Montreal (International Guy Book 6) Read online

  “Who was it?”

  “Eloise Gagnon. Worked here several years.”

  I thumb through the leftover stack of files on my desk and pull hers out. “I haven’t interviewed her yet.”

  “Seems standoffish, but it could be she wants a promotion or something and is bummed that I was brought on instead of giving her the promotion.”

  I nod. “Perhaps. I’ll find out for sure. Good work. Keep digging into the other coders. Make sure to get into those products that were leaked and evaluate the coding there.”

  “Got it. That was my next step anyway.” She runs her fingers through the hair at her temples.

  “All right. You can go back. Tell this Eloise she’s up next.”

  Wendy pushes her chair back but doesn’t rise. “How are you doing today?”

  I glance up and into her clear blue eyes. “Wendy . . . not at work.”

  She looks chagrined, and her cheeks flush pink. “Sorry . . . I just . . . Have you called her yet?”

  I sigh. “No.”

  Her lips move into a flat line. “I don’t know how to do this.” She worries her fingers in her lap.

  “Do what?”

  She lifts one shoulder and lets it drop. “Be okay with the fact that I know you’re wrong. And you’re hurting. And I hate it. I hate it so much because I feel like it would be so easy to fix if you would just call her.” The words leave her mouth in a rush, but once they do, I can see the second she realizes all she revealed. “I’m . . . oh my God. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t . . . it’s not my place.”

  The knife that’s skewering my heart digs a little deeper, stealing my breath right along with it. My heartbeat becomes erratic, and my entire body warms. I clench my good hand into a fist on top of my leg, trying to manage my out-of-control feelings.

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Parker . . .” Her voice cracks, and with it, a lightning bolt sizzles straight into my stomach, singeing muscle and tissue in its wake.

  “Wendy, I know you mean well, and you are a godsend to the IG team. You are one of us. That isn’t going to change. But you have to stop.”

  God, please make her stop. I can’t deal with her hopefulness on top of the overbearing dread filling my soul.

  I think for a moment and then take a different approach. “Look, I’m dealing with what happened between Sky and me the only way I know how. This is not the first time a woman broke me. Okay?”

  “What?” she gasps, her hand flying to her chest.

  Dammit. I did not want to go there again. I’m trying desperately to leave her in the past. Deal with this new hurt and move on.

  Wendy sits absolutely still, waiting for me to continue.

  “Fine.” I sigh. “I’ll give you the CliffsNotes version. I was engaged in college. Kayla McCormick. She used me and betrayed me by fucking my best friend, Greg, while wearing my ring and doing so in our bed.”

  Her eyes turn the size of coasters. “Ho-bag . . . ,” she growls through her teeth.

  I grin. “Undeniably. And since then, I haven’t trusted a woman with my heart until . . .”

  “Skyler.” She closes her eyes as if the information is slamming into her and breaking her heart into little pieces the same way it’s done to mine.

  “Yeah.” I lick my lips and try to clear the sudden emotion swelling around us.

  “I didn’t know.”

  “You had no way of knowing. It’s not something the guys or I talk about. With good reason. Because that was a shit time in my life. Right now, what I’m going through is another shit time.”

  Her hand shakes as she reaches out and puts hers on top of mine. She squeezes it. “I want to help you. How can I help you?”

  I embrace her hand firmly. “Just be my friend, Wendy. Be there like you promised you would.” I shake my head. “But don’t try to fix me. You can’t. This is not something you can do for me. I have to find the right way to get past it.”

  Her lip trembles. “But . . . but, what if the right way is to give Skyler a second chance?” Her eyes fill with such hope and love it’s hard to look at her without crumbling or alternately punching another wall.

  “How’s about I promise to think about it?”

  That light I saw when she walked in flickers back on. “Really?”

  “Really.” I squeeze her hand once and let it go. “Now get out of here. I’ve got this interview to finish tonight, and then I need to let off some steam. Now that Bo is in town, maybe the four of us can head out. Away from this side of town of course.”

  “Righteous! I’ll find a place.”

