“For now,” Keir says, eyes flicking to mine.
“For always.” I challenge his stare.
“Does … your friend have a name?” Hannah slurs.
“He does.” I restrain a smile.
“Keir Montgomery,” he says, extending his hand and straightening his shoulders.
The car is silent, as if we’re all waiting for my sister to realize she’s sitting next to the youngest son of the President of the United States of America.
“Okay.” Hannah shrugs before leaning back against the seat, her eyes drifting shut. Within a minute, her mouth is hanging open and she’s out cold.
The driver pulls up to my apartment building twenty minutes later, and I elbow my sister. She needs to wake up because there’s no way in hell I can lug her five foot nine frame up to my apartment. Not by myself, and definitely not in these heels.
She doesn’t so much as stir.
“I’ll have the guys help you get her up there,” Keir says, as if he read my mind. His door opens and he gets out first, saying something to one of his agents. A moment later, one of them slides her out, like a sleeping toddler, and hoists her over his shoulder.
Readying my key card, we head inside, only from the corner of my eye, I watch as Keir follows us.
He’s coming.
Upstairs.
To my apartment.
We trail across the lobby, which is fortunately empty this time of night, and ride the elevator to the sixth floor. My apartment is the second door on the left.
The guys get Hannah situated on my sofa, and I grab her a water, a blanket, and a puke bowl just in case. She mumbles something I can’t comprehend and rolls over, letting one lanky gam hang off the edge.
Keir turns to his agents. “Give me a minute.”
Just like that, they’re gone and it’s just the two of us standing in the middle of my cozy, lilac-scented apartment. Plus one out-cold Hannah.
“So,” he says, closing the space between us. “About that date tomorrow.”
My lips part. I don’t want to reject him after he’s done something so kind for me.
“I don’t think I’m what you’re looking for right now,” I say, infusing a cocktail of regret and apologies into my tone.
“You’re exactly what I’m looking for right now.” He doesn’t miss a beat.
“You couldn’t possibly know that. You don’t know me, Keir. Not at all.” Biting my bottom lip, I shake my head. “And I need someone who can love me for tonight, not someone who can love me for the rest of my life. And that’s not what you’re looking for. You made that perfectly clear at your place.”
He huffs, dragging his palm along his chiseled jaw as he glances over my shoulder and toward my living room window. I expect him to walk away, to accept rejection like a gentleman, with class and a head held high.
“If you ever change your mind,” I add, “about the whole settling down thing … if you’re ever looking for something … fun … and casual …” I turn around to make sure Hannah’s still sleeping. She is.
“There are girls you fuck and girls you get to know first,” he says. “And believe me, I know the difference. I know what kind of girl you are. I knew from the moment I saw you.”
There’s a swirl in my stomach that doesn’t belong there and a smile fighting its way to my lips. I hate how good his words feel, but I remind myself I’m still in a vulnerable place. I’m walking around with a shattered-and-glued-together heart. It isn’t the same as it was before. It acts a little strange sometimes.
“I’m tired of the chase, Rowan. I’m tired of games and bullshit and lies,” he says. “I’m over it. I’m over that life. You might not believe me—hell, you don’t have to believe me. But at least give me a chance to prove it before writing me off. I know I have a reputation. But I’m telling you … I’m not that guy anymore.”
“Keir—” I begin to protest, ready to tell him this has nothing to do with him and everything to do with a broken heart in a state of disrepair, but he cuts me off.
“I know your family,” he says as he drags his thumb along his lower lip. “I know how you feel pressured to be the person they want you to be. I know you have a wild side and you try to hide it.” He smirks. “You’re basically the female version of me. I’m telling you, give this a chance. You won’t regret it. I promise you that.”
I fold my arms casually and take a step back. I need to create distance, give him a nonverbal sign that I won’t change my stance on this.
He can claim he’s changed all he wants.
But men like him never change.
