by Laura Pavlov
“Where am I? You brought me to a goddamn youth hostel?”
Oh, no he didn’t just insult my home. Was he serious? Like Ford Montgomery had ever spent the night in a youth hostel.
I walked back and set the mug on the coffee table and pulled him upright so he wouldn’t tip over. “I assure you this is not a youth hostel. This is my home, you pompous ass.”
“Your home? It’s one room.”
“It’s called a studio, genius,” I hissed before handing him the coffee. “Drink. I’ll call you an Uber once you sober up a bit.”
“You like my brothers more than me, don’t you? Why is that?”
Well, that came out of left field.
“No. I don’t like them more than you.” I laughed. They were nicer to me, but of course I favored the broody asshole. But I wouldn’t tell him that.
“Good. I just need to sleep it off. I hate this day. I miss my fucking father,” he slurred before leaning forward and setting the cup on the table. He tipped back and rested his head on the arm of the couch. His feet still on the floor. It looked very uncomfortable, but the man was loaded and probably too far gone to notice.
Shit. I felt bad for him. He appeared to be truly broken up over the loss of his father. I pushed to my feet and paced in front of the couch.
I reached for my phone and dialed Molly.
“Tell me you aren’t just getting home, Harls,” she said, her voice sounded groggy from sleep.
“Well, I have a little situation.”
“Why are you whispering? You live alone. Ohhhh, a situation,” she said. “Oh my god. Did you finally bring a man back with you? It isn’t that asshole, Toad, is it?”
I moved to the bathroom. It’s not like my guest was even conscious, but I didn’t want him to hear my conversation.
“Different asshole. I was walking home, and I ran into Ford Montgomery—”
“He’s so hot. I knew he was into you,” she interrupted.
“I can hear you.” I heard her boyfriend Oscar grumble in the background and she shushed him.
“No. It’s nothing like that. I found him slumped against the wall outside that bar around the corner from here. He got kicked out. He was super drunk and can barely stand. He puked all over my shoes.” I didn’t hide my irritation.
“Not the new Chucks,” she said with a laugh.
“Yes. I’m sure they’re ruined now. Anyway, he didn’t have his driver. He’s all worked up about it being the day his dad died, and he just told me he killed his father,” I whisper-hissed.
She laughed. “You sure can pick ‘em, kid.”
“I didn’t pick him. I said I’d get him some coffee and sober him up a bit and then call an Uber. But he’s passed out sitting up on my couch. What do I do?”
I held the phone away from my ear as she continued to laugh uncontrollably.
“A hot billionaire that may have killed his father is still a step up from Toad,” she said. “Come on, Harls, the guy is harmless. Pretentious? Sure. A murderer? No freaking way. He’d get his Oxford loafers dirty. Rich people hire others to do their dirty work. I think you should let him sleep it off. He can barely stand. He’s not going to hurt you.”
“I’m not worried about him hurting me. I just, I don’t know. I don’t know him that well. He’s my landlord slash kind of business partner. It seems very inappropriate,” I said, peeking my head out to see if he was still in the same position.
He was.
“Whatever. I think you’re just nervous about a hot man sleeping in your apartment. It’s been a while.”
I rolled my eyes. “Please. That’s not it. I mean, we’re friends, I guess. Kind of. I don’t have much of a choice, right? I can’t just drag him out on the street. I thought about calling his brothers, but he was so adamant about not letting them know where he was, that I feel like I shouldn’t.” Jack and Harrison had both given me their numbers. The only one who hadn’t exchanged information with me was the one currently passed out on my sofa.
“Exactly. Just let him sleep it off. He’ll probably be embarrassed in the morning. Especially after confessing to murder.”
I covered my mouth to muffle my laughter. “Fine. I’ll see you in the morning. I’m going to bed.”
“Love you, Harls. I’m excited that you have a man on your couch. A hot, sexy man. Even if he’s passed out, it’s progress.”
“Goodbye.” I rolled my eyes before ending the call.
I walked over and reached for the mug that remained full of coffee and took it to the sink. I grabbed a pillow and blanket from the closet and did my best to help the oversized man on my couch lie down. I took his shoes off, because no way in hell was I going to let him put his filthy loafers on my new sofa. I looked down at him. He really was a beautiful specimen. His dark hair still looked styled to perfection. His chiseled jaw, dark brows and the peppered scruff covering his chin were so sexy. I bit the inside of my cheek as I took a minute to just take him in. I usually avoided staring at him very long because, well, he usually irritated me too quickly. The man was perfection. Until he opened his mouth and spoke, that is.
His hand came up and wrapped around my knee, and I nearly fell back onto the coffee table. I pulled his arm away and tucked it beside him on the couch.
“You’re beautiful, Harley,” he slurred.
What the hell? He was dreaming. But those weren’t words I’d ever imagined coming from his mouth. Hell, he was rarely even friendly.
“Goodnight, Montgomery,” I said before walking to the bathroom to wash my face and put on my jammies.
“I’m sorry, Dad.” I heard him say from the bathroom, and my heart squeezed. And that never happened. Only when Gramps and I were missing Gram.
