Contingency Plan (Blackbridge Security Book 3)

by Marie James

  He nods once before walking away.

  Tapping my bare foot against the marble, I consider my options. I could go back upstairs and act like nothing happened. That’s what a mature adult would do, right? Act like a sexual experience is no big deal when even just the thought of his hands on me makes my skin heat. Or, I could go in there and give him the piece of my mind I psyched myself up to do earlier.

  The injured, insulted part of my mind wins out, but that’s no surprise. It always does.

  With one last quick look over my shoulder to make sure Ignacio isn’t lurking, I make my way to his room.

  I don’t bother knocking, simply throwing the door open, a little surprised it’s not locked.

  I don’t hear him startle. I don’t hear a gun get cocked. And both of those things mean he’s still awake. It’s been less than thirty minutes since he left me, so I knew it was unlikely, but I didn’t expect to shut the door and encase us in complete darkness.

  “I just…”

  I swallow a lump forming in my throat. I came in here with the intent of telling him off, getting answers and storming away, but the thought of walking out, even after saying my piece, makes me feel lonely.

  “I’m feeling vulnerable,” I confess, the darkness making it easier for the words to slip off my tongue. “I don’t want to be alone.”

  He doesn’t tell me to fuck off. He doesn’t flip on a light and demand I leave.

  And when I find his bed in the darkness, he’s holding the covers up to make it easier to climb in beside him.

  Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, I wrap my arm around his waist, pressing my nose into his throat. He pulls me closer, both arms around me as he plays with my hair. I should’ve put on more clothes. Coming down here in my bikini isn’t leaving much between us.

  I wiggle, wanting every inch of my bare skin pressed against his, but I don’t shove his boxers down like my head is trying to convince me is the best idea ever.

  He squeezes me until I settle, much the same way he did when I was sick. This, us holding each other, feels like the most natural thing in the world, and a calm I didn’t feel until I was touching him again washes over me.

  As my eyes drift closed and my breathing levels out, he whispers, “You’re fucking driving me crazy.”

  I smile against his warm chest and fall to sleep.

  Chapter 21

  Flynn

  The temptation of her body keeps me in bed for an hour after I actually wake up. Not because the lure is so great, but because I’m afraid if she wakes up, I won’t be able to resist.

  I didn’t hesitate last night when she walked in here, and I know if she tried anything, ran her hand down my stomach or kissed me, I would’ve given in. I’m on a hair trigger, and all it’s going to take is one twitch of her finger for me to forget all reasoning and end up inside of her.

  So, I breathe shallow breaths, and I make sure not to twitch even though the fingers of one hand are resting against her lower back, inches from her ass, and the other is holding her thigh.

  That hand isn’t as much of an issue as the leg resting on my erection.

  It’s not morning wood. It’s not I-need-to-get-up-and-piss wood.

  It’s this-girl-smells-amazing-feels-amazing-comes-amazing wood.

  My heightened sense of arousal keeps me stock still, but staying in bed all day can’t happen. There are plans to make, guys to coordinate.

  If I wait, I know I’ll have to face her, answer her questions. I love arguing with her, chasing her, but if she tempts me today, she’s going to end up on her back, my face buried between her thighs. I’m too revved up to listen to her bratty mouth without filling it with my cock. My resistance is gone, vanishing into thin air after spending a night totally cognizant and free of fever in her arms.

  When I move my arm from her back, she doesn’t budge. Pulling my hand from her thigh elicits a small change in breathing, but not enough to wake her. It takes approximately thirteen minutes to extract myself out from under her, and another twenty to get dressed in silence.

  I don’t bother heading into the restroom, too close to risk waking her, opting instead to use the restroom near the security office instead.

  Only I don’t make it to the security office because Mr. and Mrs. Blair are in the kitchen, both sipping cups of coffee as if they were waiting for me to show my face.

  Motherfucker.

  I’m calm under pressure, able to keep my cool in the face of adversity.