“And I’m telling you, Keir,” I say, “that I don’t want to go on a date with you.”
As much as it pains me, I’m going to have to find someone else for this epic one-night stand.
And it’s too bad.
Keir would’ve rocked my world then flipped it on its axis, I’m sure of it.
Walking toward the door to show him out, I turn back only to see he hasn’t moved. He’s planted in the middle of my apartment, a hint of determination in his eyes as he studies me.
“I’m not changing my mind,” I say. “You can stand there staring me down all you want with those pretty boy eyes, but my answer will still be no.”
Sliding his hands in his pockets, he exhales. I think about all the women who’ve come before me, how many of them he’s screwed over. I even think he was engaged once … to one of the Randall heiresses. Their engagement ended in scandal and flames, that much I know.
He might be good in bed, but he’s not a good person.
I refuse to let that heavy sapphire gaze convince me otherwise.
“Goodnight, Keir.” I open the door, pulling it wide and standing back.
He leaves.
But something tells me I haven’t seen the last of him.
4
Keir
“I thought you said this was going to be easy.” I run my hand over my face, sinking back into my chair while my strategist, Connor, paces my living room Friday morning. I know I’m capable of making this work, but I never would’ve imagined it’d be like pulling fucking teeth with her. “She spent all night insisting she’s not the relationship type.”
“Never would’ve guessed that,” he says. “I need to do some more digging, find out who her ex boyfriends were. Maybe she has a type?”
“I’m everyone’s type.” I huff, knowing full well how arrogant I sound, but I don’t give a single fuck. “I’m a goddamned American prince.”
Connor stops pacing and stares me dead on. “Unfortunately, your last name isn’t going to secure this victory. Not after that fucking tell-all book your brother’s wife put out.”
“Do we have to bring that up?” My face is tight, wincing. Every time someone brings up that hard-covered atrocity, it makes me want to punch them in the face.
I couldn’t believe Ronan let her put that out there. Sure, my mother isn’t perfect. She’s ruthless and conniving at times, and she can do it all with a smile on her face and America’s heart on her sleeve, but that’s Busy Montgomery.
Always thought of her as a tiger with unchangeable stripes, but after her reputation was gutted by some scandalous book, she’s been in damage control mode. Leave it to some DC escort to change the spirit of one of the most-loved first ladies this nation has ever known.
It’s a miracle my father was re-elected a second term, given the timing of Camille’s book. He won by a hair, and we’re still not sure how. I suppose The People are more forgiving than we give them credit for. Or they’re afraid to rock the boat when things have been going so well.
My father’s first term saw stock market highs, the lowest unemployment rate on record, and an almost balanced budget for the first time in decades.
I guess the voters were willing to overlook my brother’s kinky affair with a high-class escort and my mother’s attempt at buying her off … in order to maintain status quo.
But pundits still trash talk my parents e
very chance they get. There are memes and videos and college students on YouTube with millions of followers who try to make the Montgomerys a laughingstock every chance they get.
We’re mocked, ridiculed, and lied about every single day.
It was never like this before.
Only after that fucking book.
But once I’m elected president, I’ll restore our name. I’ll make sure we’re given the respect we deserve. My father and grandfather ran this country with pride and honor. My brother has no interest in ever stepping foot in Washington, DC ever again.
So that leaves me.
First step? Establish myself as a ball-busting senator with the charm of a Kennedy and a public-pleasing agenda. Second step? Hint that I plan to run for president in the coming years, plant that seed early. It’s going to be a process, maybe a decade in the making, but it’s going to happen.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t salivate at the idea of all that power, all that prestige, my portrait hanging on the walls of the White House next to some of the greatest leaders this country has ever seen.
I have good intentions, I do. And I’ll do good things once I’m in office. It’s all part of the legacy rebuilding I’m going to have to do.
But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this happen, even if those things aren’t necessarily … good things.
