Chapter 8
Zoe insistsI’ve lost all my marbles, but at least she’s okay that I’m going with Ethan. We might not like Dominique, but his brother seems like a great person.
When I called Mom to find out if she knew more about the Montgomery family, she said that she only knew a few things. She confirmed that Ethan was a retired something—her words. “He was definitely serving or is it called served?” she continued. I adore my mother but sometimes she just listens but doesn’t retain any information. I didn’t correct her because what’s the point when she would be stirring the conversation back to my sister’s wedding.
She did say that Ethan is some sort of tech mogul who used his training and skills to create his company. After that we went back to the horrible dresses Cleo picked for the flower girls. They want me to join them next time they go to the seamstress so they can fit my dress.
Which is why it’s best if I leave my comfortable place ASAP. Once I’m on the road, my family won’t be able to stop me. At least, that’s what I hope. I pack the essentials in my carry-on bag and stuff my electronics in my backpack along with my passport—in case we have to go to another country. Wouldn’t that be amazing?
I may be taking this road trip a little out of proportion. Once I’m ready, I head toward Ethan’s office, my palms sweating and my stomach doing somersaults. The moment I step onto the fourth floor of the building, the coolness of the room gives me goose bumps, or maybe it’s the nerves.
The place is like something out of a futuristic movie—all sharp edges and clean lines. Modern artwork hangs on the walls in bold strokes of color that somehow don’t clash with the starkness of the room. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach. Get a grip, I tell myself, smoothing my hands over my fitted blazer.
As I approach the receptionist’s desk, a woman with sleek blonde hair and piercing blue eyes looks up at me, her red lips curving into a polite smile. “Good morning, Miss Harper. Mr. Montgomery is expecting you in the conference room. Right this way.” She rises gracefully from her seat, leading me down a long hallway.
I’m a little baffled at the fact that she knows who I am, but all the same I follow her, my sneakers squeaking against the polished marble floor. She stops in front of a frosted glass door and opens it, gesturing for me to enter. “Mr. Montgomery, Miss Harper is here to see you,” she announces.
As I cross the threshold into the conference room, my eyes are immediately drawn to a figure standing against the far wall. Ethan stands about six feet tall, with a posture that balances perfectly between relaxed and assertive. His hair is a rich chestnut brown, falling in soft waves just above his ears, with a few strands invariably brushing against his forehead, giving him a look of effortless charm.
His face carries a natural ruggedness, with a square jawline that softens into a warm smile, revealing dimples that add a boyish appeal to his otherwise masculine features. Ethan’s eyes are a striking shade of green, vibrant and expressive, framed by thick lashes that cast subtle shadows, adding depth and intensity to his gaze.
At the sound of my arrival, he turns, his gaze locking with mine. A slow, devastating smile spreads across his handsome face, making my knees go weak.
“Thank you, Olivia,” he says to the receptionist. “That will be all.” His deep voice sends a hum through my body.
“Good morning, Lily. It’s a pleasure to see you today.” Ethan’s husky voice slices through me, warm and rich like honey. I swivel around, and there he is, all casual charm in a button-down shirt that probably costs more than my rent. His broad shoulders fill out the fabric perfectly, and I can’t help but let my gaze linger on the way his sleeves strain against his muscular arms.
“Hi, Ethan,” I say, tugging at the hem of my sweater, a nervous habit I can’t seem to shake. My heart races as his piercing green eyes meet mine, and I feel a flush creeping up my neck.
“Excited about our planning session?” He flashes that million-dollar smile that could convince me to go skydiving without a parachute. The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement, and I’m momentarily dazzled by his charming demeanor.
“Definitely,” I lie, hoping he doesn’t notice the tremble in my voice. Excitement is one word for it; impending doom is another. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, trying to appear nonchalant, but my palms are sweating, and my stomach is in knots.
What happened to the so-sure-of-herself woman who left her apartment ready for adventure? Who the fuck knows. I’m starting to think that maybe this isn’t the best idea I’ve had. Doubt begins to creep in, and I bite my lower lip, second-guessing my decision to take this journey with Ethan.
Ethan narrows his gaze, his eyes searching mine intently. “Are you sure?” He steps closer, and I catch a whiff of his intoxicating cologne, a blend of spice and something uniquely him.
“Why would you ask?” I try to keep my voice steady, but it comes out a bit breathless.
He shrugs a shoulder, a casual gesture that somehow makes him even more attractive. “There was more excitement in you yesterday than today. Did the adrenaline run out and you want to call it quits?” He raises an eyebrow, a challenge glinting in his eyes. “It’s okay. We can just forget about it and go on with our lives. It’s not like figuring out your past to create a better future matter.”
My mouth falls open, a gasp escaping my lips. Is he goading me? Heat rushes through my veins, a mixture of indignation and something else entirely. I straighten my spine, meeting his gaze head-on.
“No, I’m ready for this and anything,” I say, finding my purpose. My voice is strong and unwavering, fueled by a sudden surge of determination. “I just skipped my coffee. If you plan to come along, you might as well be ready with caffeine in hand every morning.”