  And they may not see my pulse pounding, but I feel it in my chest, beating a warning rhythm against my ribs.

  “Mr. Coleman,” Charles Blair says as he lowers an electronic tablet.

  “Mr. Blair.”

  “We came home early looking for Remington. She’s not in her room.”

  Because she’s in mine.

  They don’t look for her. They must be suspicious. I run through every memory, every interaction I’ve had with Remi. Did one of them happen to go through the pool footage last night? I can imagine I look like a deranged sociopath scooping Remi up and throwing her over my shoulder.

  They know something. This is a test, but I don’t know if the truth will have any different of an outcome than a lie.

  “She’s safe,” I hedge, wondering if half the information would be enough.

  They both watch me, unspeaking.

  Guess not.

  “She’s in my room. Would you like me to get her?”

  My voice doesn’t crack. I’m not a child in trouble. If there are consequences, I’ll face them without acting like a beaten puppy.

  “Your room?” Mrs. Blair’s hand goes to her throat as if she’s scandalized.

  I barely resist rolling my eyes.

  “Yes. She didn’t want—she’s in there.” I change direction mid-sentence, unable to reveal her vulnerability. She shared that with me last night, and that’s not my situation to explain. I doubt her parents would care anyway.

  “We don’t pay you to fuck—” Mrs. Blair stops when Mr. Blair clears his throat. “Having relations with our daughter isn’t part of the contract Blackbridge Security signed.”

  I was prepared to argue that I haven’t fucked Remington, but I’m pretty sure fingering her to orgasm counts as relations so I keep my mouth shut.

  “She does this to get attention, and I’m sorry you got caught up in the middle of one of her games. I don’t think the child will ever learn.”

  I clench my jaw. There are a million things I could argue. She’s a grown woman for starters. She doesn’t do this—the assumption being that she spreads her legs for men as a game—because she’s tight as a fucking drum and her cherry hasn’t been popped.

  But I don’t open my mouth to say any of those things. Remi was right. Neither one of them listen. Neither one of them honestly care about what she’s doing. Even now, as they watch me, waiting for me to either argue or agree with them, they don’t seem concerned with what she’s doing at all, other than she’s possibly sleeping with me to get attention. It doesn’t look bad for Remi. It looks bad for them, and that’s where their line has always been.

  “It was good to see you.” I nod at both of them and walk out of the kitchen.

  I wave to Clinton, the elderly gardener that Remi swears is a creep on the way to my truck. He tips the brim of his hat before wiping sweat from his brow and going back to work on the already perfect rose bushes. I imagine the Blairs are back home because a leaf blew into the yard and not because it’s their daughter’s fucking birthday.

  I drive aimlessly for over an hour before my phone chirps for the first time. I ignore the warning text from Wren, prepared to face what I had a gut feeling was already coming. I should feel relief, but my stomach falls when Deacon’s name flashes on the dash.

  I answer through the Bluetooth.

  “Good morning.”

  Silence is returned, but I know he’s still there. What I don’t know at this point is if I’m going to get the man with the smile
in his voice or the man who is going to tell me to take the week off because coming into the office at any point this week is going to end with his hands around my throat.

  “Just get on with it,” I mutter, pulling the truck off to the side of the road so I can focus completely on this conversation.

  Well, not completely because Remi is still taking up a good ninety-nine percent right now.

  “I’m just giving you the opportunity to explain to me why I just got off the phone with Mr. Blair.”

  “If you’re calling me, then I’m sure you already know.”

  “What did you do to that girl?”

  A lot less than I wanted to.

  “Or should I ask what she did to you?” Maybe there’s humor there, but I’m not putting money on it. “To make him apologize.”

  “Apologize?”

  “He was very apologetic for her behavior.”

  “Hers?” Fucking typical.

  “He said he was disappointed in her, utterly embarrassed.” He uses the exact voice I imagine Mr. Blair did on the phone, hoity-toity and full of righteousness.

