by Laura Pavlov
Legacy
Montgomery Brothers, Book 1
Copyright © 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.
Greg, Chase & Hannah,
You are the inspiration for all that I do. I love you always.
XO
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
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-Two
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Acknowledgements
Other Books by Laura Pavlov
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Chapter One
Ford
I dropped down in the chair to face my brothers. I wasn’t in the mood for their shtick, but they were here, so I didn’t have much of a choice. I’d given them the reins to rent out the space downstairs, and I was already regretting it. If I want something done right, I need to do it myself. That theory had always served me well. Harrison moved the box of donuts toward me and I shoved them to the end of the conference room table.
“Hey, those are the best donuts in town. You’re welcome.” Jack stood and reached over to grab another one. I knew it wasn’t his first, because he had powdered sugar remnants all over his suit coat.
My brother in a nutshell.
“Yeah, if my day consisted of donuts and small talk, nobody would get paid around here.” I sat back in the chair and folded my arms in front of me.
“Oh yes. The world would definitely come to an end if you indulged in processed foods.” Harrison’s head fell back in a chuckle.
“Well, I’ll have you know—my body’s a fucking temple, and that doesn’t stop me from enjoying good pastries,” Jack said, taking a bite of a giant maple bar.
I shook my head. What it must be like when your most important decision of the day is what donut you should eat. My brothers didn’t have a clue what it took to run Montgomery Media, and today was not the day to push me. I was already irritated that they’d turned the simple task of leasing the open space downstairs into a ridiculous game. Our employees and offices took up every square foot of this high rise building with the exception of the main floor, lobby, and corner suite which my father had always leased out to small, local businesses.
“Listen, I appreciate you both coming in today, but I have the guys from Japan flying in for a meeting this afternoon, and I’d really just prefer to choose someone quickly to lease the space and call it done. I’m not sure why we’ve invested so much time into this.”
“You could stop being a control freak and let us handle it,” Harrison said before taking a long pull from his water bottle.
Jack cackled. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. That would mean letting us make an actual decision without his consent.”
“You do realize that I’m actually sitting here, right? I can hear you.” I tossed the file on top of the stack at Harrison. “And what is this crap? Why are there essays for each candidate?”
“Look, Ford, this is a great way for us to give back to the community. Eileen will run a story tomorrow after we select the winner.” Harrison reached over and grabbed a donut, and I wanted to push the box in the garbage. Eileen was our senior editor and the best in the industry.
“A winner? This isn’t a goddamn contest. The space goes to the most qualified business. This is prime real estate we’re talking about.” I leaned back and closed my eyes for a minute, taking in a long, slow breath. The best strategy I’d learned after five years of therapy—breathing. Thousands of dollars spent, when all I had to do the entire time was learn how to fucking breathe when I got pissed off.
I loved my brothers. But working with them was a challenge. Jack didn’t have a serious bone in his body, and Harrison was so busy keeping the peace, he’d go along with whatever crazy shit Jack came up with. I was the CEO of Montgomery Media, a billion-dollar company and a lot of people depended on me. So, I didn’t have the luxury of pondering over what flavor pastry I’d eat or coming up with gimmicks for the paper to run a story about.
“Dude. Chill. This is good business. We’re going to get paid, but the money isn’t the priority. God knows we don’t need it. This is about giving someone a chance. A golden ticket, so to speak. It’s a corner storefront on the busiest street downtown. We turned it into an opportunity for someone who otherwise wouldn’t get the chance because they don’t have the largest bank account or the resources to do the highest bidding. We nailed it down to these top seven contenders. They had the most compelling stories,” Harrison said. Our middle brother had a gift for negotiation. He was the peacekeeper. Always trying to please everyone.
“And who doesn’t love an underdog? I think it’s brilliant.” Jack raised one eyebrow at me in challenge.
He was the youngest of the three of us. Two years younger than Harrison and four years younger than me. In human years, that is. In maturity—the dude was a child. He lived for pranks, loved guys nights out, and existed on sweets and chicken fingers. He had the palette of a toddler and went through women faster than most people drank a cup of coffee. And everyone loved him. I swear he entered the world with a party horn in hand and a shit-eating grin. He was always down for a good time, and he didn’t give a shit how many rules he broke doing so. Nothing bothered him. In life, there was no one I’d rather have beside me. At work—not so much.
I dragged a hand over my face. We owned the building, which happened to be the hottest real estate in the city. We didn’t need contests or gimmicks. The location sold itself. The Coffee Cup had been leasing the space for the past decade, but the couple who owned it, William and Barb Wilson, had decided to relocate to Seattle. I wasn’t happy about it. I wasn’t a huge fan of change, and I liked my routine of grabbing a coffee on my way up to the office every morning. I was an early riser, got my workout in before most people woke up, and was always the first to arrive at the office. Now I’d have to find a new place to get my morning caffeine.
