Contingency Plan (Blackbridge Security Book 3)

by Marie James

  “Threats?”

  Phillip shrugs again, and I wonder just how long ago the man decided he didn’t want to be here and just gave up.

  “None that we found credible. Celebrities get them all the time. It’s very common. People are jealous of those who have it all.”

  I nod even though I don’t agree with him. I think I’m going to find that Remington Blair may act like a wild card, being mischievous to get attention, but in the end, she’s missing all of the things she really needs.

  Chapter 2

  Remington

  “It’s where?”

  I grind my back teeth when I hear Sasha’s attempt to cover the mic on her phone so she can complain about me. Why I still interact with this girl, I don’t know. She’s hateful, and more often than not, she uses me for clout.

  Then again, I don’t have any true friends. It doesn’t happen often when someone grows up in the industry. Everyone wants something. Everyone is either too busy or too self-centered to spend any real amount of time to get to know anyone.

  “The party is at Theo’s house. Amber wants to know if you have any blow.”

  And there it is, the request.

  I get them often, and there was a time when I’d be the first one to offer, but eight months ago, I landed in the hospital from an overdose and my face ended up on the front cover of a half a dozen gossip magazines. Apparently, any celebrity having to get treatment for drug use is a big seller. The daughter of America’s Golden Couple? That was a huge payday for them. Paparazzi have been hounding me ever since, just waiting to catch my next bender on camera.

  As much as I’d like to ruin the perfect image of family and dedication my parents have been working toward, that trip to the hospital was the most terrifying thing that ever happened in my life, and I’m not looking for a repeat ever again.

  “I don’t have any blow,” I inform her.

  “No big deal. Just swing by Brent’s and get some before you come.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Yeah,” Sasha says, her voice distant because she’s no longer talking to me. “She’s going to grab some on the—”

  Her words just stop because she hung up on me, and this is what it’s like to have friends in my life.

  I don’t want to go to a party. I don’t want to be in the presence of people who talk about me behind my back, but I also can’t stay here.

  I knew the second Flynn showed up. Phillip warned me that it was his last day, so I was watching the security feed on my tablet. On camera, it was easy to see that the man was good-looking. He carried himself like every other security detail person had when they walked into this house.

  Seeing him in person? That made me pause.

  The way his eyes never darted down the length of my body? That made me lose most of my confidence.

  The British lilt to his voice? That nearly had me stumbling over my own two feet.

  I recovered quickly, keeping up the ruse of seducing him, but a few minutes is all I could manage. I never anticipated the electrical charge I felt when I touched him. I never expected my body to respond in such a carnal way. I’ve been using my body to seduce men into doing my bidding for a while now. Phillip never crossed the line by touching me, and for the longest time, my ego took a hit because of it. Two months ago, however, I interrupted a video chat, one that revealed his long-term girlfriend, Roni—the woman he used as an excuse to avoid my advances—is actually his boyfriend, Ronald.

  I know it’s conceited, but finding out the handsome man was gay made me feel a ton better because I haven’t found a straight man that could resist me yet, and Flynn Coleman is going to be no different.

  Eventually, my parents are going to get tired of me running the security details off. The hope is that they just get rid of them completely. I’m thinking of how awesome my life would be without my meddling parents as I creep out of my room and make my way down the stairs. I’m nearly twenty, yet they insist on having someone around to watch my every move. Heaven forbid, I have a life of my own. Who cares that my actions have put a spotlight on them? I know they’re afraid of the public discovering their secrets. It’s nothing bad, but they aren’t as loving and attentive as they like to be portrayed in the media.

  Yeah, they donate millions a year to building schools in Africa, and they’re the first to stand in front of a camera and advocate for family values and how every kid deserves the world.

  But their own kid? Not so much. I’m no longer the cute and cuddly child with bouncing curls and an innocent gap-toothed grin. I have my own thoughts and opinions. I have the inside scoop on how dismissive they are of me now that I no longer fit the perfect image they want everyone to see.

  Long before I started acting out and causing problems, my mom ignored me in favor of child actors who could advance her career. When she married Charles when I was eleven, the transition from mother to obligatory roommate had already begun. Of course, she played nice, showing her new man that she was a dedicated mother, but it didn’t take long for her dismissive attitude to shine through. Charles, the man most envision as the perfect father on the long-running show Papa Knows Best, a remake of another show from decades ago, seemed ecstatic to have a daughter. It was literally days before he was walking into a room and acting as if I didn’t exist. He insisted I have his last name but couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge me at the breakfast table.

  I’ve spent more time with nannies than with either of them, and if I wasn’t so bitter about not having my own parents around growing up, I could accept that this was probably for the best. I’ve been loved, just not by the woman who birthed me and the man who married my mom with the declaration that he was going to treat me as one of his own. Thank God they never had a child together. Not that my mother would ever ruin her body again—her words, not mine—by putting it through the trauma of getting pregnant a second time.

  Lights flicker from the television as I quietly make my way to the landing of the stairs. With a quick glance in that direction, I find Flynn sprawled out on the sofa, softly snoring while the evening news plays quietly across the room.

