by Marie James
My friend at the FBI shut me down when I asked for help, and I have a sneaking suspicion that Wren somehow managed to get to him before I could.
“Business stuff I can justify because a lot of times our help also benefits the Bureau,” he argued when I asked and made sure he knew it was for personal reasons, thinking it would light a fire under his ass. “Digging into the life of celebrities isn’t something I can explain to my superiors. Hope you understand. Hit me up the next time you’re in Virginia, and we’ll do lunch.”
Do lunch? The next time I see him, I’m going to punch him in the throat.
“Flynn,” Deacon snaps, and when I look up, I find him standing several feet away. “Let’s go. I’m tired of wasting our time.”
“I can stick around,” I tell him, more willing to face a new client who doesn’t value my time than be stuck in traffic with Deacon and his stay-positive attitude.
“We’re in your truck,” he reminds me before pulling his phone out of his pocket. “You need to call Wren back so he’ll stop blowing up my phone.”
“Got nothing to say to him,” I mutter, climbing to my feet and relegating myself to the idea that if I take the back way to the office, I can shave four minutes off of Deacon’s good-intention conversation.
“All my phone says is, tell Flynn I ran into his pretty friend today.” He continues to look down at his phone casually, as if he didn’t just deliver a blow that has the ability to shine light back into my world or send me into eternal darkness.
I pull my phone from my pocket, dropping the damn thing on the marble lobby floor. The screen cracks, but it still works enough to make calls.
“Wren,” I hiss when the call connects. “You found her?”
I’m met with silence, another form of punishment. The man does not like to be ignored, and I haven’t spoken to him in weeks other than about work-related things. I’ve perfected petty, and he probably hates me for it. The mature part of me won’t acknowledge the fact that he started it by refusing to tell me where Remington went when she left the office. His I lost her in a blind spot didn’t work for me then and thinking about it now only pisses me off all over again.
“I swear to God, if you don’t—”
His chuckle makes me see red. He has to understand that the taunting right now is enough to send me into a blind rage. Laugh about it but tell me my girl is safe first.
My feet carry me out of the building, muscle memory and nothing else forcing me closer to my truck. He’ll either give me a damn address or end up with a broken nose. Getting to my truck quickly will ensure I can do either/or faster.
“Wren,” I hiss again, beeping the truck to unlock it and climbing inside. “Did you fucking find her or not?”
“I wasn’t looking for her,” he clarifies as if it makes any fucking difference right now.
A noise to my right makes my lip curl up in a sneer until I look over and see Deacon outside the truck staring at me like an animal in a zoo display, a mischievous smile on his face. I sneer at him and refocus my attention to the phone.
“It may not even be her. Could be a girl that looks like her.”
I know better. Wren never forgets a face, and the man has the uncanny ability to pull up information from his Rolodex of a brain at the snap of his fingers.
I crank the truck, putting it in gear and backing out of the parking spot without looking. A horn blares, and although Deacon curses under his breath, he doesn’t chastise me. I cuss under my breath, tossing my phone into the cup holder when the call connects to my Bluetooth.
“Come the fuck on,” I mutter, fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel as I wait for Father-fucking-Christmas to drive by and get out of my way. “Wren! Where is she? I don’t want to miss her.”
“You won’t. She’s working.”
A small grin threatens to tug up the corner of my mouth. Working implies a level of settling in which means she may not have intentions to get out of town anytime soon. I can work with that because I know if I show up and see her, she isn’t just going to run into my arms and bury her pretty face into the crook of my neck. If the stubborn woman wanted to do that, she’s had every day since she walked away to do that very thing.
“He’s going to murder you if you don’t spill it,” Deacon mutters from the passenger seat. “Or he’s going to kill both of us because he’s not paying attention to what he’s doing. Look out, asshole, running over a guy on a bike will ruin his day.”
I slow down, my foot coming down heavy on the brake, causing both of us to jerk a little in our seats. It reminds me to pull my seat belt on.
“She’s at Paddy’s.”
“That Irish pub on Fourth?”
“That’s the one.”
I hang up, not ready to forgive him even with the information he just provided.
“You’re going to hurt his feelings,” Deacon hisses as I take a corner a little too fast, back tires squealing as I fishtail my way on to Fourth.
How is it possible that she’s been a handful of blocks away from the office this whole time?
“Fuck his feelings,” I mutter. “Whitney can kiss it and make it better.”
Deacon doesn’t say a word, doesn’t insist I take him back to the office as I pull up outside of the pub, a neighborhood favorite for many even though I haven’t stepped foot in there in months. Deacon and I used to leave the office and come here several times a week, but that was before he and Anna got together. Now the man is all about the homelife. I don’t fault him for it. Hell, I’d give anything to have that myself.
He chuckles when I reach into the glovebox and pull out my binoculars. The polarized lenses help reduce the glare on the dark glass of the building but looking inside is still difficult.
“You could just go inside and say hi.”
I scoff. “And have her run out the back? I can’t risk losing her again. Don’t give me shit. You did this very same thing not too long ago.”
“And you said you didn’t love her.”
