Contingency Plan (Blackbridge Security #3) - Marie James Page 0,1
disrespect you, and if that doesn’t work, she’ll throw herself at you.”
My eyes dart to him, and he looks away.
“Did you—”
“No!” He takes a step back, hands held up. “Fuck no, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t try. I’ve known the Blairs for years. I’d never cross a line like that.”
“But others have,” I deduce.
“And they were fired on the spot.” He raises an eyebrow at me, making sure I get the warning in his tone.
I shake my head, barely avoiding an eye roll. “I’m a professional. Blackbridge doesn’t get romantically or sexually involved with clients.”
That’s not the whole truth, but Deacon and Anna had a history, which makes their situation completely different. Whitney, technically, wasn’t a client when Wren set his sights on her, even though BBS did have to get involved to help her out when she needed it. Both of those situations were totally different.
“That’s a good thing.” The look on his face makes it apparent he doesn’t believe I have the competence to remain professional.
“I can handle a snot-nosed brat,” I assure him.
I may not want to be here. I may be questioning how long I’m going to be stuck babysitting this girl, but getting involved with her would never happen.
“Let me show you around.” He starts walking again, knowing I’ll follow. “The kitchen and staff quarters are that direction. There’s at least one housekeeper onsite at all times.”
“I’ll be staying over there?”
He shakes his head. “You’ll be upstairs. I’ve already packed all my things and had staff clean the room.”
“I’m upstairs?”
“Being closer to Remington makes it easier to know when she’s getting ready to pull a stunt.”
“She sounds like a toddler,” I mutter as I follow him through the house.
He doesn’t respond. “There are two living rooms. This one doesn’t get used much unless the Blairs are entertaining.”
The oversized room looks magazine ready, like something you’d see in a model home, untouched and cold.
“The second living space—”
A noise to the right as we enter the second living area cuts off his words.
“Remington.” He sighs just as the girl in question walks into the room.
Scratch that. Not a girl. She’s a grown-ass woman.
I keep my face schooled despite the tan on her golden skin. Despite the water droplets that cling to every inch of toned flesh. Despite the fact that she’s wearing the tiniest pair of bikini bottoms I’ve ever laid my eyes on. Despite the fact that her perfect tits are bare, a mesmerizing bounce to them as she walks closer to us.
Praying she doesn’t notice my throat working on a swallow, I maintain eye contact with her to the best of my ability.
She’s fire, absolute destruction, and if I were a smart man, I’d turn around and walk out. I’ve been around a lot of women. When I worked for the FBI, I was put in many situations where I was tasked with romancing women to get information the Bureau needed.
I wish I could say I was a rock. I wish I could say I maintained my sanity. I wish I could say that I didn’t compromise my integrity because of a woman before.
I can’t.
My termination from the Bureau is proof of that, but the complications from that situation have nothing on this girl.
She’s trouble. I can see it in her eyes. I can tell by the sway to her hips, and the way her teeth dig into her bottom lip like she can read me like an open book even though I haven’t outwardly reacted to her in the slightest.
“Remington,” Phillip says with a sigh, and it makes me wonder if his throat gets sore from doing it so often. “We’ve talked about this. Go put some clothes on.”
“This is my home, Phillip. I’m going to be comfortable in my own home.”
Her voice is silk with an edge of huskiness I feel deep in my gut. As she speaks to him, her eyes never leave mine. There’s no damn way she’s only twenty years old.
“Flynn Coleman,” I say as she draws nearer, holding out my hand. I can remain professional. The four words bounce around in my head, becoming a mantra. The second I’m alone, I’m calling Deacon to tell him this isn’t going to work. I don’t think immersion is going to dampen the ridiculous visceral reaction I’m having to her.
She doesn’t take my hand, and from what Phillip told me and the limited information I got in the dossier on this job, it shouldn’t surprise me.