Because I Can (Montgomery Manor)

by Tamara Morgan

  As it turned out, there weren’t any entertainment orgies. Fun was being had and memories were being made, but people also went to work. They answered to their bosses and their obligations. They put on their coveralls and labored under the sun. And still only he remained—not bent over a desk this time, but somehow just as chained down as before.

  Freedom was an illusion. A boring, mind-numbing, never-ending illusion.

  “You miss it, don’t you?” Georgia asked softly.

  He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He missed it more than he ever thought possible.

  “Maybe it’s time for you to think about returning.” Georgia spoke carefully, and he could tell she was striving for the same detached tone that had failed him before. “The foundation needs you a lot more than I do. We could go back to our daily meetings in the summerhouse. Those were fun.”

  “I don’t want to have to sneak out to see you, Georgia. You deserve better than that.”

  She stiffened again. “Please don’t make this about me. Make it about your dad, or your sister, or the job, but don’t make it about me.”

  Silly woman. It could never not be about her—not anymore.

  “Your family has been nothing but kind to me since you moved out,” she said, almost pleading. “I’m sure you could find a way to strike a deal for fewer hours or more free time if you ask. They miss you more than you realize.”

  “No.” He strengthened his grip on Georgia, fearful that to let her go would be to lose the only remaining part of himself. That part was small and growing infinitesimally smaller by the day. “I can’t go home—not like this, not on my knees. It’s what he wants.”

  “And what do you want, Monty?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer, because he didn’t know.

  * * *

  The call came in the middle of the night.

  Never a heavy sleeper to begin with, Monty hadn’t gotten a good night’s rest since he’d left Montgomery Manor. He loved having Georgia nestled against him, and they certainly wore themselves out in an attempt to find innovative rescue scenarios, but wakefulness never truly left him.

  He blamed his cell phone, eerily silent now that he’d stopped work calls and emails from coming in. Like a ticking bomb, it sat heavily by his side, more ominous in its silence than it had ever been when active.

  The sound of it ringing now was almost a comfort. The crisis had arrived, the company was collapsed, a lifetime of hard work had come to a grinding halt. At least now he didn’t have to pretend he didn’t care what happened anymore.

  “Hello?” He rolled out of bed and tried to speak softly, but Georgia’s apartment was so small there was no way to even sneeze without disturbing the peace. “What’s wrong?”

  “Mr. Montgomery?” The relief in Thomas’s voice was impossible to ignore. “Finally! I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days.”

  Monty’s grip on the phone tightened so much he was afraid he crushed the delicate electronics. “You have?”

  “Is it okay that I’m calling your emergency number? They told me you were in Hong Kong, and I checked online first. It’s like the middle of the day there, right?”

  Monty didn’t have to do the mental calculation. Hong Kong was twelve hours opposite East Coast time. If his family wanted to pretend he was out of reach, they’d gravitate as far away as they could possibly get. All the way to the other side of the globe.

  “A gorgeous afternoon,” he lied. The room was dark save for the glow of Georgia’s face. She was sitting up in the bed, watching him with a cloaked expression. “What’s up?”

  “They canceled my meeting with the Board of Regents, and no one will tell me why.” The relief that had lowered Thomas’s voice rose to an urgent pitch. “I know you’re hella busy, and it’s not part of your job to deal with my personal shit...”

  Monty cleared his throat, more out of habit than anything else.

  “I mean, I know you’re busy, sir, and you’ve already done so much for me, but I had my presentation ready to go and everything. Why won’t they even see me now?”

  Monty swore. He tried to keep the sound under his breath, but he was sure Thomas heard him. Getting Thomas in to see the Connecticut Higher Education Board had been something he’d wanted right from the start. There was only so much Monty could do by standing around talking about a need for change—he was just one more dried-up rich guy with privilege oozing out of his pores. It was kids like Thomas who would lead the real change.

  It had taken him months to get that meeting set up, dozens of favors called in. There was no reason why it shouldn’t have gone through.

  If it was possible to transcend the confines of space and time, Monty would reach out and strangle his father right now. If step one was to pretend that he was in an extended business trip in Hong Kong, then step two was to start cutting down all the projects that mattered to him. It was slash and burn, with Monty as the fall guy.

  “I’ll fix this, Thomas. I swear. There’s been some restructuring going on, and...” Who was he kidding? This wasn’t restructuring. This was a collapse of everything he’d been working toward. “This isn’t your fault. This is on me. I dropped the ball.”

  Monty felt rather than heard Georgia approach from behind. She moved silently, pushing him to her computer chair before he could apologize for interrupting her sleep.

  Coffee? she mouthed.

  He nodded gratefully and grabbed the nearest pen, jotting down notes regarding all the ways his desertion had impacted this kid’s life and all the things he’d need to do to make up for it.

  It was a long list.

  “I’m so sorry, Georgia,” he said later, when streaks of sunlight were beginning to touch the sky and he’d finished off an entire pot of coffee. “I could have taken that to my car.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. An emergency is an emergency.” She spoke brightly, but there were lines of anxiety around her mouth he knew he’d put there himself. “What was the emergency, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Lingering Montgomery Foundation issues,” he said.

