Chapter 22
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I chuckle again at the image on my screen before clicking it off and sliding my phone into my back pocket. Did she think that I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between flushed cheeks and pinched ones?
I suppose there is something to be said for the effort; but she was given an order, and I expect her to follow through. If I want to set her up for success, there isn’t room for me to find her quirks cute .
“What’s got you smiling over there?” My sister teases as she refills her wine glass for the fourth time.
“Not a thing,” I tell her, adjusting the cuff on my dress shirt.
I rejoin my family at the kitchen island as Graham winds down his tangent about his interpretation of a verse from the Bible. A part of me is happy to watch him speak so passionately about something, but the other parts…
“I’m heading home,” I announce, clamping my hand onto my brother’s shoulder.
“Oh, sweetheart, won’t you stay?” My mother pleads, and I offer a gentle shake of my head.
“Dee’s about half a glass away from not being fun anymore, and I have some things to handle at home,” I tell her, moving to press a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you again for an incredible dinner.”
With her hands encompassing my face, she kisses me on the cheek, holding me in place as she looks at me. “I’m worried about you,” she tells me quietly, her voice breaking as tears line her eyes. “You haven’t come to service.”
I hate seeing my mother upset. I hate being the one to upset her. She hasn’t made choices that I agree with, and I resent a lot of the things that she’s done and agreed to in my lifetime, but she’s still my mother. She’s the person who patched up my skinned knees and always made sure that I was never alone during treatment. I don’t have to agree with her to care for her.
“I’m fine,” I assure her. “My soul is fine.”
“You’re abandoning your relationship with God,” she says, her voice just above a whisper – as if she’s terrified.
With a kiss to her cheek, I pull her into my arms and give her a firm, assuring squeeze. “I haven’t been to our church, but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t been to church.”
“Swear to me,” she begs.
“I go once a week,” I assure her.
I manage to slip out of the house with one more kiss to her cheek and a wine-drunk wave from my sister. As per usual, I hardly said ten words to my father tonight, so I spare myself the trouble of saying goodbye to him before I leave.
I have more important things to tend to.
I read the text message on my phone one more time, my free arm braced behind my head as my eyes move toward the clock above my television which indicates that it’s eleven forty in the evening. It’s likely that she’s already asleep. I’ve grown familiar with her work schedule, and while it has been more flexible, that doesn’t mean that it’s completely forgiving.
I would leave it alone, but…
She wants me to teach her. She wants to know what to expect. She insists on fucking calling me Sir.
As I bring my arm out in front of me to watch the seconds tick by with my molars grinding against one another, my phone lights up with a call, and I pull it to my ear.
“Yes?”
“I was trying to sleep,” Nia grumbles. “I have to work in four hours.”
My jaw ticks as I stifle a laugh; I win .
“I don’t recall asking about your schedule,” I tell her. “I do, however, remember giving you a task to complete.”
“I—”
“And I don’t appreciate your attempt at lying to me about it,” I add.
“Okay, I’m half dead and I can’t tell if you’re seriously mad or not,” she says, and my brow quirks.
“I’m not mad at you, Nia,” I answer, keeping my voice calm and even. “I’m disappointed.”
With that, I end the call, smirking at the screen of my phone as it lights up immediately with another call from her. I send her to voicemail four times in the span of as many minutes with my cock aching, checking the time again as she leaves her last voicemail.
Eleven fifty-three.
She has seven minutes, and if I’m right…
A text alert pings at eleven fifty-eight, and I can’t help but to let out a laugh as I pick up my phone.
I watch as the text bubble moves, then stops. Moves, then stops. Moves…and disappears. It isn’t until midnight that I get another message, this one nothing more than an image of her chocolate bar with a bite taken out of it.
I can’t help the smirk that spreads across my face as I send her one final message.
I’m going to get myself into trouble; and I find that I might be alright with that.
“Good morning, Linda,” I greet the third floor receptionist with a smile as I round the corner.
“Good morning, Mr. Montgomery,” she smiles. Reaching for a post-it note in front of her, she tells me, “You have five messages, and there’s a woman waiting to speak to you. She seems…persistent.”
“I appreciate the warning,” I chuckle as I take the paper from her.
Sitting in one of the armchairs at the other side of the room is an older woman, maybe in her mid to late sixties. Her foot taps against the carpeted floor irately as she holds her phone in one hand, tapping against the screen with the index finger of the other.
Her hair is dyed a stark black that would probably give my sister-in-law a coronary, and she’s dressed in a beige pantsuit which has very clearly been pressed recently.
“Ma’am,” I greet her, extending a hand toward her. “Brody Montgomery, how can I help you?”
“It took you long enough,” she says with a roll of her eyes.
Eyes that look almost exactly like another pair which I’ve come to hate over recent months. A pair that I’ve considered on multiple occasions climbing over the table and plucking from the skull of their owner for the way that they’ve looked at the woman seated next to me.
“You must be Mrs. Hart,” I say.
“And you’re the man helping a horrible woman make my son’s life a nightmare,” she retorts.
“I am representing the best interests of my client,” I tell her, forcing a tight smile to my face. “It’s unfortunate that your opinion doesn’t align with that.”
I pull my attaché case from the ground and pivot to move toward my office as the woman rises to her feet behind me.
“Don’t you walk away from me!” She shouts, reaching forward to grab onto my arm with more force than I expected from her. “I’m not finished!”
Turning to face her, I offer her a smile, looking pointedly at her hand before shifting my gaze back to hers.
“Are you aware that grabbing someone that way is considered assault?” I ask, taking no small joy in the way that she straightens. “Listen, Mrs. Hart: because I am not, in fact, in the habit of making peoples’ lives nightmares, I will tell you that if you continue to look for ways to harass my client, such as showing up at her home or places that she frequents in an attempt to intimidate her, you will find yourself facing litigation.”
“Your client is a mess,” she snarls. “She doesn’t deserve that little girl. Just give my son what he wants and put an end to this ridiculous display.”
I bite back the laughter that wants to bubble out of me, opting instead for another smile. “What your son wants is not my concern,” I tell her. “Have a nice day, ma’am.”
Tuning out her incoming tirade, I make my way back into my office, sure to lock the door behind me when I step inside.
There are very few people in this world that I would take risks for. My siblings are at the top of that list. My mother may not fall directly beneath them, but I’d like to think that if push came to shove, she would hold a place on that list with them.
As I go through the motions of returning phone calls and filling out paperwork, I can’t ignore the tightening in my chest as I realize that Nia may find herself high on that list, as well.