“Duly noted. I’ll make sure to have a steaming cup ready for you. Now, come on over.” He gestures toward the conference table, and I follow, taking in the sleek glass surface that seems to float above the chrome legs. Everything here screams: polished, precise, and intimidatingly perfect.
Is that who Ethan Montgomery is? I wonder, my gaze drifting over his chiseled features, the strong line of his jaw, and the way his dark hair falls effortlessly across his forehead. My heart skips a beat as I realize just how attractive he truly is.
Yesterday, I didn’t pay much attention to the details. Maybe I was on a high of adrenaline, broken dreams, and big expectations. Today . . . I don’t know what I’m doing, but there’s no going back, is there? A flicker of uncertainty dances in my gut, but I push it aside, determined to see this through.
“Have a seat,” he says, pulling out a chair for me—a nice touch that reminds me he’s not just a tech-savvy man who owns a top-five hundred company but a gentleman at heart. The warmth of his hand brushes against my back as he guides me to my seat, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Thanks,” I mumble, smoothing my jeans as I sit down, trying to ignore the electric current that seems to flow between us. I focus my attention on the giant digital map of the United States that dominates the screen on the wall, each state outlined in crisp detail.
“Pretty cool, huh?” Ethan plops down next to me, his enthusiasm infectious. His knee bumps against mine under the table, and I feel a zap of awareness shoot through me. “We can zoom in anywhere, add markers . . . It’s all interactive.” He leans closer, his shoulder brushing against mine as he points to the screen, and I catch a hint of his spicy cologne, making my head spin.
“Very cool,” I agree, leaning forward to get a better look, grateful for the distraction from the heat of his proximity. “But we can’t take that with us.” I raise an eyebrow, wondering how we’ll navigate our journey without the high-tech setup.
He smirks, a confident expression that sends a flutter through my stomach. “That’s the beauty of what I do. I had my people create a simple app that will help us mark things and change others as we go along.” His eyes gleam with pride, and I can’t help but be impressed by his resourcefulness.
“I like that,” I say, as the excitement comes back full force, chasing away my earlier doubts. I meet his gaze, a smile tugging at my lips. “Looks like you’ve thought of everything, Mr. Montgomery.”
“I hope so.” He changes screens, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the keyboard. “So, I took the notes you gave me, and I have to say, sixteen exes? Impressive.” He raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye.
“Thanks?” I’m not sure if he’s shaming me for having too many—is that too many? I bite my lip, feeling a twinge of insecurity. “Is your number of exes just as impressive?”
He smirks and shakes his head.
“Your brother says?—”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” he states, holding up a hand, his eyes locking with mine intensely.
“It’s that big, huh?” I blurt out, instantly regretting my words as a blush creeps up my cheeks.
His gaze smolders, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “I don’t think you’re ready to see how big it is,” he says, his voice low and laced with innuendo.
I flush, not knowing how to respond to that. What are we talking about now? The number of women he’s dated or . . . stop thinking like that, Lily. Concentrate on something else. My heart races, and I feel a flutter of excitement mixed with nerves in the pit of my stomach.
“So, what do you think?” Ethan asks, dragging me away from my thoughts, his eyes studying me intently.
I take a deep breath and try to look like I totally know what he’s talking about. “Come again?” I ask innocently, tilting my head to the side.
“I haven’t yet, but when I do, you’ll know.” He smirks, his eyes glinting with promise. My breath hitches, and I feel a rush of heat through my body.
“Stop talking out of context,” I claim, trying to regain my composure, but my voice comes out a bit breathless.
“You should start by paying a little more attention,” he retorts, leaning back in his chair, his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest. “As I was saying, sixteen is impressive, but also seems to be a lot of people we need to track and talk to. Are you sure all of them are that important?”
I shrug, feeling a bit defensive. “I mean, they are. Haven’t you ever had a tryst with someone you met on vacation? While at a conference? At summer camp?” I raise an eyebrow, challenging him.
“True,” he concedes with a nod, his lips quirking up in a half-smile. “But let’s be realistic here. We don’t want to spend all our time chasing after that guy you met during a flight who you barely remember his name and is now happily married with kids.”
I sigh, knowing he has a point. “Fine, you’re right. Let’s focus on the ones that really mattered, the ones that left a mark on my heart.” I place my hand over my chest, feeling the ache of past loves and lost chances.
“So how about this,” Ethan suggests, leaning back in his chair. “We aim for ten exes. The top ten most likely candidates who mattered. Not the guy who gave you his phone number and never called back.”
I flinch, my heart clenching at the memory. Okay, maybe that guy isn’t important at all, or England Ron, who I met during my flight to London. We had a connection—or so I thought—but that was sophomore year of college and obviously didn’t mean anything to either one of us, or we would’ve stayed connected afterward. I feel a pang of disappointment, but I push it aside, focusing on the present.
“Sounds like a good compromise,” I say, nodding slowly, my lips curving into a small smile.
