Chapter 17 Montana
montana
. . .
As we stepped out of Guggenheim Management, Zuri’s heels clapped the asphalt, quick and nervous. Smog curled around buildings while we stopped at the valet.
“They promised to take it into consideration,” she whispered.
Was that supposed to comfort me?
“Some owners already left for lunch, Montana. That’s why the rest couldn’t make an executive decision,” she added as a BMW coupe aimed for the curb. The driver handed LaShawn her keys.
My agent fisted them in her hand. Not one big on emotional displays either, she did something out of character. She agreed. “True.”
Zuri stared at her like they’d commence a girl talk, and I was supposed to listen in. Catch comfort from their speculation.
Nah.
LaShawn was all out of woman-to-woman juice. She grumbled, “Will keep you posted,” then got into her car as my Maserati approached.
As the valet exited the driver’s side, I opened the passenger door for Zuri.
Had to remain respectful, even if she dragged my business into the streets.
Where I was from, family washes the dirty laundry.
But there she goes … throwing out Momma’s pain, Wash’s mistake.
All me and my brother’s scars. My damn father’s shadow. Stacked on a scoreboard.
I hardly watched the skirt rise up her thighs. Couldn’t. Didn’t need to stare at my weakness while she tried to explain away what she’d done.
“Montana—”
My look shut it down.
As I closed the door, Martinez’s words echoed.
Saying not everyone heard? What an excuse? In a game of big bank take little bank, the execs who listened could’ve left the others penniless. These dudes controlled most of it.
I sighed while strolling around the car. “You shoulda been grateful, Big Country.”
Zuri stepped up to the plate. Confidently swung at wild pitches, not about to let a single bad throw slide.
Behind the wheel, my peripheral vision consumed her.
I would always see her. She was just that sophisticated even as she fidgeted a leg.
“Zuri, you said too much. Told my story.”
She nodded, swallowed. The shine in her eyes only grew. Her leg was on the run, tapping against the center console. She wanted to argue and say she did it for me. A part of me believed it. Trusted her.
But that was the issue.
I’d trusted her more than she trusted me.
The boy who watched his mother cry in silence. Who shoved a deadbeat on instinct. He felt exposed. Stripped. Naked in front of rich dudes who never tasted this history.
And naked in front of her.
I’d never laid my heart bare to a woman.
Hadn’t tried to.
Zuri snuck in.
The girl had me whipped.
She knew my story. Those hands had rubbed me softer than a butterball turkey. I’d told her everything. Didn’t end the conversation when she asked how I got stabbed. Nothing had been off the table but Ezekiel and my nephew. And I didn’t know a damn thing about her except for what she shared.
Half figured I was aware of her real occupation because of the old man at HC&PP. Observation told me that. Not her.
Once my silence suffocated her long enough, she’d fill it with her truth. Had to.
The next day, first class smelled of leather and the champagne I’d need to survive this flight while still prescribing Zuri the silent treatment.
I sank back, hoodie up. Jaw locked. The boardroom scene still on my mind.
For the first hour? No issues. Zuri slapped each page of the complimentary airline magazine as if begging me to remove the AirPods.
I cranked the music. Caught a headache. I flicked a glance at her from the corner of my eye, then pressed the side button to turn off my iPhone in my sweats.
With a discreet head tilt, I got the attendant’s attention.
The Latina approached with a smile.
“Y’all got Tylenol?” I whispered.
“Sir?”
“Tylenol.”
“Sir, the altitude is affecting my ears a little more than usual. My apologies.” Her glare said, Put some bass into that tone.
“Tylenol. Excedrin. Anything.” Dang. If Zuri found out I’d paused the music, she’d eat me alive.
She shoulda figured out on her own that I had emotional distance issues by now.
But if she knew that silence stayed on shuffle?
She’d use that soft voice and them big eyes to look all innocent, knowing good and well, her ass wasn’t innocent. Nah, my headache couldn’t handle that.
Less than a minute later, the flight attendant dropped off two red and blue pills in a tiny paper cup and a bottle of water. She said, “Feel better soon!”
Damn. Keep a secret.
I tipped the pills and water back. As I capped the bottle, Zuri’s elbows dropped on my armrest. Chin in hands, she flashed me a knowing glance.
Silently, I elbowed her, then I leaned the seat into a prostrate position.
Zuri also turned to lie on her side.
Why are you doing this?
“These pillows are super soft, Montana. Could be a pastor’s robe on Easter Sunday.”
As she laughed at her own joke, I did the same silently, while I turned to face the window, rolling my eyes.
“Montana, on a scale from one to Black momma after you’ve air-conditioned the neighborhood, how mad are you?”
Not in the mood, I removed the pillow from beneath my cheek and laid it over the opposite side of my head, drowning her out.
Still heard her muffled laugh after she said, “Got the nerve to won’t say a peep, while I’m over here sitting obedient. The emotional support friend you never registered around these uppity people.”
I almost cough-laughed. Instead, I placed my forearm over the pillow, smothering my ear and half my face.
Then I felt it.
A smack.
An exceedingly soft smack of a feather pillow against my external obliques.
I turned around, pulled my hood down, grabbed my pillow, and smacked her back. Hit me, and I hit you back. Too bad, though. While that hip had cushion, what I’d rather smack didn’t face me.
I folded my arms, crisp and professional. “Stop.”
Her bottom lip poked out. All bitable. Dammit, my bone was jabbing below the belt. She murmured, “I’m being funny … you have to forgive me.”
I rubbed my beard as if I were meditating. But my thoughts were already running laps. Me? Overthink? This was too much! “Okay. Tell me who you were talking to on that hush-hush call last night?”