  “I actually have been recommended one called Brutopia. And it’s Wednesday night. They might even have live music.”

  Her entire face glows beautifully. “I love live music.” There’s awe coating her tone.

  I grin. “I know you do, minxy.” I wink. “Make sure the guys are on board. I’m heading out in an hour.”

  “Will do, boss man.”

  “See you later, Wendy.”

  She grins, and her shoulders go up to her ears. “I can’t wait to tell Mick I’m going out for a night on the town with the guys.”

  “Uh, do you think that’s wise?”

  A wicked smirk slips across her lips. “Oh yeah. It will mean serious punishment when I get home. I may not be able to walk for days after. I can’t wait!” She shimmies in her heels, wiggling her tiny booty.

  Again, in her presence, I can’t help but laugh.

  “Glutton!” I tease as she opens the door.

  “For my man’s lovin’, you know it.” She maneuvers her fingers into the shape of a gun. “Bang, bang, I’m out!”

  I snort and lean back in my chair. Once I do, an orange fluff ball lands on my lap, forcing me back to a normal seating position. Spartacus looks at me as though I’ve disturbed him and not the other way around.

  “You think you own the universe, don’t you, cat?”

  He looks at me as if we’re having a stare-off. I blink first, after which he pushes his head against my gut and starts to purr.

  Before I can move the cat, Wendy’s back at my door.

  “Hey, Eloise left early today. Doctor’s appointment. It was on her calendar.” Her voice dips. “I checked.”

  “Of course you did.” I’d tell her that she’s done well, but then she’d get a big head. “Well, looks like I’m out of here. If this cat will ever let me up.” I point down to my lap where Spartacus has deemed me the perfect napping spot.

  “Aw, so cute. You know . . . cats have an innate sense of good people. Also, studies have linked lowered stress levels in people when they are petting a cat or snuggling up to a kitten.”

  I raise my hand and point to the door. “Out.”

  “It’s true, though! Fine. Bye!” She scampers off.

  I look back down at Spartacus and run my hand through his fur several times. “You’re a pain in the ass, getting my slacks all furry with your orange hair, but”—for this, I lean down close to him and run my chin against his soft head—“you do make me feel better. Thanks for keeping me company.”

  6

  Brutopia is a hip-looking western-style bar in the heart of downtown Montreal. You have to go up a set of rickety wooden stairs to get to the heavy door. Inside, the place has a healthy number of patrons eating and drinking beers and cocktails. The place seems small from the inside, but as the four of us move closer to the lone bar, we can see there’s a small stage where musicians are setting up their instruments with a small dance floor and seats all around it. Farther back through a cutout in the wall, I note a much larger back end to the bar. A hint of a pool table can be seen from where I stand.

  Wendy shimmies in like a colorful butterfly flapping its wings. “This place is righteous!” she says with awe.

  Roy looks around, placing his hands in his pockets. “Glad I changed.”

  I grin and assess his attire. He’s still wearing his dress slacks, only he’s paired them with a thin long-sleeved shirt made of
white cotton. The white against his ebony skin seems to glow under the low lights in the bar. I clap him on the bicep. “Too true. Should we start with a drink, find a seat, and order?”

  “Hell yeah.” Bo claps me on the back, eyes scanning all the women in our immediate vicinity as he heads to the bar. “Shot of tequila and whatever’s cold on tap you recommend.”

  Wendy raises her hand. “Ooh, ooh, me too! Same.”

  I glance at Roy, who gives me the side-eye and grins in agreement. “We’ll have the same.”

  Bo’s eyebrows rise up. “Is that so? We’re doing this, then. Getting shit-faced.”

  I run my hand through my hair, messing it up even more than it already is. It’s overly long and needs a cut, but I don’t care. I don’t care much about anything right now. “Yep.”

  Royce shakes his head. “Not sure I’m going to get shit-faced, but the night is young, and I saw a trumpet and a trombone setting up.”

  Wendy turns her head to look around Roy’s large form. “Killer! This is going to be so fun!”

  The bartender sets four shots of tequila on the counter with a wedge of lime on the rim. He then proceeds to draw four pints into what look like chilled glasses.

