Rebel (Montgomery Brothers Series ~ Book 3)

by Laura Pavlov

  Rebel

  Montgomery Brothers, Book 3

  Copyright (symbol) 2020 by Laura Pavlov

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dear Eric,

  Since Rebel is releasing on your birthday month…HAPPY BIRTHDAY, E$! I cannot begin to tell you how much your support means to me. From encouraging me to keep going, to listening when I’m having an off day, to recommending the best Netflix shows, to saving the day when it came down to the wire with the house stuff!! You are always there for me, and I am so grateful for YOU!!

  Love you,

  Laura xo

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements:

  Other books by Laura Pavlov

  Follow Me…

  Chapter One

  Jack

  I stopped by the bakery on my way up to the office. No better way to start my day than with afew of Harley’s donuts and a cup of coffee. My sister-in-law made pastries that could bring a man to his knees.

  “Hey, there,” Harley said from behind the display case.

  “Sheesh, girl. That belly of yours gets bigger every time I see you. Should you still be working?” I asked when I stepped behind the counter and took her in.

  “Thanks, Jack.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m more than aware of my size. No need to point it out. And don’t get your brother all riled up about me working. I’m putting in half-days as it is, and he’s having a freaking fit. Just because I’m carrying two tiny humans in my stomach does not mean I can’t do anything. I’m still capable.” She placed both hands on her lower back and closed her eyes.

  “You have nothing to prove, Harls. You have great employees and you’ve planned for this. I think you’ve frozen enough baked goods to cover a year’s worth of maternity leave. There’s nothing wrong with taking it easy these last few weeks.” I laughed, grabbing a chocolate donut and pulling her in for a hug. The girl looked like she was about to pop, and she refused to slow down.

  “But I don’t want to. I feel great. The doctor said everything looks perfect. It’s just Ford being a control freak,” she huffed, pushing the dark hair that sprung free from her ponytail away from her face.

  “That’s because he loves you so damn much,” I said, and her features softened.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let me grab you a coffee.”

  The door dinged and Monroe Buckley stepped inside. She’d just started working for Montgomery Media this week, after we’d made her an offer that she couldn’t refuse and stole her away from CBS where she’d interned. Ford thought we needed a fresh voice, and he felt strongly that Monroe was it. She’d just graduated with her master’s from Stanford University and the girl’s resume could hold its own against anyone in the field of journalism, even the most seasoned.

  He didn’t need to sell me on her. She also happened to be my best friend, Buck’s, little sister and he’d been bragging about her since the first day of our freshman year in college.

  “Are you ever not here?” Monroe rolled her eyes as she sauntered in.

  “Nice to see you too,” I said with a laugh.

  “No one said anything about it being nice to see you.” She raised a brow and smirked.

  We weren’t exactly the best of friends. She hated me for reasons I didn’t understand. And now I was her boss. We’d gotten off to a rocky start and she didn’t attempt to hide her disdain for me. And I wasn’t okay with it. People love me. I’m the life of the party—a guaranteed good time. But Monroe Buckley couldn’t stand the sight of me.

  “You know, most people don’t get away with speaking to their boss that way.” I perused her from head to toe as she scanned the baked goods in the display case.

  Her light brown hair ended just past her shoulders on her slight frame. She wore a cream blouse and dark jeans with a pair of heels. She glanced up at me, and her indigo blue eyes locked with mine—and there was no humor there.

  She shrugged. “That’s a matter of opinion. I’ll take a blueberry muffin, please.”

  “FYI, I don’t work here. Just helping Harls out.”

  “I wasn’t judging. Just figured since you’re behind the counter and all.” She chuckled.

  Snarky little thing.

  “You need to give her a bag. We don’t just put the pastry in their hands, for god’s sakes,” Harley chuckled as she came around the corner and handed me my coffee before reaching for a bag. “Hey, Monroe. I heard you’re going to bring a hip perspective to the paper with your column. I can’t wait to read it.”

  Monroe had been a shrewd negotiator, and she and Ford had gone back and forth for hours before they’d finally come to an agreement. Ford, my oldest brother, was the president of Montgomery Media, and I managed the newsroom, oversaw new hires, and handled all the PR responsibilities for both Montgomery Media and Montgomery Wines, our winery in Napa Valley. Our middle brother, Harrison, was the president of Montgomery Wines—so we all had our roles in the family business.

  Monroe would write a bi-monthly column for us drawing in the younger crowd about trendier current events, as long as we’d agreed to let her have an anonymous political column as well. Apparently, that’s what she was passionate about. It was a big undertaking, but this girl clearly didn’t back down from challenges.