  “That was Thomas? The kid you’ve been helping?”

  He nodded. The kid who’d been helping him. The kid who would be the walking dead today, exhausted from staying up all hours of the night to call on Hong Kong time, determined not to inconvenience Monty any more than he had to.

  “Is it going to be okay?” she asked.

  “Yes. No. Yes.” He took a deep breath, willing the last of his anger to ebb away. He had the capacity to get Thomas his meeting back, but without the full Montgomery might behind the foster care initiative, it was like propping up a single log to take the place of an entire dam. “Thomas will be fine—he’s the sort who’ll always find a way to land on his feet. It’s the rest of the kids I’m not so sure about.”

  If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she brightened at his words. “Does this mean you’re going back to work?”

  He firmed his lips in a line it would take a thousand crowbars to crack. “No. It means nothing short of a miracle will ever get me to work for my father again.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Okay, Jenna. I’m in.”

  It took Monty’s sister a few seconds for realization to settle in, but it was clear from the way her face lit up that she hadn’t been one hundred percent convinced Georgia would be back.

  “How in are we talking?” Jenna asked, not yet rising from the desk in her bedroom where she sat studying her laptop. Georgia wasn’t sure if Monty’s resignation had increased the other woman’s workload or if she was merely as much of a workhorse as he was, but these Montgomerys sure knew how to be productive.

  She almost wanted to steal the laptop and smuggle it out to Monty later. He could hide it under his pillow and dream in email, access the files he needed
to fix whatever catastrophe had arisen in the middle of the night. Maybe it would erase some of the look of devastation that fell over him whenever he thought she wasn’t looking. He called her stubborn and infuriating, but she wasn’t the one who refused to admit how much her work meant to her.

  She knew she was a crazily obsessed contractor who busted balls and then had to stay up all hours to make up lost time. At least she was willing to own it.

  “All in.” Georgia took a deep breath. Her entire body balked at the idea of standing here, plotting and planning and agreeing to let this woman be her guide, but she didn’t know what else to do. Monty was miserable. She’d never seen a man so near tears as he’d been on the phone with this kid who obviously meant the world to him. And with nary a bruise in sight. “Whatever it takes to lure him back. Spreadsheets. Hotel chains. Day dresses.” Miracles. “Tell me where to go and what to do, and I’ll do it.”

  “Oh, I’ve got grander plans than that. Have you ever taken dancing lessons?”

  Georgia opened her mouth to offer an obliging laugh, but Jenna’s thoughtfully puckered lips were one hundred percent serious. “Not unless you count line dancing in gym in middle school. I’m not a good dancer, Jenna. Not even a little.”

  “You will be by the time I’m done with you. Are you sure you’re still in?”

  She closed her eyes and nodded, feeling the same way people must when they sold their souls to the devil or financed a vehicle from a used car dealer.

  “I promise to be as gentle as possible,” Jenna said. “But tell me—how do you feel about Brazilians?”

  Georgia blinked. “I don’t think I know any. I’ve never been south of the Equator.”

  Jenna’s laugh cemented the dissolution of Georgia’s soul. “Oh, Gigi. This is going to be so fun. You have no idea.”

  * * *

  “I’m taking your girlfriend shopping, Monty, not to North Korea to start World War III. Please have some faith in my ability to purchase shoes without causing irreparable harm.”

  Georgia had to bite the tip of her tongue to stop herself from admitting that North Korea held more charm for her than the promised trip to Hartford. She’d prefer to wrestle dictators over shoe salesmen any day.

  “Although I should probably warn you that I intend to take her to lunch afterward. Am I allowed to feed her, or is that against the rules too?” Jenna spoke with a light air, but there was no mistaking the steely undercurrent. Georgia knew her family was a force all its own, but Jenna scared her. She had a feeling this woman didn’t hear the word no very often.

  Monty turned to Georgia, both hands on her shoulders, his palms heavy and warm and comforting in ways that shopping with his sister would never be. Why, oh why, had she agreed to get in the middle like this?

  “I’m finding it hard to believe this is the innocent shopping trip she’s painting it out to be,” he said, his gaze searching hers. Those blue eyes saw everything. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Georgia. Not for me. I separated myself from my family for a reason. They don’t get a say in what you or I do.”

  Oh, yeah. That was why. Because Monty was kind and supportive and one hundred percent miserable.

  “I need new rain boots,” she said, striving for jocularity. “I was thinking of mixing it up a little bit.”

  “I saw the sweetest pair of studded ankle boots in Prague last month. I bet we can find something similar.”

  “She’s partial to rubber,” Monty said tightly. “Something with good aeration.”

  “I’m going to ignore the words rubber and aeration in relation to our discussion of ladies’ footwear.” Jenna shuddered. “I’ll be out in the car, Gigi. Don’t let him bully you.”

  Gruffly, he pulled her to him and dropped a kiss on her lips. “Don’t let her bully you,” he said. “She seems nice on the outside, but believe me when I warn you she’s as ruthless as they come. She’ll send you home with no less than an entire wardrobe overhaul—and none of it will make you even remotely as attractive as you are in coveralls.”