  I make my way to the kitchen for a bottle of water, realizing this is going to be so much easier than I first anticipated. Usually the first night I have a new detail, they’re up my ass and prepared for anything. My parents must really be scraping the bottom of the barrel with this guy if he’s already passed out on the couch a mere handful of hours after arriving.

  This could be the beginning of the end. It’s taken forever to get to this point, and years ago when I threatened to leave, my not-so-loving parents reminded me that I don’t have a penny to my name. The luxuries I have here will disappear if I leave.

  Yep, they threatened to cut me off if I moved out, explaining that everything I have technically belongs to them. At home, I have everything at my fingertips, and I want for nothing. Now I know that throwing money at me is another way to control me because they only deny me things when I get into serious trouble.

  The first three months after rehab was brutal. My car was gone. My phone was taken away. My credit cards were destroyed. I had nothing.

  Spending three months without all of the things I cling to for my own sanity made me realize leaving wasn’t an option. It’s not exactly a prison. I can spend money on whatever I want. I can go anywhere I please, anytime I desire, but with the stipulation that I don’t cause trouble for them and I take my security details with me.

  How sad is it that I grew attached to Phillip? He has been the only constant in my life for months since I’ve been alienating the acquaintances I, at one point, thought were my friends. Being sober and clean has opened my eyes to a lot of things, and it’s left me insanely lonely. For a while, I could get lost in the idea that Phillip was my friend. He went everywhere with me. If I wanted to go shopping, he drove me. If I had a doctor’s appointment, he tagged along. I mean, I know it was his job, but his presence was consistent.

  But Ronald moved to Seattle, leavin
g New York City behind for a more favorable position in his growing company. He left Phillip behind until he could find a replacement. I’ve behaved. For months I’ve been on my best behavior, all in an attempt to get Phillip to stay with me.

  He didn’t. Of course, he didn’t. Why would he? The man he loves moved, and he wanted to be with him. I wasn’t taking it personally until Flynn took over today and Phillip was out the front door without whispering a goodbye. Maybe the trouble I caused before I calmed down was too big to forgive. Maybe the time we spent watching television and laughing at ridiculous reality shows was fake on his part. Maybe he was nice to me to appease me, another way to manipulate me into behaving.

  The man I’d grown to call a friend just left without a word, just left like we hadn’t spent the last two years growing close.

  I shake my head, ridding it of those thoughts, and make my way out of the kitchen into the attached garage. The row of expensive cars doesn’t even make me look twice. I grew up with money, leaving me expectant and selfish. I’m no better than the alleged friends I find myself complaining about constantly.

  By the time I open the door to my BMW and settle in the seat, I already want to go back inside. I’m not going to the party Sasha wants me to bring drugs to. I no longer even have access to drugs, and that’s another shitty thing I’ve done. My drug dealer, a guy I met the second semester of college before I dropped out, ended up in jail while I went to rehab with no criminal charges filed. He got six months for possession and I got cucumber water and therapy. While still in my bitter phase, it didn’t seem like much. I spent many hours thinking he should’ve gotten more for ruining my life. I spent months without credit cards, a car, and cell phone after all, but it didn’t take long for me to realize that way of thinking was beyond screwed up.

  Will may have ruined his own life by selling drugs, but my consequences are my own. It’s taken months in therapy for me to accept it.

  As I press the ignition switch on my car, my eyes dart back to the closed door leading into the house. I’m not going to complain to my parents about the guy asleep on the couch if it means I get a little time to myself, but knowing he isn’t going to chase me makes this seem pointless.

  I should just go back inside, but a milkshake sounds like a good idea. Maybe he’ll wake up and notice I’m gone and the real fun will begin.

  After pressing the button for the garage door, I check my phone to make sure the ringer is turned on. Making a mental bet that he calls within fifteen minutes, I glance in the rearview mirror to back out and scream.

  Blue eyes stare back at me. A sexy mouth turned down in a frown.

  My hand flies to my chest, but I can’t seem to break eye contact with him. He doesn’t say a word as I stare at him, realizing for the first time just how similar to Henry Cavill he looks. Dark hair, vibrant blue eyes, a tilt to his head that just reads trouble and challenge.

  Unable to resist any longer, I spin my head around and stare at him. Jesus, how did I miss the fact that he was on my couch in lounge pants and a fitted t-shirt? If I had noticed them sooner, I would’ve joined him on the couch and drooled over him until he woke up because I made things awkward.

  “Get out of my car,” I hiss, when really I could spend the rest of the night content to just log every sexy feature of his face.

  God, I’ve flirted and tried to seduce every man my parents hired to watch me, but never before did any of them fluster me the way this guy does.

  He doesn’t move, nor does he speak. With arms crossed over his chest, he leans back against the seat, his eyes never leaving mine. From the sight of the middle seatbelt of the car snapped around his waist, I realize he’s prepared to go anywhere I do. His hulking form in the back makes the entire car feel closed-in. The scent of him chooses now to invade my senses, and unbidden, my throat works on a swallow. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t wink to let me know that he’s aware that he’s affecting me, but I can see it in his eyes. He knows I’m not unaffected, unlike how I know he is by me. I mean, maybe he’s gay like Phillip. Maybe he didn’t scan my body or focus on my tits earlier because I don’t do it for him.