“Maybe … maybe you’re not trying hard enough?” Connor winces, like I’m going to pick up the onyx sculpture to my left and hurl it across the room.
“I’m going to do you a favor and pretend you didn’t just suggest I’m not trying hard enough.” My jaw grits.
He lifts a palm in protest, a wordless apology.
“So what now? What next?” I ask Connor, my tone hurried.
“Let me think.” He’s pacing again, his nail-bitten finger lifted in the air. The cheesy argyle sweater coupled with his thick-rimmed glasses makes me cringe. The man can’t dress for shit, but he knows how to win a fucking election. His resume is a mile long. And he’s the best. That’s why I trust him. “Send her flowers. Woo her the old-fashioned way.”
“Are you fucking insane?” I scoff at him. I’ve only ever sent flowers to one woman, my ex-fiancée, Serena Randall, and I’m well aware of how that turned out. “Besides, she’ll see right through me. Nobody sends flowers to a girl they met one time. I’m not that fucking lame.”
“I’m still having her tailed,” he says. “Maybe we can pull off another ‘chance’ meeting?”
Connor takes his phone from the pocket of his gray slacks, tapping on his text icon.
“You want to know what she did yesterday?” he asks.
“Not really.” I yawn.
He exhales, ignoring me. “You’re going to need to know what she does, where she goes, who she spends her time with. If you want any chance at all of making this work, you’re going to have to get to know her.” Scrolling down his screen, he pulls up a message. “Let’s see … okay, this morning, she and her sister got into a cab, grabbed coffee and pastries, then she dropped her sister off at some Georgetown bookstore. After that she went back to her place. Looks like she had lunch with a female friend around one, and after that—”
“That’s enough.” I place my hand up. “I’m about to fall asleep here.”
“What, you think she’s boring?”
“No. I don’t think she’s boring. I think her day is boring,” I say. “And I don’t care where she goes or who she hangs out with. This is about me and her. No one else. I just need more time with her, and I have no doubt I can win her over.”
Connor smirks. My haughtiness amuses him.
“Just … have her followed until I can meet up with her again,” I say. Connor can strategize my campaign all he wants, but he needs to leave the “wooing” to someone with more proven experience. “You can go now.”
He slips his phone back into his pants pocket, followed by one hand. There’s an unsure look on his face as he studies me. “Campaign officially kicks off in three months, Keir. And your announcement is next month. Let’s make this happen.”
“Oh, and one more thing, Connor.”
“What’s that?” he asks.
I rise, walking him to my door. “Don’t ever fucking doubt me again.”
5
Rowan
I’m curled up with a blanket, a cup of tea, and my laptop Saturday morning, doing a bit of online “research” on Keir in an attempt to prove my point.
All I want is one shred of proof that there’s a chance he’s telling the truth. Maybe something nice he did? Some charity he volunteered at? Some write-up about a woman he didn’t screw over?
But I’m O for twenty so far.
I’d have to be blind not to notice the picture these articles paint.
He’s a bona fide playboy, just like every other single, thirty-ish, red-blooded man in this world. He plays, he makes his rounds, and he gets himself in trouble.
I just find it extremely difficult to believe he flipped a switch and now wants to be some monogamous saint.
Still don’t buy it.
KEIR MONTGOMERY SPOTTED WITH BACHELORETTE KELSI GIOVANI IN ST. BARTS
Things are getting heated in St. Barts, and this time it’s not the summer sun. President Montgomery’s youngest—and only remaining eligible—son was making waves on the beach strolling hand in hand with last season’s Bachelorette, Kelsi Giovani, who famously dumped the season’s winner, Nick Cavashaw, on live television during a reunion special.
Witnesses say when the two single-and-ready-to-mingle lovebirds were holed up in their private cabana ordering room service, they were playing on the beach, creating quite the spectacle for onlookers.
We’ll be watching for Keir and Kelsi to make their stateside debut. Check back for the latest in celebrity gossip!