  “Oh, please,” she said, flustered. “No one likes to see me in coveralls.”

  “I do.”

  She had no defense against that. It was such a ridiculous compliment it had to be true. She covered her flustered state by saying, “I think it’s time for something more upscale, don’t you? Now that I’m shacking up with a Montgomery, I feel dowdy in comparison.”

  His grip on her tightened to the point of pain, and he might have squeezed the life out of a lesser woman, but Georgia was no lesser woman. “You’re not dowdy—and I’m not a Montgomery anymore. Not in any way that matters.”

  It was those comments that really hurt. He would never not be a Montgomery the same way she would never not be a Lennox. Everyone hated their family sometimes, but you found a way to get over it. That was how families worked.

  “You don’t have to be nice to her for my sake,” Monty added.

  “But you’re nice to my brothers. You’re having lunch with Adam today without a gun being held to your head. How is this any different?”

  He didn’t answer, because he couldn’t. Monty had spent hours in her brothers’ company, playing their twisted games, climbing their stupid trees, becoming accepted—no small feat for anyone, let alone a man who balked at the idea of overly familiar camaraderie. He couldn’t deny her this same opportunity to fit in his world, even if he didn’t think he belonged there anymore.

  “Just...don’t let her manipulate you. Don’t let her change you.”

  “I’m not so easy to change. If anyone knows that by now, it’s you.”

  And that was that. Georgia looked uneasily back at Monty while she grabbed her ID and shoved it in her pocket, but he’d slapped a determined smile on his face. She recognized that determination. He would continue pretending this was the life he wanted, that he didn’t spend restless nights worrying about all the projects he’d dropped and the people he’d let down.

  Which meant Georgia had to pretend too. Apparently, she had to pretend all the way to the shoe store and back again.

  * * *

  “This is not a shoe store.” Georgia stopped her heels on the sidewalk outside the salon. The chemical scent of hair products and nail polish and plutonium wafted out, making her eyes water. “You didn’t say anything about...”

  “A haircut, Gigi. You can say it. Hairrr cut.”

  Georgia glared at Jenna, who was smiling at her as though the two of them had been best friends forever.

  They weren’t. They weren’t even close. Jenna was an evil sadist with the stamina of twelve horses. Four hours of trying on skirts and dresses and sweaters and some kind of torture device called Spanx, and Georgia had never been so exhausted in her life. So far, all she’d bought was a pair of shoelaces. They had yellow stars on them.

  “You’ll like this place, I promise.” Jenna pulled open the door, releasing even more plutonium into the atmosphere. “They serve you champagne and strawberries while you wait.”

  At the mention of food, Georgia’s stomach rumbled a warning. Apparently, this level of shopping was a marathon event, and Jenna’s promised lunch wasn’t offered until they reached the finish line. Strawberries would at least prevent her from collapsing on the sidewalk.

  “I don’t want anything high maintenance,” she said, giving the air a tentative sniff. “And nothing that could theoretically burn through my scalp.” She didn’t add anything about a recent study she’d read that linked cancer with the cocamides they put in high-end hair products. If Jenna’s glistening auburn locks were anything to go by, she probably bathed in the stuff.

  “Oh, Gigi.” Jenna laughed and grabbed Georgia by the arm, pulling her through the door with more strength than such a svelte woman should possess. “You’re funny. I can tell why my brother likes you so much.”


  “You can?”

  “Of course. You stand for everything he values.” Jenna didn’t lose her smile. “You’re unpretentious and sweet, and you say exactly what’s on your mind at all times. I bet you hate parties too. I bet you hate parties so freaking hard.”

  Georgia barely had time to be perplexed as a trio of well-coiffed, dressed-all-in-black stylists descended on her. Champagne was pressed in her hand, her hair was called a canvas of virgin strands, and scissors were held to her throat as she was warned not to even think about getting up out of the chair.

  Okay, maybe the scissors weren’t at her throat, but she wouldn’t have put it past the man with the spiky blue hair to go straight for the jugular if he had to. There was a glint in his eye she didn’t trust.

  She fortified herself with a sip of the champagne. The bubbles ran over her tongue, feeling expensive, and she indulged in one more. Given how quickly it began warming up her empty stomach, she’d be drunk in no time. Maybe that was their plan—they wanted to drink her under the table and have their wicked way with her scalp.

  “I’m taking it all,” the man with the scissors announced. “And I won’t hear a word of protest.”

  “That’s fine.” Georgia sat back and let them circle her like a pack of vultures, aware that the scissors weren’t going to let her walk away from this unscathed. “Just make sure you set it aside so I can donate it later.”

  She saw Jenna shrug, and the man complied. Without any warning, he lifted her ponytail and neatly snipped it off. He dropped the discarded hair into her lap, narrowly missing her champagne, and set to work.

  Georgia, aware this could theoretically take hours, drank. And like magic, her glass refilled itself again as the team set to work.

  * * *

  “Remember that time I complimented you on your balls, Montgomery?”