I turned out the lights and climbed into bed. I was dreading the awkward encounter in the morning.
Chapter Seven
Ford
Banging and clanking startled me. My feet were hanging off an unusually small sofa. Sunlight flooded my vision, making it impossible to open my eyes and focus.
More banging and rattling.
My head spun.
My mouth was dry. I was in desperate need of water.
I pushed to sit up. Where the fuck was I? I forced my eyes open and saw two gorgeous tanned legs in the distance. I moved my gaze up to find boy shorts and long dark hair trailing down her back. I turned to look around the place. It was a one-room apartment? There was a bed, a kitchen and a couch—all in one room.
Where the fuck was I?
“Drink,” her voice said as she handed me a cup of coffee. “We need to leave in fifteen minutes.”
Harley DeLuca.
Holy shit. Did I sleep with the baker? Jesus. I couldn’t remember a thing.
I took a sip of coffee. The girl made damn good coffee.
“How’d I get here?” My voice was hoarse and gruff.
She tucked her hair behind her ear. I’d never seen it down. It was long. Much longer than I’d thought. Her face was bare of makeup and gorgeous. No doubt about it, Harley DeLuca was stunning. But she had a mouth on her. And she hated me most of the time. There was no way she’d have taken me home willingly.
“Well, I found you on my way home. You were slumped against the building after being thrown out of the bar.” She watched me, and she wasn’t as harsh as she normally was. Jesus. What had I said to her? She was giving me pity eyes—huge pet peeve of mine. I hated it when people felt sorry for me.
I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry to ask this, but, uh, we didn’t sleep together, did we?”
Her dark eyes doubled in size and she gasped. “You’re such an asshole. No. We didn’t sleep together, you pig.”
My head continued to pound, and the banging started again. “Jesus, what is that banging?”
She stormed to the bathroom, which was a mere five feet fr
om the living room and slammed the door.
“I’m above a dry cleaner. Those are the machines,” she yelled from the other side of the door.
I pushed to my feet and took another swig of coffee, walking closer to the bathroom. Which literally meant taking three short steps. “Hey, Harley.”
“What?” she hissed through the door.
“I didn’t mean to offend you. I don’t remember anything from last night. I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t acted, er, inappropriately.” The girl was hot as hell. Not my type, obviously, but she was gorgeous. And how the hell do I know what I’d do when I was three sheets to the wind. I was attracted to her, no denying it.
She walked out of the bathroom. Her hair was in a bun piled on top of her head, she’d put on a little bit of makeup, but she didn’t wear much. She didn’t need any. She had a black cotton dress on that ended at her knees and a pair of booties.
“It’s fine. Are you ready? I don’t want to be late for work.”
“You’re the owner.” I glanced down at my phone to see the time. “It’s not even six in the morning. How early do you go in?”
“I like to get there at six, and you’ve made me late, because we have to walk. Not to mention I didn’t get much sleep with your drunk ass on my couch,” she said, raising one brow at me. She was so fucking pretty she nearly took my breath away. Jesus, how much did I have to drink last night? I was off.
I sat down and slipped my shoes on. “I see you aren’t wearing your tennis shoes.”
“You noticed that, did you?”
Why the hell was she suddenly so angry. I just asked if we’d slept together. It’s not that farfetched. People do it all the time. “I just know you like them, that’s all.”
“Well, they’re soaking in the sink because someone vomited all over them.”
I scrubbed a hand down my face. “Jesus. I’m sorry. I’ll get you a new pair.”
She rolled her eyes as I pushed to stand. “I don’t want a new pair. I had a perfectly good pair. You think you can just throw your money at everything and fix it?”
“Whoa. Don’t go making assumptions. I puked on your shoes and I’m offering to replace them.”
She led me to the door, and we made our way out to the street. “I’m not making assumptions. I actually know a hell of a lot more about you than I want to. You also confessed to murdering your father.”
I came to a stop. The sun was barely out, thank god, because I didn’t have my sunglasses with me. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“Nope. You told me you killed him. And I still let you sleep it off even though my life was basically at risk. You’re welcome. You puked on my favorite shoes, and then you woke up and asked if I slept with you? Sorry to tell you, Montgomery, I’m slightly more memorable than that.” She turned on her heels and started walking. I was tempted to call Jerome for a ride, but I figured this conversation needed to happen and the girl was hell-bent on walking.
I moved beside her with my suit coat slung over my arm. “I’m sorry. Thank you for helping me last night.”
She came to a stop again. “I accept your apology.”
We started walking again. I clearly needed to explain what I’d meant, because I didn’t want her to think I was a cold-blooded murderer. But at the same time, it angered me that she’d let me spend the night after I’d confessed to killing someone. Not the wisest move for a woman who lives alone. But it seemed like a bad time to bring this up.
“My father was killed in a car accident five years ago.”
“And you were the driver?” she asked, glancing over at me as her heel booties clicked against the cement.
“No. I wasn’t in the car with him.”
“You were in the car that hit him?”
“No. I wasn’t fucking there,” I snapped because I hated talking about it.
“Don’t bark at me. You’re the one who confessed to a crime you weren’t even at.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I just don’t like talking about it,” I said.