  “So I’m not fired?” Relief washes over me.

  “Oh no, you’re definitely fired.” And there goes the rug right out from under my feet. “I mean not from BBS, but you no longer work for the Blairs.”

  The clarification makes no change in my emotions. Fired. Again. Because of a woman.

  I feel like my world is crumbling down around me all over again, and I can’t decide if it’s the additional black mark on my work ethic or if it’s because I’m going to have to leave her when I go home.

  I clear my throat but find myself unable to speak until I do it several more times. “Do you want me on a plane by this afternoon?”

  “No. That’s the thing. I reminded Mr. Blair that the birthday party was tonight.”

  “Let me guess, he forgot her birthday?”

  “Even asked whose party, the dick. I told him there was no way to get a team in place to take over in such a short amount of time. He agreed to allow BBS to work the party, but I want all of you guys on a plane first thing in the morning. We have cases stacking up around here.”

  I want to remind him that I could’ve handled this with only two other guys from the office, and that he’s the one that sent five of his men, but I keep my mouth shut.

  “Do you want to come home?”

  I know what he’s asking. I know what Mr. Blair presumed happened with Remi and me. I know Deacon must be thinking the same thing. I don’t know why I open my mouth and lie.

  “I’ve been ready to come home since I got here.”

  “Keep her safe tonight, Flynn.”

  “Yes, sir.” He grunts at the designation and hangs up.

  Chapter 22

  Remington

  Not even waking up alone could ruin my good mood. Flynn held me all night. His arms were around me, his breaths soft and even against the top of my head for hours and hours.

  There was no tension in his muscles, no signs of stress as if he were being forced to do something he didn’t want to do just because I was feeling a little off center.

  I didn’t have the conversation I wanted, but his actions spoke louder than any confession ever could.

  My grin slips from my face when I leave his room, intent on finding him and pressing my mouth to his. How is it possible he had his fingers inside of me and we haven’t even kissed since that night outside of the bar he dragged me from? I was planning to remedy that, but fate had other plans.

  “Are you proud of yourself?”

  I startle, caught between wanting to run and throwing down the sheet I wrapped myself in to find Flynn and remind my parents I’m a damn adult. A temper tantrum would be the opposite of the point I want to get across, so I decide against it.

  “Good morning to you too, Mother.”

  Instead of hauling ass out of the kitchen, I head to the coffee pot to pour me a cup. Maybe since I’m twenty-one now they’ll actually treat me like a grown-up, but you know what they say about putting your wishes in one hand.

  “How long are you going to keep acting like a harlot?”

  I scoff, my back to them, surprised both of them are still in the room considering their normal MO is to walk away when I enter a room. Mother never passes on the opportunity to chastise my behavior though.

  I open my mouth to explain nothing happened in his room, but she doesn’t give me the chance.

  “If you’re going to act like a whore, Remington, at least do it with someone worthy of being seen in public with.”

  My hand freezes over the handle to the coffee pot. Is that her problem? That Flynn isn’t someone she would consider as being able to advance her name and popularity.

  “Kyle Steele would be better than sleeping with the help, Remington. Are you even listening to me?”

  I spin around, glaring at my mother.

  “Kyle Steele? Honestly, Mother? His father is a porn star.”

  She raises an eyebrow, the perfected annoyance drawing her wrinkle-free face tight. “And that should tell you everything that you need to know.”

  How it’s even possible for her to think a douche like Kyle is better than Flynn Coleman is beyond me.

  “Blairs don’t sleep with the help.” Her eyes dart toward my stepfather as if he needs the reminder as well.

  And that clears up the suspicions about Beverly, the twenty-something woman that only worked here for a brief time. Seems the perfect happy couple isn’t so happy after all. I wonder what they paid her to keep her mouth shut as I look at my mom, considering the chance I could threaten to spill the family tea publicly to get my own chunk of cash. It would make leaving this damn house a lot easier, that’s for sure.

