“That’s it?” he asked. “You’ll live your whole life under a cloud of doubt, non-heiress to a billion-dollar fortune, working for someone who refuses to acknowledge you as his own? That’s the ending you want for this story?”
“It’s the only ending for this story.”
“But that’s not how stories work,” he protested, certain he was hearing things wrong. “The bad guy doesn’t get to walk away without being held accountable for his actions. He doesn’t get to keep being rich and powerful without consequences.”
“He’s not a bad guy.” Amy’s voice was strangled.
“He’s not a good one either.” That was an understatement. “Think about it. This man has been hiding the truth of your birth for twenty-six years, probably forced your mom to agree to keep it a secret in exchange for his support. For chrissakes—rather than admit his culpability, he set me to spy on you so you wouldn’t go out with your half brother.”
“That doesn’t make him evil.”
“No? And what if I hadn’t told you about all this? What if you snuck out to meet Jake without either me or Mr. Montgomery knowing?”
Her lips wobbled dangerously. Driven by a need to comfort her, to make this situation and his role in it somehow okay, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “I think maybe it’s time for you to have a chat with Daddy Warbucks.”
She reacted as though struck before falling into a peal of laughter. It felt false to his ears, fragile and forced, but she rose to her feet and began gathering the twins’ gear as if nothing had happened.
“I’m glad you find this so funny.”
“I’m sorry.” She wouldn’t look him in the eyes. “But the second a man starts throwing Annie references at me, I’m a goner. You a big fan? Sun coming out tomorrow and all that?”
“It’s not that odd. I did work in show business for most of my adult life.”
“You worked on action movies.”
“Annie is ubiquitous.”
Amy clapped her hands. “And that, children, is our last vocab word of the day. Ubiquitous. U. Biq. Ui. Tous. It means that Mr. Ryan secretly loves musicals and doesn’t want to admit it.”
“Amy,” he warned, but she did a spectacular job of ignoring him as they made their way back to the house.
In fact, she did a spectacular job of ignoring him for the rest of the afternoon.
Chapter Eleven
Amy snuck out of the nursery at nine o’clock that night, shoes in hand and socks on her feet.
Every floor in Montgomery Manor was made of either hard wood or harder tile. She wasn’t sure what the family had against carpeting, but it was virtually impossible to pass through a room or hallway undetected. Heels clicked. Toes clacked. Children slid and fell.
Luckily, one of her few usable skills in this world was her ability to move lightly across the floor, sweeping her limbs so that they made almost no impression on the horizontal surface below.
“You’re quiet, I’ll give you that. But you’re not invisible.”
Amy whirled in the direction of the gravelly voice, spinning on the frictionless hardwood to find a male figure hidden in the shadows at the end of the hall. Any feeling of alarm she felt subsided when she realized who it was.
“Holy hell, Ryan. You scared the crap out of me.”
“I can’t imagine why. You were obviously expecting someone to be waiting out here for you, what with all these cloak and dagger antics.”
She felt heat suffuse her cheeks and was grateful for the low lights of the hallway. The house was never completely dark—too many people lived inside these walls for that—but the Montgomerys liked to conserve electricity as much as the next ecologically minded billionaires. “I was afraid of running into Jake. Or you.” Or Mr. Montgomery. Or anyone, really. All she’d wanted out of this night was to slide between the sheets and into oblivion, erasing the past eight hours in the blissful reaches of sleep. “I figured a little stealth couldn’t hurt.”
“A little stealth is always a good idea.”
“Too much can be bad, though,” she warned. “You’re lucky I didn’t scream and bring Alex running down here to protect the children.”
“Who do you think let me in? I had no idea the house went on lockdown after eight.”
“Standard procedure. Always has been.” It had been a trial to get around as a teenager. No one came in or out of the house after dark except by the front door and with approval from the head of security first—not even a rope ladder or the occasional grappling hook made of sheets and twisted coat hangers was sufficient to scale these walls. “There are lots of crazies out there.”