“I’m not saying it now.” I’m not going to tell him before I beg forgiveness and say those words to her, but yeah, love? I’m feeling that, hard, deep, and with every fucking molecule in my damn body.
“Don’t let her slip away, man. Every second that slips away is time you’ll never get back.” He speaks from experience, but it still hits me the wrong way.
“I wouldn’t have missed a thing if I knew where she was.”
He grunts in response as I keep my eyes on her. She’s smiling at customers despite wisps of her hair flying all over the place. The lunch rush has made her cheeks pink, but she looks happy, free.
I’m the catalyst for this whole mess. If I hadn’t come into her life and turned everything upside down, she could be lounging by her pool. It makes the idea of going to her seem like a bad idea. If she’s moving on, what right do I have to walk up to her and insist on being a part of her life?
When she runs her hand over her head, her smile slipping to reveal utter sadness, I make up my mind. The front she’s putting on for the sake of her job is fake, and although she may not want me in her life, I need to hear the words come from her pretty lips or I’ll never be able to move on myself.
After an hour of watching her, work pulls us away, and although I pull away from the curb reluctantly, I know where to find her, and I’m already formulating a plan to get her back.
I arrow toward Wren’s office the second my feet clear the elevator, Deacon’s chuckle scratching at my back as I walk away.
The computer nerd isn’t surprised to see me, handing over a red folder the second I step inside. The quiet office is a slap in the face, but Puff Daddy has been staying at his Nana’s house for a while.
“She’s been working at Paddy’s since two days after she handed you your ass.”
I flip through the thin file.
“Dr. visits?” I ask, my heart rate kicking up a thousand decibels when a smile spreads across his face. “Really?”
His face falls noticin
g the excitement I can’t seem to contain.
“She isn’t pregnant.”
Jesus, why do I feel like I’ve just lost her all over again?
“She had an appointment a couple days after you left New York, but it was scheduled, her yearly visit. She’s been on birth control for years. They did change her prescription now that she’s sexually active.”
I growl, the thought of her being active with anyone else making my blood boil, but there’s a hint of disappointment in his voice, like he knows what I took from her before walking away. He doesn’t have to feel that way because I’m mad at myself for it.
I walk out of his office, disappointed by the news he provided but still a little lighter on my feet than I was when I crawled out of bed this morning.
Remington Blair has been found, and I plan to never let her walk alone another day in her life, but that’s only if she wants me back.
Chapter 30
Remington
“Macy will cash you out whenever you’re ready,” I tell the couple at the corner table as I drop off their check. “No rush.”
They thank me, not meeting my eyes which I’ve learned is a sign that they don’t plan to tip very well. I’d stick around for whatever they deem my service worthy of but I’m dead on my feet having come in early today to cover another waitress’s shift.
Finding a job, as it turns out, was the easy part. Keeping it while learning how to please customers, not piss off the cook, and break as few dishes as possible has been the struggle, but after two weeks of working here, I think I’m finally finding my groove. Samuel, a guy with a no-nonsense haircut and a thick Irish accent has at least stopped sighing when I show up for my shifts, so that’s a positive.
My feet? They hate me and still aren’t used to the punishment I put them through every day. My bank account, a new one I started that isn’t linked in any way to my parents is growing, albeit slowly because the second I knew I could get out of that disgusting motel; I took the opportunity. I managed to get a good deal on a hotel with long-term rates just a few blocks from my job. My feet once again hate me for the short walk, but I’m saving money by not having to take a cab to get to work any longer. I’m sure my cute little BMW is either sitting in the garage unused or my parents sold it the second I walked away, if anything, for punishment since I’m sure they think I’ll come crawling back.
If I leave St. Louis, I’m heading west, not back east, but they wouldn’t know that since I haven’t attempted to call them once.
“Want me to save your tip for tomorrow?” Macy asks as I count out my money, smiling with the tip money I made today. Double shifts are hard on my body, but I won’t complain about the extra cash.
“Naw, you’re going to earn it. The guy picked all of the carrots out of his stew and threw them under the table.”
Macy laughs. “People are psychotic.”
“Tell me about it,” I agree.
“You’re still okay to cover my swing shift tomorrow.”
“Of course,” I tell her with a genuine smile. I’m not keen on the idea of working first thing in the morning because business is always slower, meaning tips are practically nonexistent, but the evening crowd gets rowdy and tends to tip well.
I wouldn’t call us friends exactly. Macy and I haven’t been able to spend any time together outside of work. I take on any shift offered to me and she has twin three-year-old boys that garner her off-hours attention, but I haven’t caught her talking about me behind my back which was something the people back home did. She helped me when I first started, giving me pointers and identifying the people who tip the best.
“Oh, he’s a cutie,” she whispers before sweeping her lithe body across the room to seat a man who just came in.
My heart begins to beat faster, but when I notice it isn’t Flynn, it calms right back down. Lots of good-looking guys come in here, but none make me look twice. It’s impossible to do when my stupid heart is still stuck on the one fool who doesn’t want me in return.