“We’ll make it into a game,” Ethan says excitedly as he pulls up a new document on the screen. His eyes sparkle with enthusiasm, and I can’t help but feel drawn in by his energy. “We’ll create profiles for each ex and see who can find the most information about them online.”
I can’t help but smile at his energy, my earlier reservations melting away. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. The thrill of the challenge begins to course through my veins, and I lean forward, eager to get started.
“Let’s start with an easy one,” he says, typing away on his laptop, his fingers flying over the keys with practiced ease.
“Easier said than done,” I mutter under my breath as he pulls up a profile picture of Nathan Turner—the guy who used to sit next to me in psychology and passed notes with me during boring lectures. My heart skips a beat as I take in his familiar features, memories flooding back.
“No way,” I exclaim, shocked to see that he is now a successful fashion designer living in New York. My eyes widen, and I lean closer to the screen, taking in every detail of his impressive biography.
Ethan leans over, his arm brushing mine as he zooms out with a swipe of his finger. Electricity crackles between us at the contact, and I struggle to maintain my focus. “Or,” he says, drawing out the word like a tease, his warm breath tickling my ear, “we start with a bang—Derek in California. Didn’t you say he was the one that got away?”
“Ugh.” I flop back into the chair, crossing my arms, a wave of frustration washing over me. “Derek is like . . . the season finale, Ethan. You don’t lead with your biggest cliffhanger.” I narrow my eyes at him, trying to ignore the way my heart races at the mere mention of Derek’s name.
“Strategic planning, Lily,” he counters, tapping his temple with a smirk. “Build up to the peak experience.” His words hang in the air, heavy with implication, and I feel a flush creeping up my neck. I swallow hard, torn between the desire to unravel the mystery of my past and the fear of confronting the one who broke my heart.
“So how about this,” Ethan suggests, leaning back in his chair, his muscular arms folded behind his head. A lazy smile plays on his lips, but there’s a glint of challenge in his eyes. “Unless . . .” His voice trails off, and he cocks an eyebrow at me. “You’re afraid you won’t be able to handle this.”
My jaw drops, and I feel a flare of indignation mixed with a thrill of excitement. How dare he question my resilience? I straighten my spine, meeting his gaze head-on. “Please, I can handle anything. Bring on the Nathans, Dereks, and . . . anyone. I’m ready.” I stick my tongue out at him, a childish gesture that only serves to highlight the playful tension between us.
Ethan chuckles, that deep, resonant sound that somehow makes my stomach do somersaults. The rich timbre of his voice is like a call to my soul, and I find myself leaning forward, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
“Come on, Pandemonium Lily,” he teases, using a nickname that simultaneously irritates and endears me. His eyes sparkle with mirth as he uses my own words against me. “Isn’t there appeal in throwing caution to the wind? Starting big?”
“Pandemonium?”I feign insult, placing my hand over my heart dramatically. My lips quirk up in a playful smirk as I meet his gaze. “I prefer ‘spontaneously creative,’ thank you very much.” I pause, drumming my fingers on the glass table, the smooth surface cool beneath my fingertips. “And for your information, Mr. Structure, spontaneity can have its own kind of order.”
“Is that so?” He raises an eyebrow, a challenge dancing in his eyes. The intensity of his stare is exciting, and I feel my heart rate quicken.
“Absolutely.” I lean in closer, our faces mere inches apart. The air between us sizzles with an electric intensity, and I can feel the warmth radiating from his body. “Imagine all the stories we’ll collect. Life is like jazz—improvised, unexpected, and always keeping you on your toes.”
“Jazz, huh?” He crosses his arms, leaning back.
“Yep. Well, I suppose we could improvise starting from the middle and then—randomly select where to go next.”
“Randomly?” He pretends to gasp, his hand flying to his chest in mock horror. His eyes widen comically, and I can’t help but giggle at his exaggerated expression. “You dare suggest chaos to a man who was raised to organize everything?”
“Even his underwear drawer?” I shoot back, raising an eyebrow in challenge. My lips twist into a playful smirk, and I lean forward, eager to hear his response.
Ethan throws his head back and laughs, the rich sound filling the room and sending a delightful warmth in my belly. “If I had any, probably,” he admits with a grin that tells me he’s not the least bit ashamed. His eyes sparkle with mirth, and I find myself drawn to the boyish charm that radiates from him.
“Okay, let’s compromise.” I tap the map, my finger landing halfway between Bridgetown and California. A thrill of excitement courses through me as the idea takes shape in my mind. “We start in the middle. Heartland, baby. It’s symbolic, it’s central, and it’s definitely not what anyone would expect.”
He shakes his head. “Sorry, I just can’t in good conscience let you start from the middle. It’s not logical. We’ll find ways to . . . improvise.
“Alright, Montgomery.” I reach out and shake his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm against mine. The current between us builds, and I find myself lingering in the contact, savoring the sensation of his skin on mine. And just like that, our plan takes shape—a blend of order and chaos, just like us.