Page 123 of Free Agent

“Yes sir,” she agreed.

TWENTY

AURORA

Monty had me fucked up.

Even days after yet another incident involving my love life, resulting in my name being dragged through the media for days, I was still seething.

It was probably a terrible idea to attempt a conversation—let alone a confrontation—in that mental state, but I was beyond the point of caring about that.

It was time to put an end to the bullshit, once and for all.

I’d mostly played it cool for Tatum because I didn't want him upset that I was upset, but in actuality, I was steaming mad about Monty still having the audacity to call himself challenging anybody about me.

Or even worse, thinking he was gonna win me back.

It was insulting, honestly.

When I left BabyBee for the evening, I didn't even bother heading home since I was already in the city. I headed straight for Monty's building, the luxury apartment downtown that I had no interest in living in.

Monty had insisted, though.

To him, it came with the lifestyle, along with the house in Blackwood Hills.

I didn't like that one either, but it was still preferable over the cold, ultramodern space he always retreated to when his ego was bruised. The house in the hills was too far removed from the conveniences of being downtown, and if I knew Yams like I thought I did, she probably preferred it too.

This house looked more aesthetic on social media.

When I pulled up I was met with the realization that I had not fully thought this through.

The security gate.

I took a chance on punching the last numbers I remembered having into the keypad, and to my surprise… it actually worked.

I guess he hadn't changed it.

The same thing ended up being true for all the other checkpoints—the door to get into the building, the elevator access and then, finally, the actual door to the condo.

Should I have simply knocked?

Probably.

But since there was clearly a need to bring a certain energy, I was here to make a disrespectful ass point, hoping maybe that would get him to leave me alone.

I found Monty in his theater room, beer in hand, game film on the huge projector screen. I was still standing at the door, hadn't even said anything yet when he spoke up.

"You don't look like you're here to say you want to get back together," he said, without turning around. “Saw you on the security camera.”

Of course.

I frowned. "I'm not here for that. I'm here to ask you to leave me the fuck alone. To demand it, actually."

Monty scoffed, then turned to look at me with glossy, red-rimmed eyes. "A phone call would have done the trick, don't you think?"

"It hasn't so far." I shrugged, stepping into the room. "I've said over and over that I was done. And yet, you keep throwing little jabs, making your little comments, and now calling yourself confronting Tatum. What the fuck is that about?"

"It's about me trying to bring some sense into my life. Some sort of… hope."