  “Have a good day,” I tell them with a smile as I desert the coffee cup on the counter and walk away.

  You’d think such a conversation would put me in a foul mood, but I expect nothing less from them. Hate begins to brew in my gut, but I’m still floating on air. They didn’t mention my birthday, but that’s the norm around here. What I do know is that they may be around for a day, two tops, before they leave again. Flynn and I will have the entire house to ourselves again after tonight. My parents will leave, and his guys will go back to St. Louis.

  Instead of dwelling on my mother’s insults and assumptions, I glide up the stairs and into my room, a full day of preparations ahead of me.

  I can’t wait for Flynn to see me in my dress.

  ***

  The high I was riding all day crashed like a coke user coming down from a three-day bender.

  The smile I was anticipating on Flynn’s lips was more of a scowl.

  Inside the limo on the way to the club, he keeps his eyes out the window and his thoughts to himself.

  I resisted kissing him in the foyer when we met up to leave. I didn’t want to put him on the spot in front of his friends, but as time drags on, I’m beginning to doubt myself and the time we spent together last night.

  I still have plans. What I told him at the waxing appointment was true. Our night will end with us fully coming together. It may be the first time I’ve ever done it—a little omission I still have no intention on telling him—but it’s looking like it may be another battle to get us there.

  It’s a good thing I’m determined to get what I want—what we both want—because even with the frown in place when he saw me, the front of his pants tightened. He liked what he saw whether he wants to admit it out loud or not.

  “Are you going to dance with the birthday girl tonight?”

  Flynn answers Ignacio’s question with a grumble too low to decipher.

  “I hope you’ll save a dance for me?”

  This gets his attention, and I watch Flynn as he turns his head to glare at Brooks Morgan.

  “And one for me,” Finnegan insists, his Scottish brogue thick and sexy.

  “I’m sure Remington would much rather spend her time dancing with her friends than spending any amount of time with
you assholes.”

  The limo fills with masculine laughter at Flynn’s declaration, pulling a grin from my lips as well.

  “Is that true?” Quinten asks. He’s the one man in the group that makes me cower a little, and I think it’s the thick beard and all the tattoos down his arms that intimidate me so much. “Do you want to spend the night dancing with Kyle?”

  Flynn growls, and the laughing starts all over again.

  He curses each and every one of them under his breath as the limo slows to a stop outside of the club. Like I’m some sort of precious jewel, all of the men file out and encircle me as the paparazzi try to push in and get photos of me. I know they’re all going to stick around, each one waiting for me to get stupid drunk and give them something worthy of a lot of money once sold to TMZ or some lesser celebrity news outlet.

  Thankfully, protocol has been put in place that will prevent any of them from getting inside, not that I have any intention to give them something to photograph. I would’ve canceled tonight if my parents weren’t home. I’d much rather spend the night wrapped up in Flynn, but I did want him to see me in this dress.

  Flynn presses his hand to my lower back, urging me to walk toward the entrance, nodding at the bouncer in gratitude when he holds the door open for my entourage of sexy men.

  Heads turn when we enter, but I’m under no delusion that it’s me they’re staring at. The women smile, fluffing their hair and making sure ample amounts of cleavage are showing. The guys size up the men surrounding me, no doubt finding themselves lacking.

  Sasha waves like a mad woman, and I know after tonight, I’m going to cut all ties with her. She told me last night that she had a previous engagement she couldn’t get out of and wouldn’t be coming tonight, but it seems she made a sacrifice. It wasn’t me, and as we approach, her eyes are on Ignacio on my left, not the person the party is for.

  “Tha am boireannach sin seòlta,” Finnegan mutters in a language I don’t understand.

  “Fìor fhìor,” Ignacio returns. He grins when I look at him.

  “Scottish?”

  “Gaelic, lass. Spend a little time with me, and I’ll teach you a million things,” Finnegan says, leaning in closer with a twinkle in his green eyes.