“There are quite a few crazies in here too.” Ryan moved out of the shadows and gestured at her feet. Her socks had kittens on them, so she could only assume he was talking about her. “Did you go talk to him?”
Right. When the very thought of forming the words that would clarify her birth made her choke. She’d gone over it in her head a thousand times, and there was no good possible outcome.
Yes, Amy. You’re my daughter but I never loved you as much as I loved my real kids. Sorry. Do you want a raise instead?
Don’t be ridiculous, Amy. You’re not part of this family and you never will be. You’re just an employee. Do you want a raise instead?
“When would I have had time?” she asked evasively. “It’s not like I can lock the twins up while I run errands.”
“There are at least twenty people in this house at all times. And you could have asked Sheryl to come in early.”
“I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“You’ll do it right now.”
“You aren’t the boss of me.”
“Amy.” He moved even closer this time, and she was struck by how dangerous this meeting might be in an alternate universe. It was so easy to feel safe and cocooned inside Montgomery Manor, with Alex standing guard and rules designed to keep everything running in tiptop shape. But Ryan was a strong man, a powerful man, and he could easily take her down before anyone came running.
Her breath came faster—not because of the danger of the moment, but because of how wonderful that particular image reverberated through her body, settling in a slow, steady burn between her thighs. She wished she could enjoy the sensation the way it deserved to be enjoyed, but she clamped her legs tighter in an effort to quell the mounting pressure. Was it too soon after Incestgate to start throwing herself at Ryan again? Was there a dedicated mourning period for that sort of thing?
“Can’t we just pretend none of this ever happened? I can solemnly promise never to go on another date with Jake.” The very thought had taken on such a nauseating quality that she was pretty sure she couldn’t ever look at a redheaded man the same way again. “That way you fulfill your obligations to Mr. Montgomery so you can keep your job and I uphold all the laws of polite society. No one has to be any the wiser. Pretty please?”
Ryan was tempted to capitulate. No neater solution to his dilemma existed. Amy was effectively cured of any and all infatuation with Jake. Mr. Montgomery would never have to know how it came about. And even though he should have been ashamed to admit it, he kind of liked knowing this family secret. It gave him power over them all—Mr. Montgomery, Jake, even Amy. Ryan was human enough to relish the thrill accompanying that feeling.
But he felt a surge of anger on her behalf, so powerful it almost overwhelmed him. From the day he’d run the town car into a ditch—and possibly even before, as far back as the day he’d been hired—Mr. Montgomery had been using him. He’d known Ryan’s weakness, the one thing he’d sell his soul for, and leveraged it against his own flesh and blood. He’d manipulated Ryan into doing his dirty work so he could escape having to come clean about the real relationship between Jake and Amy.
And it had almost worked.
If there was one t
hing Ryan believed now, it was that Amy had a right to know if Mr. Montgomery was her father. She deserved a real place in this family, not just a chance to slave away in the nursery for kids who might or might not be her siblings. She deserved a part of their fortunes, a share in their love. She was a good person. She was the best person he knew.
“I know it’s technically none of my business, and I know you have a history with this family that goes way back, but you can’t just wish your problems away.” That was one step short of drinking them away. “If nothing else, you at least deserve to know the truth.”
“Can’t we go back to piling up rocks instead?”
“What if I promise to go with you and wait in the hallway?” He grabbed her hand and gave it a light squeeze. Remembering the way she’d tried to wipe away the scars of his past with a kiss, he brought her hand to his lips and repeated the gesture. He lingered over the soft skin, the slightly salty taste, the pulse that beat erratically under his lips.
“Okay,” she said in a soft exhale, staring at her hand. “You’re right.”
“Really?” Maybe this kiss-the-boo-boo-better thing did have some power.
“Yes.” She caught her lower lip with her teeth. “But you have to come inside with me. I don’t think I want to do this alone.”
