Hostile Territory (Blackbridge Security 1)

She gives me her hand, the one with my ring sparkling on it, when I help her out of the truck.

I’m on edge, needing relief the entire ride in the elevator, and I hiss in disappointment when the car stops on the ninth floor. It’s late in the evening, so Pam’s desk is empty, but the breakroom is filled with my guys.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Brooks says as soon as we walk in, his eyes going straight to Anna’s left hand.

“How in the hell?” she gasps when the guys swarm around us.

“Wren,” I mutter.

“Don’t blame me. Her mother is the one who posted it on social media half an hour ago.”

We left the house twenty minutes ago, so that tells me the sly woman did it while we were still at her home.

The guys slap me on the back and give Anna hugs. I have to growl at Flynn when he holds on a little too long, but I find him whispering in Anna’s ear, and from the look on her face and the brief nod of her head, I can tell the man isn’t trying to give me a hard time. I wonder what words of wisdom he’s imparting on her.

He presses a swift kiss to her cheek before clearing his throat and backing away.

“He’s been a dick for the last two months,” Ignacio says as he approaches. “I’m hoping that changes soon.”

“Soon,” Gaige says as he claps me on the back. “Do you see the stupid grin on his face? It’s already happened.”

I can’t even argue with him because he’s absolutely right. I haven’t been able to stop smiling since I walked out of the gala last night hand in hand with the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. Corny as fuck, but hey, if the fucking combat boots fit.

Anna chats with the guys while I head to the office and get some paperwork done. I don’t want anything to pull me away from her. Flynn is my second in command, and I know he’ll handle business as usual while I’m gone, but there are several things that require my attention before I can go dark for the next week.

When I make it back to the breakroom, the crowd has thinned some, but Anna is sitting on one of the sofas with a large cup of coffee in her hands. Looks like she’s smart enough to know she won’t be getting much sleep tonight. Flynn chuckles when he notices me looking at the cup.

“Need a cup of coffee, also, boss?”

I flip him the bird before going to my girl.

“Almost done?” Once her hand is in mine, I can’t seem to let it go, so I pull her along beside me as I cross the room to Wren’s office.

“Put your dick away!” Anna laughs at the bird, but I’ve learned to start ignoring him.

“What’s going on?” I ask when Wren starts a second before his computer screens all go black.

“It’s not what it looks like!” Puff Daddy assures us.

“Who were you watching?” All I caught was a glimpse, but it was clear he was watching some form of CCTV when we entered.

“No one.” Wren is a worse liar than Anna is, and that’s saying something because she couldn’t be dishonest if someone threatened her with bodily harm. I’ve known that as long as I’ve known her.

“Who’s the girl with purple hair?” Anna asks, and if I’ve ever seen a look of betrayal, it’s coming from Wren’s blue eyes right now.

“Nice, Anna. Thanks.”

After a few clicks, the screens come back to life, but at least Wren seems a little embarrassed to be caught watching Whitney Nelson. My eyes dart around the office, and lo and fucking behold, the box of sex toys he got over a month ago is still sitting in the fucking corner.

“Wren.” He swallows with the warning in my voice.

“Uh oh!” the bird squawks. “Busted!”

“You still haven’t given that girl her stuff?”

“She’s pretty,” Anna says as she leans in a little closer to the monitor. Whitney is at the gym, running on a treadmill with a look of pure hatred on her face.

“Wren,” I repeat.

“I can’t!”

“What’s going on?” Anna looks around, confused.

“You have to,” I tell him.

“I can’t just walk up to a girl and hand her a box of dicks!”

Anna laughs, which sets the damn bird off. Puff Daddy throws his head back and cackles like a fool.

“You can’t stalk her like a damn creep either!”

I point to the screen and notice one of the monitors is pointed directly at a door with the numbers 913 on it.

“Is that her fucking apartment?”

“It’s not in her apartment,” he argues as if it makes a fucking difference.

“You need to get this shit straightened out.”

“He’s in love!” Wren glares at his gossiping bird, but the feathered creature doesn’t look a bit put out.