Contingency Plan (Blackbridge Security #3) - Marie James Page 0,85
he shoots off a text as I climb in my truck that her shift was just changed online to morning instead of closing. Followed up with…
Wren: And I would’ve kissed my girl on the lips before telling her goodnight. Pussy.
***
Finding Deacon’s light on in his office before the crack of dawn is surprising. Especially these days when his schedule is just as unpredictable as my moods have been.
“What are you doing here so early?” I ask, sticking my head inside his office.
He looks up from his computer with a frown. “What are you doing here at all? Don’t tell me you managed to fuck things up in just a couple of days.”
His faith in me is astounding… I sarcastically roll my eyes.
“I haven’t, but I needed to grab a few things from my office before starting my day. Is something wrong?”
He has a refreshed look to his face, as if he’s been awake for a while.
“Anna is exhausted all the time. She went to bed last night before the sun set, and I couldn’t resist climbing in bed with her. Since nighttime came early, I woke up at three, ready to take on the world. Figured if I can knock this shit out quick enough, I can make it home before she wakes up.”
The happiness on his face isn’t something I thought I’d ever see. He’s a surly bastard, or should I say he used to be one. Anna changed this man’s entire world.
“Pregnancy that exhausting, huh?”
“She doesn’t complain, but she doesn’t turn down the chance for several naps a day either.”
Thoughts of napping the day away while Remington is carrying our baby doesn’t freak me out. It makes me want to make it happen as soon as possible. Now only if she’d get on board. Her taking off last night after what we shared was a slap in the face. Thank God, I’m a resilient fucker. I won’t give up on her no matter how much she pushes me away. I can’t walk away from her. How I did it in New York is beyond me.
“But I’m glad you’re here.”
“That doesn’t sound good.” I step further into his office, taking a seat in the chair across from him.
“The Blairs have been calling. They want to know where their daughter is.”
It doesn’t surprise me that she didn’t tell them where she was going. Hell, she could’ve screamed it from the rooftop and they still wouldn’t have been paying enough attention to her to hear what she was saying.
“They’re threatening a breach of contract.”
“Fuck.” Both hands go to the back of my neck. “I didn’t mean to cause problems.”
Chasing and catching Remington was never part of my plans. Violating a contract was, until now, something I’d never do, something I’ll never do again.
“If it helps, we hadn’t… things didn’t go that far until after they fired me.”
“Your personal life isn’t my business. What happens between two consenting adults isn’t something I’m going to stick my nose in.”
“I crossed the line between personal and business with her. That makes my actions a burden you’re having to deal with. Are you going to tell them she’s here in town?”
“I don’t negotiate with terrorists.” He winks at me.
The Blairs aren’t exactly terrorists, but I get the sentiment.
“If she doesn’t want them to know she’s here, then it’s not my place to tell them. Besides,” he pulls another one of those awful gossip magazines from his top draw, slapping it on the desk in front of me, “if they keep up with this shit, I don’t have to say a word.”
“Jesus, they need to find something newsworthy.”
I look down at the pictures, thankful for the small favor that she isn’t plastered on the front page. Remington, looking flustered but nonetheless gorgeous, is smiling down at a customer inside Paddy’s. She has a pen in her hand, notepad at the ready for the guy’s order. Her hair is wild, wisps floating out at her temples, her clothes rumpled from working hard. She’s absolutely stunning.
“That smile,” Deacon says, forcing me to look up at him.
“What about it?” I wasn’t even aware I was doing it, but him mentioning it makes me self-conscious.
“I see it on my own face every day in the mirror.” He leans back in his chair, hands clasped on his chest. “It looks good on you.”
“This may fuck everything up,” I mutter, pointing to the magazine, the headline reading Real Life Cinderella? Where Is Her Prince Charming? “If they know she’s here, it’s going