I cringe, hating the way that sounds even in my head.
The elevator dings my arrival on the BBS floor. I’m grumbling to myself for once again getting lost in thought on a man I’m not certain deserves a second of my time when I enter the breakroom, stopping dead in my tracks when three pairs of eyes look up at me.
“Umm…”
“Hey there,” a redheaded man says with an easy smile, his hands buried in a black box on his lap, some complicated looking metal contraption on a towel on the table in front of him.
“Hi.”
“Finnegan Jenkins,” the man says, pointing to his chest, his accent either Irish or Scottish. I never can tell.
“Brooks Morgan,” a very handsome man says from the other sofa. He gives me an incredibly charming smile—one I’m sure works well for him very often.
“Kit Riggs,” the third guy says, and it isn’t until he stands that I notice the gun in his hands.
I take a step back as he places it on the table. New York is one of the states with some of the toughest gun laws, and it’s like we’ve been conditioned to hate them from birth.
“Don’t be alarmed. I’m just cleaning it.”
“Kit is the BBS weapons expert,” Brooks explains. “You’re safe. I promise.”
“If you’re afraid, feel free to come sit by me, gorgeous.” Finnegan places his huge hand on the sofa next to him, his flirtatious tone clear and easy.
I huff a laugh.
“Can I get you something to drink? A snack?” Kit offers.
“We have white wine,” Brooks says, and I snap my eyes to him.
Has Gaige been talking about me to these men?
“We also have red, and I think there’s some blush and possibly a bottle of champagne from Quinten’s wedding if that’s your thing.”
“A bottle of water would be great,” I say, thinking I reacted too harshly.
“How are you liking working for BBS?” Finnegan asks as I take the seat he’s offered.
“With,” I correct, and he gives me a soft smile. “I’m enjoying it.”
Kit hands me a bottle of water.
“Gaige isn’t driving you crazy?”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I answer diplomatically.
“Have you had a chance to see the city?” Kit asks, his eyes following the tip of my finger as I absently trace the label on the bottle.
“Not yet. Maybe next weekend.”
“I can show you around,” Brooks offers, stealing his friend’s thunder.
Finnegan snorts. “If you want hoity-toity, go with him. If you want to get a little dirty and eat the best food, I’m your best bet.
“Does she look like the type of woman who wants to get her clothes dirty in a filthy bar or play pool?” Kit points at me. “Even in leggings and a t-shirt, she looks like a million bucks.”
I blush, taking it as the compliment I’m sure he meant it to be.
“I could do both,” I say. “I like nice restaurants and playing pool.”
“Yeah?” Finnegan says, sounding confused. “You can do that?”
“Of course.”
“Nothing holding you back?”
I tilt my head. “No. I mean, I have a little work to do today, but I’m free next weekend.”
Brooks clears his throat, and Kit and Finnegan both inch back.
“Do you know why you’re here, Leighton?”
“I got bored in my hotel room, figured I could get some work done.”
“No, I mean why Deacon brought you in?”
“I’m tasked with building a female team for BBS.”
“Flynn Coleman is why you’re here,” Brooks says as he sits back on the couch, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. “He took a trip to New York awhile back. He had a job watching over Remington Blake.”
I nod. It was all over the tabloids. I wouldn’t have to be the rag-mag junkie that I am to have seen the handsome man’s face on the cover of those magazines. They were everywhere—lined the newsstand streets, at the grocery store checkouts, on the desks of some of the employees at work. Every social media platform had #BlackbridgeSpecial tracking. I’m guilty of typing it into a search engine more than once, although I didn’t take it so far as to dig into the company. I have a rule about going in blind and not wasting time and energy on companies before they hire Redmond Enterprises. Before that rule, I lost so much precious time that could’ve been spent focusing on other things that mattered.
“They fell in love,” I say.
“They did, and they’re happy. That popularity drew a lot of attention to BBS, and Deacon feels like we have a gap in services. He feels like we should be able to provide the same services to men that we’re able to provide for women.”
My nose scrunches. “It sounds like an escort service.”
“You would not believe how many times someone has said that in this office,” Finnegan mutters.
“Don’t check Wren’s computer history prior to Whitney,” Kit warns on a laugh.
“Men can provide security for men,” I argue, playing devil’s advocate.