Chapter 15 #3
I kissed her back harder than I meant to, then forced myself to pull away before I said something stupid like—‘I love you’ in Richard Montgomery’s driveway.
The driver took us the rest of the way up.
We walked into the house together.
The second we stepped through the front door, I felt every eye in the room land on her.
My father’s first.
Richard Montgomery stood near the marble fireplace with a glass in one hand and the other tucked into the pocket of navy slacks. Silver threaded through his dark hair in that controlled, expensive way men on business television aged when they paid entire teams to keep them looking authoritative.
He didn’t look like a father.
He looked like a closing bell.
Tall. Lean. Tailored. Calm enough to make people nervous.
He had the kind of face investors trusted and employees feared.
He didn’t look at me first.
He looked at Isa.
Of course he did.
Everyone did.
She stood beside me in a cream sweater, jeans, boots, and that effortless Texas polish that made the whole foyer look like it had been staged around her. Her hair fell over one shoulder in glossy waves. Her mouth held the kind of smile that could cut glass without breaking shape.
But I knew her better now.
I saw the tiny tension at the corners.
The calculation behind her eyes.
The way her fingers brushed mine once, hidden between us, before she stepped half an inch closer.
She was nervous.
She just refused to give the room the satisfaction.
Richard’s gaze swept over her like he was reading an acquisition report.
Then he smiled.
That was worse.
“Isa Calloway,” he said. “You’re even lovelier than the photos suggest.”
She held out her hand. “Mr. Montgomery. Thank you for having me.”
Hearing her say that name made something old and ugly crawl through me.
Montgomery.
Not Travers.
Never Travers in this house.
My father took her hand and held it one second too long. Not in a creepy way. In a control way. Like even greetings had to happen on his timing.
“Please,” he said smoothly. “Call me Richard.”
Isa’s smile warmed by exactly one degree.
“Then you’ll have to call me Isa.”
“Done.”
I hated that he sounded charmed.
I hated more that I knew he meant to.
Behind him, Everett and Beckett watched from near the bar.
The legitimate sons.
The real Montgomery legacy in the doghouse for now…
Everett leaned against the counter in a pale blue button-down with the sleeves rolled just enough to show a watch that probably cost more than most people’s cars.
He was older than me by three years, blond, perfect, and already had the dead-eyed calm of a man who believed he’d earned every advantage he’d been handed at birth.
Everett would inherit board seats, private equity relationships, and my father’s approval.
Beckett stood beside him, darker-haired and prettier, with a looser grin and worse instincts. He had the kind of face women trusted right before they regretted it and the kind of posture that said consequences had always happened to other people.
His eyes went over Isa once.
Slowly.
Like the room had handed him something he might want to try on for size.
My knuckles cracked before I realized I had made fists.
Isa heard it.
She didn’t look at me, but her fingers wrapped around my wrist and squeezed once.
A warning.
Or a reminder.
Maybe both.
Richard’s eyes flicked down to the contact, then back to her face.
“Well,” he said, lifting his glass slightly. “This is a welcome change.”
There it was.
Not even five minutes.
I smiled because the alternative was worse.
“Dad.”
“What?” He looked perfectly innocent. “A compliment. You remember those, don’t you?”
Everett laughed under his breath.
Isa’s grip tightened around my wrist.
Not because she needed me calm.
Because she knew I was one heartbeat from becoming a headline.
My father turned his attention back to her.
“Drew tells us you play soccer.”
“He undersold it,” I said.
Isa glanced at me.
I kept my eyes on Richard.
“She started as a freshman before her injury.”
“Ah, yes.” Richard gave a sympathetic nod that had nothing to do with sympathy. “The hamstring. Terrible timing.”
Isa’s smile did not move.
“It was.”
“But you’ll recover.”
“I will.”
“No doubt. Girls like you usually do.” He took a sip of his drink. “Discipline shows.”
There.
That word.
Discipline.
The highest compliment in my father’s language.
Not kindness. Not joy. Not courage.
Discipline.
He liked her already.
Not as a person.
As evidence.
Look what Drew brought home this year.
Not Casey with her red lipstick and too-loud laugh and her talent for making donors uncomfortable. Not some chaos girl with bad press attached. A quality girl. A polished girl. A Stanford athlete with a good family and perfect posture.
The kind of girl who made Drew look like he might finally be maturing out of football and into something useful.
I should have felt relieved.
Instead, my stomach turned.
Beckett pushed off the bar and walked toward us.
“Drew didn’t mention you were this pretty.”
Isa’s smile sharpened by one degree.
“Drew mentions very little unless food or football is involved.”
Everett laughed.
Beckett looked delighted.
“Smart too.”