  “Yeah, we’ll see. I’m not going to lie—I think half the reason I agreed to come work at Montgomery Media is because DeLiciously Yours is downstairs.” She reached for the muffin and winked at Harley. The girl was nice to everyone—with the exception of me.

  “Not because you wanted to have a cool boss?” I teased.

  “Definitely not,” she hissed, and Harley covered her mouth with her hand when she laughed.

  “Thanks for the muffin, Harley. I’ll see you later.” Monroe smiled at my sister-in-law before walking past me without so much as a side glance before heading out the door.

  “Oh, my. She really does despise you,” Harley said with a chuckle.

  “I don’t know what the hell her problem is. I’m a lik
able guy,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “Go put your feet up, girl. You’re working too hard. I’ll be back later.”

  I made my way to the elevators and stopped the door just before it closed. Monroe had a mouthful of muffin and her cheeks flamed pink when I stepped inside.

  “Hey, no shame in trying to wolf down some pastries in the elevator. Next time just make sure the door isn’t about to close on someone.”

  She finished chewing and glared at me. “It’s not the job of the person in the elevator to check to see if anyone’s coming. You should have called out for me to hold the door.”

  “I disagree.”

  “I wasn’t asking your opinion.”

  I narrowed my gaze. “How about you tell me why you’re so hostile. We have to work together, so you need to drop the attitude.”

  “Oh, so anyone who doesn’t agree with your elevator etiquette has an attitude?” She chuckled and stepped off.

  “Noooooo. This has nothing to do with etiquette and everything to do with your attitude.” I followed her into her office and shut the door.

  She sat down behind her desk and I dropped in the chair across from her. “You know. You may have just helped me choose the first topic for my column.”

  “Let me guess… how to treat your boss with disrespect?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Are you always such a narcissist?”

  “Probably. I mean, look at me.” I chuckled and raised a brow in challenge. “So, what’s the topic?”

  “Social etiquettes. From the workplace, to the elevator, to small talk, to the dating world. I mean, we face these challenges daily, right? What’s politically correct these days? Do I hold the door for a guy I don’t really care for, or let him wait for the next one?” She paused and smirked before continuing. “Or what if a guy asks you out and you aren’t interested. You’ve got two choices, A, you ignore him, and you’re labeled a tease, or B, you tell him you aren’t interested, and you’re labeled a bitch.”

  “What about C?”

  “There is no C.”

  “Well, what if you like him?”

  She shrugged. “Okay, there’s a C. Say you actually like him. If you tell him you like him, you’re a stalker. So, you keep it to yourself, and then he sleeps around because he didn’t know you wanted to be exclusive, and then you hate him. Yes. There’s a lot to run with here. I mean, there’s also a ton going on in the political arena, which is slightly more riveting, but I agreed to do this, and you just helped me get there. So, thank you, Montgomery. You’ve been a huge help.”

  “Why do I feel like that’s a backhanded compliment?” I asked.

  “Because it is.” She chuckled. “You’re a bit slicker than I expected.”

  “I’m full of surprises.”

  “I’m sure you are. But not everyone loves surprises, so…” Her gaze moved to the door.

  Seriously? She was kicking me out of her office?

  “I was just leaving,” I said, pushing to my feet with irritation.

  “Sure, you were.”

  I laughed. I liked how snarky she was.

  “Send me over the idea for the column.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, her smile anything but genuine.

  “Now was that so painful?” I asked as I paused at the door.

  “Yes. Very much so.”

  I shook my head and made my way to my office, dialing Buck as I walked.

  “Hey, Montgomery. My sister seems really happy there. How’s it going?” he said, getting right to the point.

  I dropped down behind my desk, turning my chair to take in the views of San Francisco. Montgomery Media was in the heart of the city, and I had a corner office on the top floor. Tall buildings lined the busy street, and my eyes flickered between the Bay Bridge and the Golden Gate Bridge from where I sat.

  “She’s doing well. But she hates my fucking guts.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Nah. That’s just Monroe. She’s still pissed that we hooked up with her teammates years ago when we visited. She’s all bark and no bite. She’ll come around.”

  “It’s not like I hooked up with Monroe. It was her teammate.”

  “Dude. Do not joke about that shit. My baby sister is off-limits.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about there. She’s barely civil to me, and obviously I’d never cross that line.” Buck had always been protective of Monroe for as long as I’d known him. The one thing you didn’t mess with was his little sister—he adored her.

  And he had nothing to worry about.

  Because Monroe Buckley was the last person I was interested in.

  Chapter Two

  Monroe

  Senator Reynolds stood in front of the cameras with his prim and proper wife and two perfect children tucked neatly beside him. He was a complete fraud, and I rolled my eyes as he thanked his family for their undying support. Every media outlet had come out to hear him speak today, as he’d garnered a lot of attention since announcing his intent to run for president in the next election.