  There goes that conceited voice in my head trying to convince me that I’m God’s damned gift to all men.

  I make a mental note to schedule an emergency session with my therapist because I no longer want to be the same vapid girl I so readily complain about.

  Mimicking his position, I cross my arms over my chest and snarl, “Get. Out.”

  A look of boredom crosses his face, but he doesn’t move or speak.

  Repositioning myself and putting on my own seatbelt, I back out of the garage. There are many times I’d give up and go back in, but I know the thought of a mint chocolate chip milkshake will never leave my thoughts.

  Forty minutes later while I’m sitting across from him in a booth at my favorite dessert shop, I catch him watching my mouth for a split second while I enjoy my drink. It’s then that I understand just how much fun it’s going to be making Flynn Coleman chase me all over the city.

  Chapter 3

  Flynn

  “So you want more cameras?”

  The humor in Wren’s voice doesn’t match my own sour mood. After a drive into the city that I thought was going to end with me dying in a fiery death, I was forced to sit across from Remington while she sipped on a milkshake. I don’t know if she was trying to be so enticing, but just a drop of ice cream on her lips was enough to get me riled up.

  We went home immediately after, but sleep was impossible. Not because I was worried she was going to try to leave without me again. She had me drive us back—something I was grateful for—while she slept in the backseat. She was bone tired dragging herself up to her room, and I knew she was in for the night.

  It was the sinful images of her infiltrating my head that kept me from falling asleep. It was disgust over what I suspected her stepdad of doing that took over next.

  “You’re not listening to me,” I grumble, my fingers pinching the bridge of my nose in frustration.

  I’m normally not so growly, but Wren enjoyed the news of this latest job too much for me to tone down my irritation.

  “I didn’t sleep at all last night.” And the three cups of coffee I’ve had don’t seem to be touching the exhaustion either.

  “She keep you up all night?” Suggestion is evident in his tone.

  I ignore it because it’s hitting a little too close to home. God, the way I imagined her with her—

  Nope.

  I shake my head to clear it of that line of thought.

  “I don’t know if I need more cameras right now. What I need you to do is research Charles Blair.”

  “I researched him, just like I do all potential clients. He’s clean.”

  “Do it again.”

  “Are you implying that I didn’t do my job?”

  There’s an ounce of the aggravation I feel in his voice.

  “I’m saying there’s something going on around here that makes my skin crawl.”

  “Celebrities are eccentric people, and it’s not actually that odd if they have weird collections of certain things. Dead bugs in jars aren’t—”

  “Would you listen?” I huff. “I’m not talking about weird stuff, but maybe I am. There are ten cameras inside the house.”

  His typing comes through the line. “And twelve on the exterior.”

  “You’re in their system?”

  “And you’re in sweats.”

  I flip off the camera in the corner of the security room, knowing he’s now watching me.

  “Two on the front entrance. Two on the back entrance. One in the kitchen. The security office.” He pauses, discovering what’s been causing me concern since yesterday. “Four around the pool?”

  “She swims in only the bottoms of her bathing suit,” I inform him. “According to the logs I have access to, Blair accesses the camera system more than once a day.”

  “Not the pool.”

  “Excuse me?” />
  “He doesn’t access the pool cameras. They can’t be accessed remotely, only from inside the security office.”

  “Yet you’re looking at them?”

  “Charles Blair isn’t me, and this isn’t the most sophisticated system.”

  “He’s not watching her swim naked?”

  “Let me verify.”

  The clicking of his keyboard makes my already sore head throb even more, but my blood pressure seems to be leveling out with what he’s telling me. Am I so jaded that I automatically think the man who hired me is a pervert? Possibly, but I’ve seen too much in my life to give anyone the immediate benefit of the doubt.

  “He accesses the kitchen once a day, but mostly he’s scanning the outside views.”

  “More than once a day?”

  “It appears he checks in the morning, then texts the groundskeeper if he finds issues with his yard.” He huffs a humorless laugh. “This morning the roses on the east side of the property were looking a little dry.”

  “He’s not watching her like a pervert?”

  “Not that I can tell. Unless she runs from the front door to the back door or outside naked, there isn’t much to see.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize we weren’t within camera range yesterday when she sauntered in with her top off.

  “She doesn’t really swim though. She just takes a dip in the pool every once in a while.”

  “The fuck are you doing? You’re watching her?”

  “Verifying access. I have to access each camera to see if there are any other programs running to an outside source that was missed on the initial sweep.”

  “So instead of looking at the live feed, you’re going back to when she was in the pool?”

  “Dude, she’s in the pool now. I mean, she’s not in the pool anymore, she just got out. She’s also wearing a full bathing suit, if you were wondering.”

  I wasn’t, but I’ve refused to have the pool cameras up on the monitors in the office, knowing it would be just as much of a violation for me to watch that as it would be if her stepfather was watching.