“She’s standing right here,” I said.
His eyes slid to me, lazy and amused.
“I noticed.”
The room chilled.
Isa stepped forward half a pace, not between us exactly, but enough to interrupt the line of violence building in my body.
“It’s a beautiful house,” she said.
Richard smiled like he had personally invented architecture.
“Thank you. Come. Let me show you around.”
“No,” I said.
All three Montgomery men looked at me.
Isa did too.
I forced my shoulders down.
“She’s tired. Flight was long. Her leg’s been bothering her. I’ll get her settled first.”
Richard’s gaze moved over me, assessing. Measuring tone. Deciding whether this was defiance worth punishing or concern he could spin into maturity.
Finally, he smiled.
“Of course. Your rooms are upstairs.”
Rooms.
Plural.
I knew better than to relax.
A woman in black slacks appeared near the hall with our bags. New house staff. I didn’t know her name, which made me feel even more like a guest in a house where half my blood lived.
“Second floor,” Richard said. “Drew, your old room. Isa, blue guest suite.”
Blue guest suite.
Across from Beckett’s room.
Absolutely fucking not.
I looked at my father.
He knew.
I saw it in the slight lift of his brows.
The tiny challenge.
Be reasonable, Drew.
Be civilized.
Don’t embarrass yourself in front of the quality girl.
Isa must have felt me go rigid because she squeezed my wrist again.
“It’s fine,” she said softly.
“No, it’s not.”
Her eyes lifted to mine.
I lowered my voice.
“You’re staying with me.”
Something flickered across her face.
Surprise first.
Then caution.
Then, because she was Isa Calloway and born with enough pride to bankrupt a kingdom, irritation.
“I can sleep in a guest room, Drew.”
“I know you can.”
“Then why are you saying it like I need guarding?”
“Because in this house, you do.”
The words came out before I could soften them.
Wrong place.
Wrong time.
Too much truth.
The foyer seemed to shrink around us.
Richard’s mouth tightened.
Everett looked entertained.
Beckett looked interested.
That was the one that made my blood go hot.
Isa looked at Beckett.
Just once.
Fast.
But she saw enough.
I watched her understand.
Not all of it. Not the old history. Not the years of little humiliations, locked doors, shoved shoulders, comments sharpened into knives because the legitimate sons hated the affair son breathing their air.
But enough.
Her posture changed.
Not smaller.
Sharper.
She turned back to my father with a smile so sweet it was basically a blade dipped in honey.
“Actually,” she said, “if Drew doesn’t mind, I’d rather stay near him. My leg stiffens overnight, and he’s been helping me with it.”
The room went very still.
Everett’s mouth twitched.
Beckett’s gaze dropped to her leg, then slid up in a way I wanted to remove from his face with my fist.
Richard stared at Isa for half a beat too long.
Then he laughed softly.
“Well. If Drew is taking rehabilitation this seriously, who am I to object?”
I hated him.
“Dinner is at seven,” Richard said. “Drinks before. There are people I’d like you both to meet.”
“People?” I asked.
“Friends. Donors. A few foundation board members.” His gaze moved to Isa again. “A business reporter may stop by tomorrow for a profile piece.”
I laughed once.
“There it is.”
Richard’s brows lifted. “There what is?”
“You didn’t invite me home for Thanksgiving. You invited me home for optics.”
“I invited my son home,” he said smoothly. “If the optics have improved, that’s hardly my fault.”
My jaw locked.
Isa’s hand tightened in mine.
Richard looked between us and smiled.
He had always been good at that.
Making a threat sound like etiquette.
Everett lifted his glass.
“To growth,” he said dryly.
Beckett smiled at Isa.
“And to family holidays finally getting interesting.”
I took one step.
Isa’s hand locked around mine.
Hard.
“Drew,” she said.
One word.
Not loud.
Not pleading.
A command.
I stopped.
Barely.
Beckett noticed that too.
His smile changed.
Yeah.
This was going to be a long fucking weekend.
And I already knew one thing for certain.
If any of them tried to make her feel small, I was going to burn the whole Montgomery empire down from the inside.
Thanksgiving at the country club lasted forty-seven minutes before I started considering flipping tables.
Forty-seven.
A personal record, honestly.
Richard liked the club because it looked like old money even though most of the men inside had made theirs gutting companies and calling it restructuring.
White tablecloths. Dark wood. Women in silk.
Men in loafers without socks talking about markets, tax strategy, and college athletics like they were portfolio risks.
Isa sat beside me with her napkin in her lap and her smile fixed perfectly in place.
Not too bright.
Not too cold.
Texas debutante neutral.
I hated that I knew enough about her now to see how much effort it took.