  He sets the four glasses near the shots. Bo passes out the shots and pints to each of us. “What should we drink to?” He smiles wide, his goatee and mustache trimmed to perfection.

  I’m plumb out of anything positive or motivational to say. Wendy holds up her shot glass, and we all follow her move in a game of monkey see, monkey do.

  “I think we ought to drink to . . . trusting your heart. Let our hearts lead us to our very own happiness.”

  My own heart clenches like a vise is around it, the invisible dagger Skyler wedged there still lodged deep. I close my eyes and take a breath.

  “Hear, hear.” Royce clinks his glass with hers.

  Bo does the same. “Cowboy up.”

  I open my eyes and focus on each person’s gaze one at a time, proud that I’m standing right where I am, that I have the support of these three people to help me find my way.

  “To trusting your heart.” I clink my glass, suck back the shot, and let the blessed heat of the alcohol slide down my throat and warm my gut for what feels like the first time in ages. The tightening of my heart abates a little more as I wash the shot down with two long pulls of the cold beer.

  “Let’s find a seat near the band,” Wendy says excitedly. The woman is barely containing her exuberance. It’s refreshing to see someone enjoying themselves every day. Using every minute God gives them to appreciate the goodness in their life.

  “So, tell us your story, Wendy.” I sit down in the booth as she dips into the center, Bo sitting next to her, Roy in the one chair across from her. The booth only fits three and is an odd curved shape.

  She blurts, “We’re gonna need another round of shots for that to happen.”

  “On it!” Bo smacks the table and gets up, shucking off his leather jacket and putting it on the hook near our table.

  Royce eases his chair to the side so he can see the band setting up behind him. “Looks like a seven piece. This ought to be good. Haven’t heard horns live in a while.”

  “Yeah.” I sip my beer. “And such an eclectic mix of individuals.” I nod to the black guy in the center setting up his mic, dressed exactly like a wannabe Michael Jackson from the 1990s. His outfit is complete with high-water dress slacks, a tight white T-shirt, and a sparkly glove. Even his hair is cropped in close curls at the sides.

  “I don’t know ’bout all that.” Royce runs his gaze up and down the lead. “But if the brother sounds anything like Michael, I’ll be happy.”

  Bo comes back, holding four double shots of tequila this time.

  “Doubles?” I chuckle.

  “Go big or go home, right?” He laughs heartily.

  “Guess so.” I take one of the short glass tumblers.

  “For you, my lady.” He passes one to Wendy.

  “When are you going to learn I’m Mick’s lady, not yours, not ever,” she chastises while accepting a glass.

  Royce wraps his long fingers around the glass. It looks minuscule in his giant hand. “What do we drink to now?”

  Before one of them can wax poetic about trusting your heart again, I jump in. “To friendship . . . and family. New and old.”

  “Friendship and family. All right,” Royce murmurs, clinking his glass.

  “Hell yeah,” Bo adds.

  “Family.” Wendy’s voice cracks when she brings her glass to the center of the table where we have our hands stretched out. “I love you guys,” she whispers.

  “Ugh! Wendy!” I groan.

  “Woman!” Royce mutters.

  “Not that kind of family, God willing.” Bo slices the air dramatically.

  “I’m sorry! Jeez Louise!” she huffs.

  “Tink, you’re with the guys, your brothers from another mother. You don’t get all mushy,” Bo warns.

  “My man Bo’s right, little lady. If you’re gonna roll with the big bros, you gotta lay off the sweet, ya hear?” Royce adds.

  She rolls her eyes. “I’m just sayin’ I love you. You act like I’m writing you love poems and promising to name my firstborn after you.”

  “Bo is the perfect name!” Bo fires off instantly.

  “No way! Parker is hip!” I toss mine into the ring.

  Royce shakes his head. “Gentlemen, I got this. Royce is classy. Elegant. Definitely a leader.”

  “What about Michael?” Wendy blinks prettily and drinks her beer.

  All three of us groan again.

  “Just do your shot!” I demand with a laugh.

