Contingency Plan (Blackbridge Security 3)

I attack my open cases with a vengeance as I wait for Deacon to make it into the office. Before Anna, he was always the first one here. Now it’s a crapshoot as to when he shows his face. Be that as it may, I was surprised, since she’s out of town, that his light wasn’t already on when I walked by.

It’s ten before he drags his ass into the office, and when I shove open his door, the smile on his face explains his late arrival. The dopey grin no longer holds the power to piss me off like it has been in recent weeks.

“Let me guess? Anna cut her trip short?”

“She did.” He bites the corner of his mouth, but the smile still breaks free.

“You’re a lucky bastard, you know that?”

“I tell myself that very same thing every day.” He pushes his fingers across the mousepad on his laptop to wake it up. “You must have news because you’re not holed away in your office. I didn’t think getting popped in the nuts would make you smile.”

I groan, falling into the chair across from his desk. “You know about that?”

“Wren sent the video to my phone. Just so you know, Anna is Team Remington all the way. Whitney is rooting for you, but Pam is still undecided.”

“When did BBS turn into a damn gossip mill? Where’s the alliance? They should all be on my side.”

“Gossip has always been rampant, and you know it. The women talk about the things they have in common, that biggest thing is the goings-on in this office,” he answers. “Did you need to discuss something with me?”

“I need to take some time off.”

“You’ve earned plenty of overtime these last couple of weeks.”

I laugh. We don’t log overtime. We’re all salaried—paid a very handsome wage. We work when there’s work to do. All except possibly Wren. There’s no telling what he does for hours on end alone in that damn dark hole of an office of his.

“Do you know how long you need?”

“As long as it takes.”

“To get your girl?” I nod, unwilling to beat around the bush.

I’m not going to lie or hide behind some trumped up machismo to save face. I’m sitting across the room from a man so in love with his wife, when he angles his head to the side, you can see literal hearts in his eyes. He’d see through me anyway.

“That’s good to hear, Flynn. Want a little advice?”

Not really, but he worked out his own issues, so maybe it won’t hurt.

“Sure.”

“Go big or go home.”

“Nike cutting you a check any time soon?”

He laughs. “Women like grand gestures. You know what it took to win Anna over. I don’t know that anything else would’ve worked.”

“I don’t think a tux is going to win Remington over.”

“I don’t mean do exactly what I did.”

“Extravagance was part of her old life. I don’t think she’d appreciate something like that.”

“Do you know what she wants? What she needs?”

Besides me?

“I think so.”

“Then give that to her in spades, and she’ll be putty in your hands.”

I don’t exactly want putty. I want the strong woman I saw last night. The spitfire who was brave enough to walk away from her rich lifestyle and get a job in a pub serving greasy food and dark beer. Although I don’t want what he’s suggesting, I understand the sentiment.

“Thanks, boss,” I say as I stand.

“Take all the time you need, and when you convince her, bring her to dinner at my house. Anna is dying to meet her.”

I’m smiling as I make my way to the door.

“And, Flynn?” I turn back to look at him. “Check in every once in a while so we know she hasn’t murdered you and left you to rot in a ditch.”

I laugh as I head back to my office and shut everything down. The smile is still on my face as I leave the BBS office because what Deacon said is true. The potential is always there for her to reject me. Good thing I’m resilient and trained to convince people to my way of thinking.

Thankfully, the grin on her face reflected in the window of the hotel she didn’t think I could see last night gives me hope.

I climb in my truck with a solid plan on how to get my girl.Chapter 32Remington

“I can ask, but I think I already know the answer.” The guy grins up at me, but there’s a hint of teasing in his eyes. It’s like he knows I’m inexperienced and is trying to put me through my paces. I head back to the kitchen with his question in my head. “Hey, Tom?”

“Yeah, sweetness?” I roll my eyes. Tom is an incessant flirt, and I’d consider it sexual harassment if he did anything other than use his mouth to say saucy things. The fact that he’s in his late sixties and putters around the kitchen doesn’t hurt his case either.