“How did you do?” Samuel asks when I turn my stuff in to the office.
“Only one customer accused me of trying to kill him, but Tom was the one who put onions on his burger, so I’m not claiming that. I didn’t break a single thing today.” I grin wide when he chuckles.
“Don’t jinx yourself. You still have to make it out the front door.”
My cheeks heat with the reminder of my first day and how I managed to knock an entire tray of dark beer out of one of the other waitress’s hands.
“True,” I agree, giving him a little wave before carefully walking outside. The days are still warm, but the nights are beginning to cool down, the threat of fall on the breeze.
I mentally prepare myself for the walk back to the hotel, wishing, not for the first time, that I brought my Air Pods with me when I left New York. My parents would’ve never missed them, but I didn’t grab them on purpose. My prepaid phone doesn’t have the extensive playlist that my old one did, but I’m slowly building it back up over time. Music and work are the only two things I have to keep me company these days. I’ve managed to keep from playing my sad-poor-pitiful-me playlist for the last three days, and I’m calling that a win.
Darkness grows thicker around me, the streetlights spreading out as I walk toward my hotel, and for a split second it makes me miss the busy streets of New York where people bustle around all day and night. Not that I was any safer there. Thinking of the time Flynn was wrestling me after I took off from him while people walked around us to avoid the situation is something I refuse to think about.
Just as I open my mouth to verbally chastise my mind for traveling down that road again, strong arms, laced with muscles grab me from behind. My heart pounds, panicked and full of utter fear. Then I smell him, a scent I’ve been trying to forget.
“Let go of me,” I scream at the top of my lungs, and surprisingly, he does.
I’m placed back on my feet, but the second his arms fall away, I spin around, hitting him first in the chest—which does nothing by the way—but the knee I lift and clock him in the balls with makes him double over in pain, a whoosh of anguish escaping his lips.
I press my back to the front door of a locked office building, chest heaving up and down, still a little frantic from the initial scare.
“Don’t!” he practically yells when I take a step closer, my need to make sure he’s okay outweighing the anger I’m feeling for him thinking it was okay to grab me the way he did. “Remi, it’s me.”
Still bent in the middle, he looks up, his eyes finding mine.
“I knew exactly who it was,” I hiss, finger pointed at his face, but I’m unable to manage any other words.
I walk away, hair whipping around so fast my ponytail slaps me in the face.
Does he let me walk away? Of course, he doesn’t. I make it ten steps before he grabs me again, this time wrapping his arms low around my waist and pressing the front of my body to the brick wall facing the street.
He sucks in air, the long inhale making my skin flush in a way I can’t think about right now.
“What do you want?” The question sounds more like a plea than the anger I was going for, but I’m only human.
He smells amazing. The heat of his body against mine is the perfect replacement for the light jacket I managed to leave behind in my room when I left for work this morning.
“I’ve missed you.” His warm breath ghosts over my ear and cheek, minty and enticing.
“No,” I snap, making minimal effort to pull away from him. “You don’t get to miss me.”
“Miss you so much,” he whispers, his hips shifting to let me know which parts missed me.
“Enough,” I hiss.
I’ve let myself, in fits of despair, fantasize about what it would look like if we ever saw each other again, and him pushing his erection against my lower back after practically assaulting me on the street doesn’t come close.
It heats my body, no doubt, but I’m no longer a woman b
eing controlled by her hormones. Just because I groan a little when his fingers flex against my hip means nothing, nothing at all.
“Let me go.” My stubbornness flares, the sane part of my brain reminding me that I deserve better than the scraps he dished my way before leaving me asleep with part of him left inside of me at that hotel in New York.
Surprisingly, he takes several steps back, and I manage to ignore the cold that replaces his heat at my back when I turn and start walking again.
He doesn’t grab me again. He doesn’t open his mouth to suggest finding a spot to take care of the problem in his pants. He walks me to the front door of the hotel, stopping short of following me inside. I don’t know that I’d be able to tell him no if he asked if he could join me in my room, but I ignore the hum of my hormones, a smile on my face that he can’t see when he whispers, “I’ll catch you again tomorrow, baby.”
By the time I climb on the elevator and face the lobby again, he’s gone from the front entrance.
Chapter 31
Flynn
I never understood the term walking on air. I assumed it had to do with traveling quietly as to not get caught doing something. I’m walking on air right now even though my nuts are still sore from the knee I took to them last night.
She confessed knowing it was me before hitting me there, and she still did it. I mean, good for her, taking back her power like that, but my body isn’t very impressed with the results.
Laughter hits me the second I step off the elevator at BBS. Pam is grinning behind her desk.
“Good morning,” I say as I pass by.
“You as well,” she returns with excitement in her voice, making me feel like an asshole for being so damn temperamental lately.
Several guys are standing in the middle of the breakroom, all surrounding a single tablet. Jesus, what now?
“Play it again,” Brooks demands, a childlike giddiness to his voice.
I grin, thinking it’s going to be another stupid cat video, something all of these idiots think is hilarious, but then I hear a grunt, and my own voice, “Don’t. Remi, it’s me!”