  “Fine! To family!” She clinks her glass, and we all toss the doubles back.

  Now the heat in my belly is swirling like a boiling hot tub at the exact perfect temperature for soaking. I ease back into my seat, running my finger over the rim of my beer. “All right, minxy, you’ve had your shots. Tell us about you. Where did you grow up?”

  “Sacramento.”

  “California. The land of fruit and nuts. Makes total sense,” Bo jokes.

  She grins. “Met Sir Mick when he was staying at a hotel for a conference. I was bartending the event. We spent the night together, and two days later he had my shit-hole studio apartment packed up and me on a plane to Massachusetts, where I’ve been ever since.”

  “Shee-it, brother’s got moves. Get a woman to drop her life and move across country in two days.” Royce shakes his head and runs his hand over his bald scalp.

  Wendy smiles. “I fell in love at first sight. Add the fact we’re both in the lifestyle, and everything clicked into place for us. Before him, I had nothing. A couple of friends. A shitty job and was struggling to make ends meet. No high school education, though he did make me get my GED online. And look at me now. I’ve never been happier.” She takes a long pull from her pint.

  “Wow, Tink, what happened to your family?” Bo’s facial expression turns into one of concern and compassion. The loving guy behind the leather and man-whore ways.

  She shrugs. “I don’t have any. According to what my social worker told me when I was a teen, my mother had been a drug addict and there was no father on record. When I was about five, child protective services was called because I was walking myself to and from kindergarten, and I was malnourished. Teacher made complaints, the social workers came in, and I never saw my mother again. She never even tried to get me out of the system. Then I bounced around from one crappy foster care home to another until I was fifteen and decided I’d had enough.”

  “Fifteen?” I put my hand over her shoulder. “Wendy.” My throat clogs at the image of a tiny redheaded little girl being moved from home to home. How could anyone do that to her? She’s amazing.

  She rolls her lips inward. “Yep. I already topped out at a high IQ and had the hacking and lying skills to fake an ID stating I was eighteen. I left school and went to work. Started waitressing at a diner. Rented rooms or stayed on f
riends’ couches when I could to save money. And then finally, my knight showed up.”

  “What do you mean?” Royce asks, leaning into his large forearms on the tabletop, as engrossed in her story as I am.

  The bar around us is buzzing with activity, people laughing, drinks being shared, hoots and hollers coming from the back room, but the three of us are glued to our seats and solely focused on our pretty redheaded sister.

  That bright smile I’ve gotten used to when it comes to Wendy breaks out from behind the dark conversation. “Back to the hotel bar I was working when I was twenty. Michael came up, ordered whiskey, sneered when it wasn’t a good year or brand, and proceeded to share his thoughts on the stuff. I happened to have a secret bottle of Macallan stashed in the bar for when I needed a real pick-me-up.”

  “Guuurrrlll, you are smooth.” Royce smirks.

  She waggles her eyebrows. “Don’t I know it!” She holds up her hand and high-fives him over the table, lightness leaking back into her story, pushing aside the sadness from revealing her past.

  Bo flicks his hand. “Then what happened? Don’t leave me hanging, sweetheart, it’s a heavy weight to bear, if you know what I mean.” He grins wickedly, cocking a brow.

  She turns and punches his shoulder.

  “Ouch!” He rubs at the burn. “I hate when you get me with those knobby knuckles.”

  “You’re lucky I don’t invest in a pair of brass knuckles!” She holds up her small fist like a little Italian grandma would when threatening her grandchildren to keep in line.

  He rubs at his sore bicep, pouting. “Just continue the story, Tink.”

  She licks her lips and leans into the table. “Well, I told Mick that I’d hook him up with the good stuff if he didn’t tell my boss.”

  “Risky.” I suck in a breath through my teeth.

  She nods. “Yeah, but he was handsome, and I swear the way he looked at me, like he could see straight through to my soul, destroyed any resolve I had. I wanted nothing more than to please him. Be his everything so he could be mine.”

  Royce whistles. “Damn. Now why can’t I find me a woman like that!”