He clutched her hand even tighter, the gesture echoing the sudden constraint in the region of his chest. She was so trusting of everyone—she made it so easy for all of them to take advantage of her.
Afraid she might change her mind if they lingered, Ryan wasted no time in leading her toward the end of the hall, where a serviceable stairway led to all the main floors. It wasn’t exactly a servant’s entrance, but it wasn’t not one, either. “He’s in his office working late. I checked.”
“That was very thorough of you,” she said shakily. “Why do I suddenly feel like a prisoner you’re leading to her death?”
“It’s my natural strength and aura of command.”
“No. That’s not it.”
“Thanks a lot.” He paused only to open the stairwell door and usher her through. “Maybe it’s my inherent love of justice?”
“Nope.” She laughed, and some of the nervous shaking seemed to subside. “Try again.”
“Hmm.” He tapped his chin, playing along. “Could be my total disregard for my prisoner’s health and well-being. You’ll get to that office door whether I have to hoist you over my shoulder and carry you the whole way.”
Amy pointed up the stairwell, which bore similarities to the kind of emergency stairs you’d find in a hospital, industrial but clean. “It’s two flights up. I don’t think you could make it.”
Ryan growled his wounded pride. He wasn’t a bodybuilder, but he took advantage of the Montgomery gym membership at the local Fit n’ Bounce. They even knew him by name there—and that he liked the blue sports drink the best, that the red one made him break out in hives.
He grabbed Amy’s forearm more firmly and twisted it, not hurting her, but in the kind of hold that would have her lifted over his head—or pinned beneath him—in a matter of seconds. The motion drew her naturally nearer to him, so close he could have counted each freckle on her nose. Although lines of anxiety around the eyes made her appear older than her twenty-six years, she was dazzling and full of energy and so beautiful it took his breath away.
“Do you dare to question my virility?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
“That depends. Do you dare to question my ability to high-kick right between your legs?”
Despite his better judgment, he twisted more firmly, now so close he couldn’t count any freckles at all. There was just him and her. Two.
“I’m not scared of you,” he said.
Her head turned just enough so that her lips brushed his outer ear, her breath warm and almost painful against his sensitive skin. “That’s good to hear, Ryan. Because you scare the crap out of me.”
He thought about how close he’d been to letting her go without confessing his role in all this, about how he still hadn’t told her what he might get out of this deal, and gulped. He was kind of scared of himself, too.
* * *
Amy walked through the door of Mr. Montgomery’s office as if she were approaching the gallows with a sack over her head.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise.” Mr. Montgomery, always a stickler for things like gallantry, got up and pulled out a chair for her, making it appear as though her late-night visit was a cause for joy—and not an interruption to the bright lights, haphazard whirl of papers and half-eaten turkey sandwich on his desk that showed him hard at work. He nodded once to Ryan, who stood pressed against the wood-paneled wall, as though his presence meant nothing.
That didn’t mean it actually meant nothing. Mr. Montgomery was one of those men you absolutely wanted by your side when the zombie apocalypse hit. He’d see all the undead heading your way, blink once, and then whisk you to one of his eight contingency hiding places for just such a situation. Nothing fazed him simply because he’d already imagined every possible outcome to what the Fates had in store.
Why wouldn’t his chauffeur accompany his nanny-and-possibly-daughter to a scene of paternal confrontation? Stranger things existed in his imagination and were therefore already taken care of.
“I hope everything is all right with the twins,” he said calmly. “Are they having trouble sleeping?”
She wished the light conversation felt half as ordinary as it sounded. “Oh, no. Nothing like that. Although I do think you ought to get Evan’s hearing checked. I mentioned it to Seren—I mean, Mrs. Montgomery, the other day, but she thought it might be sinus trouble, which runs in her family.” Speaking of running, her words were blurring together in a pathetic jumble. “Not that I mean to be a tattletale or anything, because obviously she knows her own children best...”
