6. Drake
CHAPTER SIX
Half-past two in the morning, Julian and Douglas joined me at my penthouse (new reinforced door included) for drinks. They noticed the untamed energy in me as I paced from the kitchen to the living room with whiskey sloshing around in my crystal tumbler.
“I don’t see what the problem is,” Julian said. He lounged on my couch, legs crossed and ankle casually bouncing. The smirk on his lips only agitated me further.
“Problem?” I huffed. I ran a hand through my hair, already mussed from an hour of tugging at the ends until the dark strands stuck out in newly discovered directions. “There’s no problem. No.”
“Maybe this alliance will help you get over your Montgomery complex.”
“Complex?” I pivoted on my heel and marched in the opposite direction. “I don’t have a complex.”
Julian rolled his eyes with practiced ease before uncrossing his legs.
Douglas raised his brows and glanced away, sipping at his drink.
While they allowed the silence to stretch purposely, forcing me to stew in my own thoughts, I marched to the drink cart and poured myself another two fingers of the amber liquid.
“You know, alcoholism isn’t as cute as you think it is,” Julian said.
“I’m not an alcoholic.”
“And how many drinks have you had since you got home?”
I looked between my glass and my friends. Shrugged. Took another drink.
“This arrangement—” Douglas started; Julian groaned. “—it’s unprecedented?—”
Julian smacked him on the back of the head. “Don’t say unprecedented. It’s a jackass word.”
Douglas shot him a dark glare, leaning away on the couch. He faced me instead. “The Grahams and the Montgomerys have been enemies for generations, and you’re expected to sweep it under the rug for some alliance?”
“Dad wants access to some of their resources and territory. Plus, our parents expect us to work together to uncover who’s behind the masked fuckers.” Another sip and my tongue burned pleasantly.
“So afraid of losing their empire, are they?” Douglas said, expression unreadable. “So worried about this new threat that they’d give their only son to their hated rival.”
Julian tensed, flicking his dark eyes to me. I never told him the truth about what happened at school. Didn’t need to when he read me better than anyone. Some part of him was always suspicious, perhaps always knew.
“I don’t think Drake here is concerned about being given to Helen Montgomery,” he said. “Every time something has gone wrong the past decade, he’s practically jumping for an opportunity to blame them—to see them face to face, perhaps.”
“Who’s to say?” I rolled my shoulders, then stopped pacing, facing out my tinted windows to the gleaming city lights.
Douglas grimaced, missing the undertones of Julian’s statement.
“Well, maybe they are responsible for the masked attackers,” he offered.
“She was attacked—” Julian’s smug grin made me falter, “—their office was attacked. They lost three security guards. And it’s not confirmed, but I think one of them tried to shoot Helen and got a guard instead. They wouldn’t fake that. They’re smarter than that.”
“You’re giving them more credit than I thought you would.” Douglas’ reflection in the window shifted, angling his head to watch me from the corner of his eye. I didn’t know what he was looking for and couldn’t be assed to care.
“And you’re not giving them enough credit,” Julian countered with an arrogant smirk on his face. “Helen is brilliant, Dougie.”
“Helen graduated top of her class with damn near every achievement available under her belt,” I agreed. Maybe it was the whiskey, but I sounded more wistful than I meant to. I cleared my throat, breaking loose the saccharine taste of her name coating my tongue.
“And you would know?” Douglas laughed, a careless sound in my ears. “You didn’t attend graduation after the end-of-year dance.”
I stared into my drink, wishing the alcohol would reach up, pull me under the burning surface and drown me.
“Yeah,” I sighed, “I couldn’t.”
The following Sunday after stumbling home in the dark hours of the morning I was greeted by a lovely, not at all rude, voicemail from my dad reminding me how necessary and oh-so-important it was for me to reach out to the littlest Montgomery and establish a line of communication.
Because of course she wouldn’t do it. Especially after the dreadfully awkward end of the meeting, when both families exchanged direct contact information, and she wouldn’t look me in the eye.
I tossed my phone on the bed, limped ever so gracefully into my bathroom, and set to the task of unsticking my blood drenched shirt from my body and bandaging the stab wound over my hip.
The familiar task of cleaning an injury, wincing from the pain, and replaying the success of a mission distracted me from what the fuck I was supposed to say to her.