“You know, Montgomery, if you were a superhero, I’d call you The Apologizer.”
I rolled my eyes. “And why is that?”
“Because you’re a complete dick most of the time, and then you throw out a few apologies and you think that makes everything better. If you really feel bad, then stop being a dick. And, no offense, but you confessed to a crime you weren’t even at, so you’re clearly a shitty criminal as well.”
I barked out a laugh. She was a straight shooter. I didn’t have a lot of those in my life. “All right, I’ll think before I apologize next time.”
“That’s a start.”
We walked in silence for a little bit before I finally spoke. “My father and I had a fight the night of his accident. I was angry about something and I acted like an asshole.”
“Surprise, surprise,” she mumbled.
“Anyway. I’d really pissed him off. He went to the city to have dinner with Hanky,” I said, pausing when I realized she wouldn’t know who that was. “He’s my godfather. My dad’s best friend.”
“All families fight,” she said, coming to a stop once again and studying me.
“Well, he died in a car accident that night. The car hit a tree and he and Hanky were both ejected. Hanky ended up being okay, but my father didn’t make it. So, my last conversation with him was an argument. One that sent him out angry.”
“And you think the accident was your fault?” Her empathetic gaze locked with mine. I had never talked about this with anyone outside of my family and my therapist. And Hanky of course.
“Well, obviously he wouldn’t have been there if we hadn’t fought.”
“You don’t know that for sure, and either way, that didn’t cause the accident,” she said as she reached out and squeezed my forearm.
“I do know that for certain. Hanky said they were arguing about it in the car when my dad lost control. He was upset about our disagreement and Hanky was trying to calm him down.”
“I didn’t know your father, but I can promise you that he would not want you to feel responsible for the accident. I mean, people drive upset all the time. Hell, I’m pissed off every time I’m behind the wheel dealing with shitty drivers. It was an accident, which by the very definition means it was an unexpected and unintentional event resulting in damage or injury.”
I barked out a laugh. “Thank you, Merriam-Webster.”
“It’s quite the party trick. I have all sorts of definitions in my head ever since studying for my SATs. But that’s a conversation for another time. You’re being irrational, Montgomery. And trust me, if I thought you killed your father, I’d be the first one to tell you so.”
I studied her. The sidewalk was pretty desolate at the moment, and traffic was sparse. The city was still asleep as Harley and I made our way to Montgomery Media. “Why is that?”
“Because you puked on my favorite Chucks.” She raised a brow in challenge.
“Fair enough,” I said as we continued walking.
“I’m guessing you don’t talk about it much because if you did, I don’t think you’d be blaming yourself five years later. You know it’s not good to keep all that stuff bottled up.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re an expert, huh?”
“Sure. I’m the queen of bottled up emotions.” I glanced over at her, but her expression gave nothing away.
“Is that so?”
“It is. So, all I’m saying is now that the cat’s sort of out of the bag—feel free to come to me if you need someone to vent to,” she said, looking over at me with those dark brown eyes and an empathetic smile.
“I actually have a therapist, but thanks.”
“Well, it’s been five years and you don’t seem to have made much progress seeing as I found your drunken, hot mess, ass out in the street last nigh
t. And here you are today doing the walk of shame.”
My head fell back in laughter, and damn if it didn’t feel good. “A hot mess, huh? So, you think I’m hot, do you? This is good to know. Although I don’t fraternize with employees. And this is far from a walk of shame because I’m completely fine.”
She came to an abrupt halt. “First of all, I’m not your employee. I’m your business partner. Secondly, sure you’re a good-looking cat—I’m not blind. But I’m also not interested. You’re not my type. At all. And as far as walk of shames go—this is top notch, Montgomery. You’re wearing yesterday’s suit. You’ve got puke on your collar and on your shoes. Your hair is a mess and probably reeks of vomit. And you’re walking to work after waking up and not knowing where you were. This is a walk of shame at its finest! Welcome to the shit show, Mr. Perfect.”
I tried to cover my smile. I didn’t want her to know how fascinating I found her. “How do you know I’m not your type?”
She laughed now. “That’s what you took from what I just said? And I know because I know my type. And you aren’t it. I don’t date uptight, pompous, demanding rich boys. ‘Oh, I need my coffee ready and waiting for me when I arrive.’ Not my thing. No offense.”
I studied her. “I’m not pompous.”
“Just demanding, uptight, and rich?”
“I mean, yeah. I guess. And I don’t apologize for it.”
“Nor should you. And it’s great because it puts you in the friend zone. Which is why you can feel free to talk to me whenever you want to. You’d never have to worry about me catching feelings, because that’s not happening,” she said, and a wide grin spread across her face.
I hadn’t had a conversation that was so open and honest with a woman before. Hell, I hadn’t had an actual deep conversation with a human being in a long time. My mom and my therapist, but even then, they never put me in my place quite like Harley DeLuca did. And I didn’t mind it.
“Okay, then. If we’re friends now, tell me what your type is. I’m guessing it’s broody assholes who show up at your place of work and pin you to the wall and force you to kiss them. Very classy, by the way.”
