiosity if he’d be a suitable sperm donor for my baby project. That might make Elizabeth more comfortable with the idea of my making a baby sans man. I could roll with that idea of Reese being my baby’s father. He was good stock. Smart. Intelligent. Good looking. Wealthy. All of the attributes you want for your child’s father.
But then again, mother, Reese’s sister Riley, and Nicholas would each surely pitch a fit and have a heart attack and a stroke—all in that order. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. I kept my thoughts to myself. These significant decisions were best handled without the participation of known conspirators and best not said out loud.
“So how’s the Joduku Plastics acquisition coming?” Reese said.
“Wow. Damn, Reese, how do you know about the acquisition already? This is the first time in a couple of weeks we’ve even had a chance to catch up. Isn’t anything sacred in this town?” I cringed. “It’s not like this is public information for Christ’s sake.”
“I got the news from my sister Riley, who got it from Lucia Falco at Milk Money. Don’t you recall? Milk Money is an investor in Riley’s company,” Reese said. “Apparently Lucia let it accidentally slip that she had to move Riley’s quarterly investor presentation to the next quarter. Claimed she and Nicholas Becker were tied up with the Joduku acquisition with you and three other companies,” he said casually, sipping his cabernet.
“Well shut your mouth, Reese Nelson,” I said, jumping up in a nanosecond, running to my Macbook and scrolling quickly through the hundreds of emails I had accumulated, looking for everything and anything from my competitive intelligence team. This was weird. It would be unlike Lucia to make accidental slips.
And there it was . . . an email from the head of my competitive intelligence team. I scrolled through the email quickly, my eyes speed reading through the email.
Harper, pursuant to your recent request, our intelligence efforts have revealed that our expected competition on the Joduku Acquisition are the following companies:
Peachtree Plastics
O’Donnell Plastics
Milk Money
Financial profiles on each company are attached. I believe there may be one other com
petitor that we are yet to identify. Our team is still working that issue as we speak. I’m available to discuss this with you at your earliest convenience to answer any questions that you may have about each of the known companies in more detail.
Sincerely,
Joseph P. Lester.
Chief of Competitive Intelligence
The Montgomery Consulting Group
“Oh hell to the no!” I yelled out loud. “I can’t believe this. Reese? Milk Money is my competitor,” I shouted. “I am going to kill him! Just because he overheard the conversation with my mother at your sister’s wedding reception, he thinks he can just pull the rug out from under me anytime he gets ready? Has he no dignity at all? No sense of fairness?” I fumed.
“What are you talking about Harper?”
“And to think he sat there at the reception at my side pretending like he wasn’t even listening to my mother’s conversation, like some Mr. Goody Two Shoes,” I ranted. “He’s doing this to me because I outbid him on that freaking Ernie Barnes artwork last year. He’s trying to get back at me!” I shouted, pulling my scrunchie out of my ponytail and tossing my hair around wildly.
“Calm down honey,” Reese said.
“Bad enough he stole Gilliam Global out from under me,” I snapped. “That low-down dirty dog,” I ranted. “And to think he asked me to think about our doing a relationship ‘do-over.’”
“What are you talking about?” Reese pleaded, trying to make sense of my rant.
“Yeah, I’ve got his do-over!” I was pacing back and forth around the room in circles. “I’m going to do him over all right. I’m going to cut his blue balls off!” I shouted.
“Well, I vaguely remember you and Nicholas having words about Gilliam Global on New Year’s Eve at his home a year ago,” Reese said. “But you need to calm down, baby,” Reese said, rising and grabbing me by the waist, tugging on my shirt and pulling my body closer to his. “I don’t want you to bust a blood vessel. You’re supposed to be chilling, remember?”
Reese was standing next to me, both of us hovering over my Macbook with me tucked under his arm. Malcom busted through the double doors looking alarmed.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “I heard yelling and shouting.” He looked Reese up and down, his eyes cutting to our feet, noticing we were both barefoot.
“We’re fine,” I said, slamming the lid on the Macbook quickly, cocking my head to the side, looking at him like I wanted to pull out an invisible machete and take all my frustrations out on him.
“Yeah man. No problem,” Reese said. “But thanks for checking. Our game of footsies got a little loud,” Reese said boldly.
As soon Reese made that crack I knew it was the wrong thing to say to Malcom. Reese might as well have rubbed salt in the wound. This moment was turning into a downhill slide. Mr. Overprotective in a stare down with Mr. Possessive, both appearing as if they were each laying claim to me.
I sucked in my breath. I repeated, “We’re fine, Malcom. Some business matters have come up, that’s all,” I said, hoping to quell the situation.
Malcom’s eyes flicked to me and then to Reese. Malcom noticed that I looked a bit disheveled. My hair was practically standing up on top of my head from my pulling on it like a raving lunatic.
“Since when has a game of footsies turned into business, Harper?” Malcom growled.
I shot a look at him that said, “Oh no, you didn’t just go there,” pretty sure my eyes had turned red, now glaring into his green ones.
“Since business requires us to stomp out a few enemy game plans,” Reese shot back at him, eyes narrowed, squeezing me a little tighter.
I hoped no one noticed Michael and Janet Jackson’s “Scream” playing in the background. The moment was almost prophetic. Because that was what I wanted to do. Scream.