“You’re joking? Because everyone wants to lease this space, you understand that, right? We could get top dollar. Why in the world did you turn this into a three-ring circus?”
“It’s not a circus. It’s an opportunity, Ford. It gives people something to get excited about. A mom and pop moving into the space, someone who maybe doesn’t have the resources, but has a dream,” Harrison used a napkin to dab his mouth.
I barked out a laugh. “You’re serious? A dream?
So, these people aren’t even qualified? And you expect me to waste my time interviewing candidates who can’t even afford the rent?”
“You don’t need to be in on the interviews, we can handle it. And I didn’t say they weren’t qualified. They are. Maybe not in the traditional sense, but they all have something to offer, and all seven have a reason they want the space. And Jack and I spent the time reading every single one. We had over two hundred and thirty applicants.” Harrison crossed his arms in front of his chest.
Did I mention he was a bleeding heart? The dude had been on more mission trips than I could count. He was all about giving back, and I’d always admired that about him. Until he came on at Montgomery Media and we saw our bottom-line drop.
I shook my head. “Not a chance in hell I’m letting you two run these interviews. I don’t want to risk you choosing a pack of feral cats as our tenants. I think you’ve done enough damage at this point.”
“Suit yourself, brother. Get ready to be dazzled. These are some amazing people you’re about to meet,” Jack said, clapping his hands back and forth while shaking the crumbs onto the floor. I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes.
“Well, keep in mind we’re choosing tenants, not life partners. And we aren’t going with anyone who doesn’t have six-months overhead in the bank. I assume you asked them to bring their financials?”
“You know what happens when you assume.” Harrison smirked.
There was a knock on the door, and my assistant, Sam, poked her head in. “The Right brothers are here for you. Shall I bring them back?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re joking. The Right brothers?”
Jack pushed to his feet and howled. He did that often for no particular reason. Just to keep everyone on their toes. “No joke, dude. The Right brothers are a whole lot better than the Wrong brothers, am I right?”
Sam burst out in laughter. Like I said, everyone loved the guy, especially when he acted like a child.
I glanced down at my wrist because it appeared time was standing still. The interviews thus far had been a complete waste of time. We’d met with the Right brothers who had a meditation studio called: Make the Right Choice. This is who my brothers chose to rent out a floor-to-ceiling glass encased storefront on the busiest corner in the city. Did I mention they also had no money? Zero resources. But they offered trade. Trade. I’d have to meditate twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, to break even. Not happening.
Our next meeting was with a girl named Lala. She didn’t have a last name. She went by Lala. Her business was called Lala’s. Shocker. And when I inquired about what she did for an actual living, she proceeded to tell me she paints. She paints walls and furniture. Pottery and canvases. Did she have a portfolio? No. A business plan? No. A bank account with any money in it? Of course not. She said she didn’t like to put a number on art. Well, unfortunately for Lala, there was a number on the bill that would come every month, and she couldn’t afford it.
The next couple interviews were better, but nothing overly impressive. A dry cleaner whose wife stared at me the entire time we spoke and slipped me her cell number on the way out the door. A jeweler who opened his trench coat and flashed me a bunch of sparkly shit and then patted his midsection to show me he was packing. Yes, he had a gun in his waistband and told me he couldn’t wait to use it. And a florist who sneezed incessantly, because she was, “allergic to the outdoors.” I stared at Jack and Harrison when she left, and they both smiled and said she was a top contender. I think my absolute favorite of the day was the magician. Because, hey, who isn’t in need of a magician as they rush down a busy metropolitan street?
“Dude. You shouldn’t judge. I mean, can you pull an egg out of your ass on demand? I don’t think so,” Jack said, reaching for the final folder.
Harrison laughed, but he tried to cover it with a cough. “Come on, they weren’t that bad. The dry cleaner and the florist are good options.”
“Ah yes. The dry cleaner whose wife stripped me naked with her eyes—in front of her husband. And a florist who happens to be allergic to flowers. How do you beat that?” I said, reaching for my coffee. Probably the last damn good cup of coffee I’d have for a while as today was the day the Wilsons would be packing up and shutting down.
“Well, the last one is my top choice anyway. She wrote the most passionate essay of all,” Jack said, tossing me her file.
I didn’t bother opening it. There was no need to. We’d run an ad tomorrow and find a practical tenant. I’d chalk this up to a morning off and a complete waste of time.
