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She didn’t see what I saw. She didn’t see how her beauty shined through in her simple white dress, or how my mother’s yellow rose bushes provided the perfect pop of color when compared to the bouquet of lilies in her hands.
I sigh in irritation as Wren sweeps through another set of images from the wedding. How did this shit even end up online?
“Your wife is smoking—”
“Ex-wife,” I snap.
“—but this chick is every man’s wet dream.”
A smiling image of Annalise Grimaldi covers the screen, and for the life of me, I have no idea why her picture makes my breath catch. Maybe because I never remember her smiling. Maybe because the sun is reflecting off her golden pupils in a way that makes her seem ethereal. Maybe because in this image she doesn’t look like the evil villain set out to ruin everyone’s lives.
“She’s on her way here,” I murmur.
Wren turns his chair to face me, his unruly hair falling haphazardly over one eye. “Really? She’s pretty.”
“Hey, pretty girl! Wanna fuck?”
Wren’s mouth spreads into a grin, but all I can do is roll my eyes at the stupid fucking bird.
“Bringing girls back to the office?” Wren’s eyebrows waggle comically. “Naughty boss.”
“Find me the information I need or you’re going to be out of a fucking job,” I snap.
He chuckles, knowing I’m full of shit. My entire operation would go down in flames if it wasn’t for his computer skills. Technology is the future, and he damn well knows it.
“And teach that stupid bird something besides vulgar words.”
Wren and the parrot are cackling like the fools they are when I let the door slam behind me.
“Not here yet?”
Ignacio shakes his head. Jude is nowhere to be seen.
“What does she look like?” Brooks asks with way more interest than I’m comfortable with.
A body like a god and a soul darker than Satan’s. If memory serves me correctly.
“Like a woman.”
Brooks turns, a smile on his face I know has pulled more chicks than the average man. I’ve intrigued him, but I don’t have time for his bullshit right now.
“She’s upset and dealing with some shit. Just come get me when she arrives.”
Brooks, realizing I’m serious, nods his head and turns back to face the front office. I arrow to my office, needing a moment to wrap my head around the fact that Dani isn’t the one hurt, but apparently, she’s in some deep shit. Shootings and acts of violence don’t happen often in her area of town. All I can do is wait. Wren is an ace at what he does and I know he won’t bring me a dossier until he’s one hundred percent sure he’s obtained every ounce of information that he can scour from every single database he can access.
With the limited information Wren has on the victim, I type out a text to my second in command, Flynn Coleman, giving him Dani’s address with a request to find out what he can. Flynn is former FBI and has managed to maintain many contacts at the bureau that benefit BBS.
Quickly, I change out of the damn dress shirt and jacket I had on for the retirement party, thankful I keep spare clothes in my office. We all do, actually. There’s no telling what any given day will bring around here and we always have to be prepared.
Now all I can do is wait for the information to roll in, and that annoys me even more because waiting is the fucking worst. I’m a man of action, and this part sucks.Chapter 4Anna
My bare feet slap the polished concrete floor as I step onto the elevator, but I don’t have the wherewithal to worry about germs right now. Besides, the floors are gleaming, as would be expected in this part of town. My destroyed heels hang from my still trembling fingertips as I press the button for the ninth floor.
I’m nearly in tears, stuck in my own head by the time the doors open to reveal a solid marble wall, only interrupted by a single door. Carved in the wall are the words BLACKBRIDGE SECURITY AND CONSULTING.
Shock immediately stops my pounding heart, quivering lip, and tears as I stare at Deacon’s name carved into the wall.
But before I can do a double take or rub what I’m no doubt hallucinating from my tired eyes, a smiling man with gorgeous blue eyes pushes the door open for me.
“Annalise Grimaldi?” he asks as he sweeps his hand through his corn-silk blond hair.
“Y-Yes,” I manage. “I’m here to see—”
“Deacon,” he interrupts. “Come this way.”
His voice is low and calm, somehow serving to lighten my load a little.
My eyes wander everywhere—to the sleek but functional reception area and the wide, no-frills hallway leading past offices. All the doors were closed for privacy; I imagine.
“I’m Brooks,” the handsome man tosses over his shoulder as he directs me to a huge room with sofas, a massive television on the wall, and a coffee station fit for a king in the far corner.