RONAN MONTGOMERY IS MARRIED! YOUNGER BROTHER KEIR NAMED DC’S MOST ELIGIBLE
Ladies, we hate to be the bearer of bad news, but our source confirms that Ronan Montgomery has tied the knot with his DC-escort-turned-actress, Camille Buchanan. While we can’t deny they make a stunning pair and it’s clear they’re madly in love, a little part of our hearts is in mourning.
But all is not lost for those of you aspiring to one day become American royalty! Ronan’s younger brother, notorious playboy and Casanova extraordinaire, is still on the market.
We’re not quite sure he’s ready to settle down just yet, but you never know …
One lucky lass might come along and be the one to change his naughty ways.
PRESIDENT’S SON CAUGHT IN THREE-WAY BY HEIRESS FIANCEE
It’s official. Heiress Serena Randall has called off her engagement to America’s most eligible bachelor, Keir Montgomery. Sources tell us she caught him in bed with not one, but two other women.
And here we thought he was ready to settle down …
From what we’ve been told, the heiress was allegedly involved in a car accident and is quietly recuperating at her father’s estate in the country, out of the public eye.
Best wishes for a speedy recovery, Serena.
YOUNGEST MONTGOMERY BROTHER ASSAULTED AT VEGAS CLUB
Keir Montgomery’s weekend of debauchery came to a swift end at club ALO Saturday night when a group of men assaulted him. We’re told Keir had hooked up with one of the men’s girlfriends the night before, which was the catalyst for this ambush attack.
According to the police report, Keir suffered from a busted lip, a black eye, as well as a smashed cell phone. Witnesses tell us the attackers waited outside his restroom stall. His Secret Service agents were able to intervene before things went too far, but if you ask us, the biggest injury Keir suffered that night was that of a bruised ego.
Our source tells us he cut his trip short, demanding to fly home the next day.
KEIR MONTGOMERY REVEALS WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE SINGLE AND MISUNDERSTOOD
Keir Montgomery, known for seldom giving sit-down interviews, took the time last Sunday to talk to Dateli
ne NBC about the damning stories included in Camille Buchanan-Montgomery’s jaw-dropping memoir, Dark Paradise.
Chapter eight details a night spent with Keir at his penthouse, in which he pretended to be his brother in an attempt to sleep with her.
In the interview, Keir claims that the entire situation was misunderstood. He says he didn’t know she and his brother had been seeing each other privately, and that made her ‘fair game.’ Had he known they were talking, he never would have been that forward with her.
He met her at a bar, found her beautiful, and didn’t correct her when she assumed he was Ronan, as he’d grown up his entire life with people confusing the two of them.
Keir insists he’s misunderstood and that he isn’t the villain she made him out to be. He only offered to give the interview in hopes that people might give his side of the story a chance.
Keir also claims that the tell-all memoir is riddled with lies and misgivings, and he highly doubts the credibility of a woman skilled in making people believe what they want to believe.
He likened the book to poorly written fictional drama and told everyone to take it with a grain of salt.
MONTGOMERY BROTHERS NAMED DC’S MOST STYLISH
Keir Montgomery named DC’s most stylish man by DC Living Magazine. This marks the fifth year in a row the committee has selected Keir. When reached for comment, Keir asked us if we had more interesting things to write about.
Sources tell us he’s been utilizing stylist Jenny Hong and impossible-to-book hairstylist Enrique Juarez. We’ve yet to confirm, but the little birdies chirping in our ear are very reliable.
We’re also told his go-to designers are Dolce and Gabbana and Tom Ford.
Yeah, no. Not buying it.
And still wildly disappointed about Thursday night.
Though I’ll give him credit … helping me retrieve my nineteen-year-old sister from a drunken night of debauchery was kind. And I’m not sure when he managed to do this, but at some point he left a note for me with the doorman. It was his number in a sealed envelope along with the words, “For when you change your mind.”
Dark Promises Page 3