“Just doing my job,” Malcom said. “The senator would have my ass if I let anything happened to you, Harper.”
Malcom was practically nose-to-nose with Reese.
“Well your job is done for now,” Reese snorted. “Because she’s fine. It’s not like I’m going to let anything happen to her.”
“I don’t answer to you, motherfucker, last I checked,” Malcom said. “The job of not letting anything happen to her is mine. Mine. You don’t want any of this, Reese,” Malcom fumed.
Reese’s face changed. He stepped in closer to Malcom, pushing me behind him, realizing Malcom’s veiled threat. “And you don’t want any of this,” Reese fired back.
“Stop it. I’ve got more important things to deal with right now,” I said, stepping back in front of Reese to get in between them.
“Thank you, Malcom, We’re fine. Really. You can excuse us now.” I tried to keep my voice polite, knowing Malcom was pissed to the high heavens. “Thank you for checking in on us.”
“The check’s on you only, Harper,” Malcom fired back, his brow frowning, taking a minute to lob a threatening stare back at Reese.
We both watched as Malcom exited the penthouse. I exhaled deeply, moving to go grab more wine from the wine cellar. “I need another glass of wine,” I said.
“I think I’m going to have something stronger,” Reese replied, heading to my wet bar.
I knew Reese well enough to know that he needed a beat to calm down himself. I poured myself another glass of wine. I lifted my Macbook cover open again and then slammed it down. I had another message from Charlotte saying that Nicholas had won the bid at one million dollars.
“Shit,” I said out loud. Well at least I made him pay. “I hate freaking losing.”
“So you slept with him, huh?” Reese said, looking as if he had hit his reset button and composed himself. He was drinking Stoli now.
“What difference does it make?” I asked dismissively, knowing that he was talking about Malcom.
Reese crawled back into the overstuffed chair, pulling me next to him. He moved to put my bare feet back on the ottoman.
“Babe, it’s never a good idea to sleep with the help,” Reese said, taking big gulps of his vodka. “If he doesn’t tamp his emotions down some over you, it’s going to get in the way of his doing his job. Every man is a threat to Malcom right now,” Reese said.
“Is it that obvious?” I sighed.
“He needs to be able to protect you. Part of that job means having the ability to perceive true threats from false ones. Your sleeping with him is blurring his lines,” Reese said with all seriousness.
“I never thought things would get this out of control,” I said, tapping my hand back on the chair for Reese to sit back and curl up next to me.
The day’s events had made me weary. I needed some comfort and some strong arms around me for emotional support.
“You’ve been toying with Malcom, and with that geekster Brooks Fitzgerald McKenna. And god knows who else,” Reese said.
“You tell me now,” I moaned.
“Woman, everybody can’t handle getting the booty and walking away from it,” Reese said. “You love them, Harper, and then leave them in your wake.”
“I thought this would be simple.”
“No. For some guys, this business of you knocking boots with them, then walking away can get dangerous. Trust me, I know,” Reese exhaled, squeezing me hard. “I’ve had my fair share of women that I tapped that ass, trying to walk away afterwards. Those gals turned into stalkers with guns pointed to my head trying to walk me off a plank.” He chuckled.
“Yeah like that nutty girl—Susan Whatshername,” I said. “I had to call her up for you, I told her that we were married so she’d think you were a liar and a cheat and drop your ass,” I chuckled.
“Susan St. James,” Reese said. “She was a real prima donna, too. My dad, said,” Boy I’m ordering you to drop that woman right this minute. Can’t you see she’s crazy?’” Reese lowered his voice by several octaves.
We both starting laughing until we had tears in our eyes. How I loved these moments.
“So why haven’t you ever pursued me?”
I asked. We both caught our breath. “You’re practically the only guy I have around me that hasn’t tried at least once to pursue me,” I said curiously.
Reese looked surprised. I guess he never expected me to ask the obvious question.
“Don’t get me wrong. I love being friends,” I continued. “I like being able to have a good time with you and not have to worry about you making sexual demands. I’m completely comfortable in your space. But, I have had my days when I’ve been curious as to why you’ve never really tried. What’s up with that?” I asked.
“You know the answer to that question, Harper.”
“No I don’t.”
“Yes, you do,” Reese said.
“Don’t you see it?” he asked, keeping his voice calm and even. “Everyone else can.”
“See what?” I asked.
“Babe, you’re still in love with Nicholas Becker. And Nicholas Becker is still in love with you. The only people that don’t know it are the two of you.”
“You must have been smoking something on your way over here tonight, Reese,” I laughed. “Nicholas Becker and I are archenemies. Do we look like we are in love with each other?”
“Yes. You do,” Reese said, taking another swig of his vodka. “Love takes many forms, Harper. Sometimes it can even look like a little mini war,” he said, arching his eyebrows.
“Yeah, Nicholas and I are at war all right.”
“The battle is between who’s going to put their guard down first and show the fuck up. Who’s going to take the risk to appear most vulnerable. You two people need to bury the hatchet, kiss, make up, fuck each other like two wild animals, and whatever the else two idiots that can’t admit they still love each other do,” Reese laughed more heartily now.
Milk Money Page 10