Sam opened the door for a young woman. She looked like a student dressed to meet friends at a coffee house, not a woman showing up to an interview. She wore a white T-shirt, a floral skirt that ended just above her knee, a jean jacket, yes… that would be a denim jacket. Apparently, this was her interview outfit. My eyes scanned down her toned, tanned legs and stopped at the white Converse. You’ve got to be shitting me. Did anyone take this seriously? If this was her idea of being dressed to impress, she may as well have stayed home. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun of sorts. Otherwise known as, disheveled. She was pretty, no doubt about it. But good looks weren’t going to be enough to seal the deal. Maybe that worked on my brothers, but I was unimpressed.
“Miss DeLuca, it’s a pleasure. Please take a seat,” Harrison said, pulling out the chair across from me for her to sit. “I’m Harrison, and these are my brothers, Jack and Ford.” He used his hand to gesture to each of us.
She set a pink pastry box down on the table and took her seat, tucking the hair that fell from her bun behind her ear. “Thank you for meeting with me. And please, call me Harley.”
I barked out a laugh. I couldn’t help it. You had to be shitting me with this. “Harley? That’s your name? Or that’s what you drove to get here?” I raised a brow and shook my head.
“Ford,” Jack snapped and flashed her an apologetic smile.
“It’s okay. I mean, glass houses, Ford.” Her voice was smooth and silky, but her combative attitude caught me off guard. “Is that what you drove to get here?”
“It’s a family name. Ford Montgomery the fourth.” I smirked.
“Mine is a family name as well. Harley DeLuca the first,” she said the last two words slowly, making sure I got the message.
Both my brothers burst out in laughter. I folded my arms and leaned forward. “And do you drive a Harley, Harley?”
“How original. Did it take you long to come up with that?” She rolled her dark brown eyes and met my gaze head on. Her skin was tan, lips full and she dripped sarcasm. And this was an interview. I couldn’t imagine what she was like when she wasn’t supposed to be on her best behavior.
“I’m sorry, are you not here for an interview?” I tossed my pencil on the table and folded my arms across my chest.
“I’m sorry. I thought we were both here for an interview,” she said, smiling at my brothers before stopping to glare at me.
“And what exactly am I interviewing for?” I asked, anger radiating from me.
“To be a partner in my business, of course. I’ve read all about you and I think we’d work well together,” she said, pushing her pink box of crap toward me.
I chuckled. It was demeaning and childish, but she’d pushed my buttons, and this is what happened when you went there. “You think we’d work well together? I’m sorry Miss DeLuca, but if you’d really read about me, you’d know that I’m not interested in being a baker.”
She laughed now. It was catty and condescending, and my brothers’ heads ping-ponged back and forth between us. “Don’t flatter yourself. I would never allow you to assist me in my craft. But I’m quite certain that you’re in the business of making money. And that’s what I’m here to offer.”
Harrison reached over and grabbed the box. He untied the twine and flipped the lid open. I was able to see the name: De
Liciously Yours. I assumed it was a play on the DeLuca name. Clever. But I had zero interest in owning a bakery.
My brothers were uncomfortable because they’d never met a stranger they didn’t like, and things were off to a rocky start.
Buckle up, boys.
I was done playing games.
“We’re not looking for a partnership, we’re looking for a tenant. All I need to know is if you can afford the rent, and if you have your financials for us, we’d be happy to have our attorneys take a look.” I watched her. Wanted to see her squirm, but it never came. She cocked her head to the side and squared her shoulders before pushing the box my way.
“This is the most important piece of my business plan. Please, try one.” She raised a brow in challenge, and my brothers bit into their cupcakes and moaned like goddamn children.
“Wow, Harley. Best cupcake I’ve ever had,” Harrison said.
“Mmmmmmm. Girl, you’re the best damn baker I’ve ever met.” Jack reached for another pastry as he spoke with a mouthful of cake.
Ridiculous.
“I don’t eat refined sugar,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, though the smell coming from the box had my mouth watering.
She chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Why am I not surprised.”
What the hell did that mean? She turned her attention to my brothers, and they made all sorts of over-the-top noises to let her know how impressed they were.
“So, do you only sell cupcakes?” I asked dryly.
“We offer coffee, tea, and a large selection of pastries. Here’s my actual business plan. I’m offering you a percentage of the company, in exchange for the lease space, at least for the first year of business. We can renegotiate the terms the following year.” She handed me a document with an extensive business plan. I highly doubted a baker came up with this.
“Who wrote this up?” I asked, studying the impressive business plan.
“I did. I have a degree in business,” she said, one brow raised in challenge.
“From where? The Betty Crocker school of cupcakes?” I couldn’t help myself, and Harrison shot me a look.