  “Buffy here, she’s been by my side all along. I wouldn’t be here without her,” he spouted, and the crowd cheered.

  Yeah, he wouldn’t be here without her, because he’d be at a strip club or a poker game. Everyone knew his reputation, which is why I was so surprised that he’d thrown his name in the hat. The man didn’t have an honest bone in his body.

  I was a journalist, and I looked at candidates with an open mind. My job was to report the facts—not my personal opinion. And Simon Reynolds represented my particular political party of choice—but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t call the man out. He was shady as hell and he’d opened the door to be exposed, and that’s exactly what I planned to do. Thankfully, there were several other candidates running against him, but for whatever reason, Reynolds was the front runner in the early polls.

  My phone vibrated and I glanced down to see a text from my pesky boss. Jack Montgomery could not seem to stay out of my business.

  Jack ~ We have a meeting in 20 minutes. I expect you to be there.

  I rolled my eyes. My job was to report the news. The guy wanted to meet about every little thing, and I didn’t appreciate being micromanaged.

  Me ~ I’m at the rally for Senator Reynolds. I’ll be back in 30 minutes.

  Jack ~ Montgomery Media has a professional relationship with Simon Reynolds if you want to schedule a one-on-one, just ask. Our meeting is in 20—I’ll see you there.

  I dropped my phone in my purse and shook my head. I didn’t need a one-on-one to know who Simon Reynolds was. The man lied on the daily. Nope. I’d just investigate him until I found what I needed. I’d been exposed to people like Senator Reynolds my entire life, and I’d learned that the real story was not on the surface.

  My father, Ryan Buckley, had been the quarterback for the San Francisco 49ers for more than a decade back in the day. He’d gone on to become one of the most recognized faces on ESPN as a sports broadcaster, as well as dabbling in acting, and landing a few big roles in large films. I’d grown up in an affluent family, been surrounded by famous people most of my life, and I’d always wondered what they were hiding. What the real story was. Who they were deep down. My father called it a curse—I called it a gift. I was curious. Determined. And I wouldn’t quit until I found what I was looking for.

  Fortunately, Mr. Perfect, with his white teeth and his supermodel family waved goodbye, so I could head back to the office to meet my overbearing boss.

  “You think he’s the real deal?” Brett Waters, the lead reporter for CBS, said so only I could hear.

  I’d interned at CBS my last year of college, and considered taking the position they offered, but I wouldn’t be covering politics for many years if I’d accepted. Brett was their guy, and he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Ford Montgomery had offered me a deal that I couldn
’t refuse. Yes, I had to jump through hoops and write a bi-monthly column for the younger generation about fashion, and relationships, and all the trendy shit people my age loved. But he’d agreed to let me write a political column which would be anonymous for the time being—and I’d jumped at the opportunity.

  “I’m not sure yet,” I lied. Brett was a snake, and he’d been a complete jerk to me during my internship. The man suffered from small penis complex if you asked me. He acted like he was God’s gift to the world, but he was petty and spiteful, which told me he was insecure and threatened by anyone and everyone who came into his arena. My father taught me at a young age that wisdom is something to be shared. He always told my brother and me that if you strive to be the best you can be, then you have nothing to worry about. There’s enough room at the top for everyone. Brett Waters wanted to be alone at the top, and that was a red flag for me.

  “Really, Stanford?” he said, and I cringed at his annoying nickname. Not because I wasn’t proud of my alma mater—I was. But I didn’t like that he put labels on people. He did it with everyone. He called his personal assistant “Blowfish” because she’d had a little too much filler injected into her already oversized lips, and he dubbed the other intern, “Boomer” because he’d attended the University of Oklahoma. We all found it annoying, but Brett was the golden boy at CBS, so everyone tolerated him. “Little Miss Research doesn’t have the deets on this guy? I find that hard to believe.”

  “Well, didn’t you once tell me to keep my research close to my chest?” I asked as I turned to leave. It was the one and only tip the man had ever given me, and he followed it up by saying, “And lucky for you, you’ve got a nice set of tits,” in the next breath. So, I wasn’t sure how genuine the tip was.

  “Ah, yes. But that doesn’t include sharing your knowledge with your mentor.” He smirked as his camera crew packed up beside him.

  Mentor, my ass.

  The man had never allowed me to shadow him, had shared very little about his career or himself with me, and he’d had me escorted out of several meetings because he didn’t feel “interns were of any value.” Yet he had no shame hitting on me every time we were alone in the breakroom and appeared surprised each time I turned him down.