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6

Maddox

The next few hours are a whirlwind of activity. As soon as I sign the contract, Blaise gets on her phone. Her bodyguard and a sexy young Asian woman dressed in a navy-blue pencil skirt and peach top waltz into my office.

Blaise introduces me to Collins, her assistant, and after formalities are dealt with, I may as well be invisible to Blaise, Collins, and the bodyguard with the messed-up face. Granger. He’s driving the SUV that will take us to the County Clerk Recorder’s Office.

“I called in a favor. The marriage license and the ceremony will be kept under wraps for at least forty-eight hours. All parties involved have signed NDAs.”

I’m very familiar with non-disclosure agreements.

And no kidding on the under-wraps thing. Granger pulls up behind the building that houses the recorder’s office. A clerk waits for us by the back door. Collins rolls down the passenger-side window, takes the clipboard from the woman, and after we show the necessary documents, we’re given a marriage license.

The piece of paper is on the seat between me and Blaise. I glance at it, never thinking I would go down this road. Marriage isn’t for a selfish bastard like me. Marriage is for guys who are up for making concessions, compromises, and promises they’ll keep rather than break.

Granger makes his way back on the main drag, and we are off to our next destination. Thirty minutes later, he pulls up to a nondescript gray building tucked in between two tall brick buildings. We get out of the SUV and head for the steel-gray door.

“I pulled some strings. An old friend of mine is an ordained minister. He’ll marry you two.”

“Rings?” I ask.

Granger pulls a ring from inside the pocket of his slacks and hands me the simple gold band. “You can exchange it for something more to Blaise’s liking after she’s settled.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

The women have walked ahead of us and have let themselves inside the building.

“Pissed off some that your girl is marrying a guy who isn’t you?”

“If marrying you keeps Blaise safe, I am all for it. She means the world to me.”

“So you want fingerprint access to our place?”

“Nah. I’m secure in what Blaise and I have.”

His sinister smile could raise the hair on the back of a man’s neck. Except the darker side of him doesn’t scare me. My own darkness scares the shit out of me.

“What is that? An open relationship to fuck whomever the hell you want?”

“A bond that goes beyond fucking. Years ago, she saved my life and I spared hers. You tell me if you can say the same.”

The door opens, and Collins sticks her head out. “You two coming? We need to get this done pronto. We have a flight to catch.”

Of course. We are heading to Blaise’s place in Montana to fetch her things. Why the rush? Why move her stuff to my place? Why isn’t she keeping her Montana estate? What the hell is going on in her life that she’s tying the knot with a man she doesn’t know? What the fuck kind of danger is she in?

Something’s happened, but she and her loyal employees aren’t saying jack shit. Instead, they’re deflecting my questions back to the wedding and the trip to Montana.

Ignoring the scarred bastard shooting daggers at me with his eyes, I barge past him and haul ass inside the building. The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can get back to my life and Gia. My little sister’s gone missing again, and I’ll need to hunt her ass down.

Fuck sake, why did George let her sweet talk him into letting her drive herself to her therapy session? I’ve told him time and time again that she’s a flight risk and takes joy in evading the guys I’ve hired to keep an eye on her. Maybe I’m going about this the wrong way and it’s not a guy or guys but a certain woman who can help me with Gia.

My gaze locks on Blaise. She’s waiting for me in the middle of the empty warehouse. In her hands is a bouquet of white roses. The white contrasts with the blood-red dress she’s wearing.

I take in all of her, from the thick, tumbling strands of her raven hair, the paleness of her skin, the fullness of her crimson lips, and the elegant column of her neck to the tense lines of her shoulders. I keep on going, taking in how her satin dress clings to what little curves she has. On her hands are white gloves that extend up her arms.

Two thoughts cross my mind. The white will stain, and will I be slipping the ring on over her gloved finger?