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She bit her own lip, tasting a hint of her chalky lipstick. She didn’t like the flavor and reminded herself to ditch it later as she tried to come up with a way to admit she had missed the decision without admitting it.
Montrell would be angry. Her hands twisted as she began to imagine the worst, and then her breathing eased. She couldn’t picture Montrell angry with her.
Of course, she hadn’t given him a reason to be. If—
“You need to stop this, Montrell,” Vespa said. Beatrice hadn’t thought she’d be relieved to hear Vespa talk, but her own thoughts slowed at the other woman’s voice.
The door had already clicked shut behind the men. Montrell leaned back in the cushioned chair, his arms raised over his head in a stretch. “You worry too much.”
“You don’t worry enough!” Vespa jabbed a finger in Beatrice’s direction. “We don’t even know what she has over her father! What if it all goes south?”
Beatrice swallowed. “This is about my father?”
Vespa glared. “Weren’t you paying attention?”
Her hands clenched together beneath the table. “I—”
“Enough, Vespa. It’s my decision. Don’t take your frustration out on Bea.” Montrell swung the chair a little. “Besides, the possibility of things going bad is exactly why I want to be there.”
Vespa threw up her hands. “Fine! But if you get hurt again, I’m pouring a whole bottle of whiskey down your throat.” She stomped to the door, making a point of slamming it behind her.
Beatrice tried to flip through what she had heard. “Was the argument really about my father?”
Montrell’s chair froze in its swing. He leaned forward, his hand bracing against the table near her. “Were you really not paying attention?”
Her mouth went dry as she stared down at his flattened hand.
He scooted his chair closer to the table, dipping his head. “Is it okay if I believe it was thoughts of last night filling your mind?” His normally cheerful smile had a playful tilt to it.
Beatrice was able to breathe again. “You’re not mad?”
He blinked. “Mad?” His smile dropped as his eyes heated. “If you really were daydreaming about an orgasm, I might just come right now.”
Heat filled her cheeks as she licked her lips.
His eyes followed the gesture, but he jerked back as if he had been zapped. “Sorry. No sex talk outside of when you come to my room. This isn’t pressure, I was just—”
She darted forward, the motion too quick to line up properly. Her lips got more beard than lips, and she pulled back.
Montrell looked stunned.
Beatrice moved forward again, sliding her lips over his properly this time. She didn’t linger, not over the kiss, but she liked the way his beard tickled her fingers when she cupped his cheek after. “Sorry to disappoint,” she murmured.
“I’m not disappointed.” He held completely still as she caressed him, his eyes so wide and warm. “But I should warn you, keep touching me like that and I’ll go to my room and do some daydreaming myself.” His smile became a little strained when her hand immediately dropped. He cleared his throat, then surprised her by laughing. “Vespa would be relieved if I went to my room.”
Beatrice’s fingers itched, and she almost brought them to his face again. “So you’re going to another drop?” Vespa was only upset when Montrell was reckless. “One on my father’s route?”
Montrell nodded. Instead of rising, he shifted closer to the table. “Yeah. Don’t worry, he’s not supposed to be there. I won’t kill him and ruin your revenge.” He suddenly wasn’t smiling at all. “But eventually, Bea? He needs to bleed.”
She shook her head. “He’s my father.”
“He lost the privilege of that title when he refused to protect you.” Montrell ran a hand over his cap of hair. “But I understand. It’s amazing to me that you can see any good in him.”
He thought too well of her. She wanted her father to suffer, not be saved.
“I won’t do anything, don’t worry,” he said, trying to reassure her. “Even if he shows up.”
Montrell was going to the front lines again. To oversee her own changes to his business.