During a shower, I formulated a level-headed, not at all desperate message.
When I typed the email out afterward, I didn’t need to rewrite it at all.
Not one word. Except for maybe the entire thing, until what remained was a professionally frigid sentence stating I’d be pleased to accommodate her schedule to discuss the situation.
I woke up six hours later with a not so mild hangover, heart thrilling wildly to find a reply email. Helen had sent back an equally indifferent response, stating in professional terms, naturally, to leave her the fuck alone and never reach out again.
I didn’t respond, heart still all aflutter from her warm, welcoming words. No part of my heart was devastatingly shattered by the consequences of my own past fuckups. And I didn’t spend the rest of my weekend nursing several drinks with my pain killers until I was comfortably numb.
In that mental void, I didn’t need to battle against memories surging to the surface. Those little ripples reminding me of her through the years formed one massive tidal wave, threatening to take me under. If I held my breath long enough, I might get lucky and black out.
That numbness lasted me until the late hour Dad called again, gruff voice demanding through the phone “Get your ass a meeting with the Montgomery girl,” heavy on the or else.
Add on the customary “Your mother expects you for dinner this week,” and we ended it there.
Seeing as his last demand had me strangling a man to death after he stabbed me not even twenty-four hours before, I saw it as a successful call.
Luckily, the Montgomery family had a much more cordial assistant who was happy to extend an invitation to their offices the next day.
Oh, and look at that, she had access to the littlest Montgomery’s schedule and gladly shared it.
Turned out I had permission from the head of her family to utilize said assistant in search of our mutual enemy.
Unluckily for me, Helen Montgomery worked atrocious hours, and I found myself arriving at the heavily guarded front doors of her office at the monstrous hour of seven. In the morning. On a Monday.
And the mountain-sized bald man at the front desk was not a mere desk clerk. I clocked the gun poorly concealed at his hip before he noticed my approach. Internally, I rolled my eyes. No wonder they had a security breach in the parking garage.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“I’m here for Monty,” I confidently proclaimed.
His arched brow and unrestrained glare meant who?
My confidence cracked, creating a hairline fracture in the fa?ade that I didn’t abhor mornings with every fiber of my being.
“The Montgomery’s,” I amended.
“Which one?” His tone called me dumb.
“Helen.”
He checked a log on the sleek monitor separating us. The blue glow from the screen reflected on his shiny head was almost mesmerizing. His cautious glower turned back to me.
“Name?”
“Graham.”
“You’re not on the list.”
For fuck’s sake. A vein in my temple throbbed.
“Ah, ask their family assistant.” If I had to break into her office, I would, but he didn’t need to know that. The bulk of their day-to-day employees hadn’t arrived yet. I could make quick work of it.
He clicked his big dumb fingers on the keyboard for a few moments. A responding ping caused his lips to pinch like a puckered asshole. He narrowed his stare at me once more before nodding and permitting me through the interior gates.
Sleek, modern walls guided me directly to her family offices on the top floor. Charlotte Montgomery had impeccable taste, and I briefly wondered if the compliment would earn some brownie points in my favor. Likely not if Helen told her mother anything from our time at St. Henry’s.
My heart rattled against my ribs faster and faster with each passing second of the elevator ride and the short walk through the top floor.
I navigated the larger offices and conference rooms meant for the VIP of the business.
Security guards greeted me at the elevator door and monitored my every step.
Perfect place for the Montgomery family’s closed-door conversations.
Her name emblazoned on a thick wood door brought me to a halt. The gold letters sparkling under the lights made my heart skip several necessary beats. I placed a hand on my chest under the guise of smoothing out my midnight blue three-piece suit.
She always liked me in blue. Used to say it brought out the amber undertones of my eyes. The memory made me smile even as something that must have been indigestion twisted through my insides.
Her lilting voice escaped through a crack in the door, wide enough to catch a glimpse within. A wall of shelves absolutely loaded from top to bottom with books, some stacked sideways to make up for the lack of space. And I knew it was nothing compared to whatever she’d have at home.
A corner of a heavy-set mahogany desk kept tidy except for her multiple drinks; a steaming cup of coffee with a hint of hazelnut cream, a green smoothie with condensation coating the glass, and a large ice water. Just like Helen, to always have as many drinks as possible. Some things never changed.
Some things.