Behind her, Ryan cleared his throat. She wasn’t sure if it was meant as a reprimand or a friendly reminder to keep her shit together, but she appreciated his support either way. She hadn’t been kidding when she said she couldn’t do this alone—she was worse at confrontations than she was at lying. Swallowing what she meant to say next, which could have been anything from the contents of the twins’ latest diapers to a dialogue on Serena’s parental habits, Amy forced herself to look Mr. Montgomery in the eye.
His kindly eye. His kindly, if slightly shaped wide at the center and narrow at the end, like it had been pinched off in haste, eye. Much like her own, now that she thought about it. She’d always hated that shape, which made it difficult to put eyeliner on evenly, but it looked really good on the men of the family.
Oh, God. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bear the thought that his kindly eye might actually be cruel. She wouldn’t be able to handle it if he was anyone but the man she’d always known and respected.
“I want a raise.” She leaped out of her chair in surprise at her own demand, perilously near to jumping on the desk and bellowing her triumphant yawp.
Behind her, Ryan’s throat clearing gave way to an even less discreet cough, and Mr. Montgomery’s eyes widened enough that, for the moment, they looked perfectly round.
“Oh, geez. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. It’s just...”
“It’s just that you’ve been on the job for a few months and you know how much work goes into it now, yes?” Mr. Montgomery asked in that gentle way he had. “You realize how sorely underpaid you are and have come to demand restitution?”
“Well, yes, actually.” She had no idea how her mother had done this for so many years—and with double the children at her heels. “I do find myself working longer hours than we agreed.”
Mr. Montgomery raised his hand, silencing her without the need to say a word. She let her mouth hang open, knowing as she did that she looked like a fainting goat. She felt like one too. On
e more surprise packed into this day, and she was likely to fall over and give up on the spot.
“Amy, what’s the first thing I taught you about success? Do you remember? At the lemonade stand you and Jenna ran one year during Public Day?”
She closed her mouth, remembering. The Montgomery Public Days were an annual community event that had become something of a tradition. Every August, the family opened their home and their pocketbooks to throw an all-day party of carnival rides, fried foods and tours of the grounds. Her mother had thought it seemed crass to sell lemonade on a day that was supposed to be free, but Mr. Montgomery only lauded their entrepreneurial spirit. They’d made almost a hundred dollars.
“There’s no such thing as free lunch?”
“No,” he said slowly. “That wasn’t it.”
“Really? I could have sworn it was the free lunch one.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh! I know it was. Because I’d just gotten done eating lunch, and then I got worried that you were going to make me pay for it, and then I started thinking about all the lunches I’d had at your house and figured I’d have to be your slave forever, like Rumpelstiltskin.”
Ryan sucked in a sharp breath, too loud to go undetected but impossible to take back. He’d been trying to be invisible—supportive but not in the way—but Amy’s words hit him hard. There was no denying the truth of what she said. She might as well have been a princess toiling away in the Montgomery dungeons, spinning straw to gold, the wicked half sister no one wanted to claim. That was basically how they treated her.
He couldn’t be a party to that. He wouldn’t.
“I’ve always found the no free lunch saying to be pretty accurate,” he said, joining the conversation despite his intention to remain the strong, silent type of supporter. Amy was clearly losing her nerve, and he wasn’t about to let Mr. Montgomery turn the conversation around without a fight. “In Hollywood, nothing you put in your mouth comes without strings attached.”
Ryan moved to stand beside Amy, ignoring the cold, appraising look Mr. Montgomery turned on him. It was the kind of cold, appraising look that probably reduced lesser men to stone, but Ryan found he didn’t feel an urge to crumble. He felt protective and angry and out of control instead. And since his normal method of coping with that particular cocktail of emotions—a cocktail—was out of the question, he settled for staring down the man responsible for the bulk of them.
If I Stay Page 16