Chapter Twelve
TREY
The damaged tire rolls around in the back of my SUV as I navigate through downtown Seattle's afternoon traffic.
The fancy high-rise that houses Newport Staffing Solutions looms ahead—all glass and steel and corporate success.
The kind of place that probably has a doorman who'll take one look at my tattoos and assume I'm lost.
But I'm not lost. I know exactly where I'm going and what I'm doing.
That flat tire could have been dangerous at highway speeds.
The fact that some corporate asshole denied her access to her own company's emergency services because she didn't go through with an arranged marriage… It makes my blood boil.
I park in the visitor lot, ignoring the valet's offer to take my keys. The tire is heavy as I haul it out, but I've carried worse through worse conditions. Besides, I want this Martin guy to see exactly what kind of damage he risked by leaving Vivi stranded.
I see a card reader for the elevator, but then a florist with reception flowers hops on an elevator, and I jump in behind her like I'm meant to be there. She smiles, not realizing that I didn't scan in.
Her eyes quickly scan me and my wet clothes. “It’s wet out there, huh?” She says, making small talk.
“If it wasn't, it wouldn't be Seattle,” I say. She chuckles and then steps off on the third floor. I take the elevator up to the eleventh, per Vivi's text.
The lobby of Newport Staffing Solutions looks like the kind of office Vivi would have designed.
This is the kind of place she belongs. All marble and modern art.
Not making pasta, barefoot in my kitchen.
This is exactly what you'd expect from a multimillion-dollar staffing empire.
There are touches of Vivi everywhere. The warm colors.
The comfortable seating areas. The wall of "Employee of the Month" photos mixed with candid shots of company events.
She built this. All of it.
Pride mixes with something darker in my chest. This is her world—corporate luxury and business success.
So different from my life of military service and hockey violence.
What can I possibly offer her compared to this?
I knew this was what I was up against, but to see it is a reminder that I might have her right now, but I can't keep her. It wouldn't be right.
But then I remember her face just now, watching me change that tire in the rain. How she pulled me in for that kiss, not caring about grease or dirt or what anyone might think. For that moment, she'd wanted me—just me, exactly as I am.
Newport Staffing's logo spans the reception area in elegant script. A perfectly polished receptionist looks up from her computer.
"Can I help you?" Her eyes widened at my appearance, her eyes scanning over my full sleeve tattoos up my arms, visible from my T-shirt that’s soaked from the rain and stained with grease spots. It’s easy to guess I’m not their usual clientele.
"Martin Howard's office."
"I'm sorry, the CEO doesn't take walk-ins." She pastes a professional smile. "You'll need to make an appointment."
I give her my best media-trained smile. The one that doesn't reach my eyes. "Don't worry. This won't take long."
Before she can stop me, I'm past her desk and through the glass doors marked "Executive Offices." Her heels click frantically behind me, but I've outmaneuvered better opponents than a receptionist in stilettos.
"Sir! You can't—"
I find Howard's office easily—the biggest one with the best view. The nameplate on his door might as well read "Stolen from Vivi Newport."
The door opens before I can kick it in. Martin rises from behind Vivi's desk—because it is her desk, no matter whose nameplate is on the door. His eyes bulge at the sight of me: six-foot-five tattooed hockey player holding a damaged tire and fifteen years of special forces training in my stance.
"Who the hell—"
I slam the tire onto the desk, sending papers flying. "This could have killed her."
He backs up a step. Good. He should be afraid.
"I don't know what you're talking about." But his voice wavers slightly.
"Vivi Newport. Ring a bell? You cut off her access to Roadside Assistance.
" I lean forward, bracing my hands on the desk, leaning into his space, my eyes locked on his.
"Her own company's services. The company she started from scratch.
The one that pays for your fancy ties." I glance down at the ugly swirl print he's wearing.
"Though I strongly suggest you rethink your pattern choices in the future. "
He clears the fear out of his throat. "Ms. Newport is on administrative leave." He tries for authority but can't quite manage it. "Company policy clearly states—"
"Company policy?" I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "You mean the policy you created after she left Holiday at the altar? The one designed to push her out? Nice little takeover you maneuvered there, but I can’t wait until she’s back in her rightful spot and she fires your ass for insubordination. "
His face reddens. "Now see here—"
"No, you see here." I lower my voice to the tone that made insurgents talk in dark rooms. "I've seen men killed for less than what you did today. Letting her sit exposed on that highway, vulnerable to any drunk driver or road rage incident…"
"Are you threatening me?"
"Threatening you?" I smirk. "No. I'm promising you that if anything ever happens to Vivi Newport because you deny her access to these services, what happens to you won't be a threat.
It'll be a guarantee. And trust me, I’m the last asshole that you want to underestimate.
I know how to make a body disappear without a trace. "
He swallows hard. "I'll call security."
"Go ahead." I straighten back up, sliding my hands off of Vivi’s desk that he stole from right underneath her. "But first, you're going to reinstate her access to all company services. And you're going to do it now."
"You can't—"
"I can." I tap the tire. "And I will. Because next time, it might not be just a flat tire. And I promise you, if anything happens to her while you play power games with her safety, what I do to you will make Special Forces interrogation look like a kindergarten timeout."
The door bursts open as security finally arrives—two rent-a-cops who look like they've never faced anything more dangerous than a drunk executive.
"Everything okay here, Mr. Howard?"
Martin’s eyes dart between me and the security guards who I can tell with the way their sizing me up, don’t want anything to do with me. I guess they aren’t that stupid after all.
Martin weighs his options—piss me off more and see what consequences come out of it for him or tell his guys to stand down and not make a scene.
"Fine. I’ll put out the company memo to reinstate her benefits,” he says, slumping back into his chair and then looks to the security guards. "It was just a…discussion about company policy. You can go."
I smile again. "Glad we understand each other."
The security guards trail me to the elevator, but their stance screams amateur. I make a mental note to call some ex-military contacts about upgrading this place's security. Vivi needs better protection, whether she ends up marrying Holiday or not, and I'll make sure she gets it.
Back in my SUV, I pull out my phone.
Trey: All taken care of. You're approved to use the services now.
Her response comes quickly.
Vivi: Oh God, what did you do?
Trey: Don't worry about it. He saw my side of things. P.S. We're getting you better security here.
Vivi: We?
Trey: See you at home.
I hit send before I can overthink that last word.
Home.
Not my house or Adeline's house, but home. Like Vivi belongs there with us.
The realization of how hard and fast I'm falling for her is terrifying, but then again, I knew this would happen if I ever got involved with her. I knew it from the first time I met her.
I want it to be her home. I want her there every morning, making pancakes with Adeline. Every night, curled up on the couch watching Disney movies with her God-awful taste in ice cream. Her in the stands wearing my jersey at every home game, and every moment in between.
But this isn't about what I want. It's about what's best for her.
And maybe what's best isn't a broken down ex-soldier who sleeps on the floor because beds are too soft after fifteen years of war.
Whose left hearing is all but nonexistent, and the scars on my body from combat show the hard life I've lived.
Nothing like how she grew up. Nothing like country clubs, trust funds, and summer homes in the Hamptons.
The kind of life Jameson Holiday can give her.
Technically, with all of the money I saved in the military and my hockey contract, I could afford that lifestyle if she really wanted it, but it's not who I am, it's not who Adeline is. We don't fit in that world, and I can't force it.
My phone buzzes again.
Vivi: Thank you for today. For everything.
Three dots appear, disappear, then appear again.
Vivi: And yes, I'll see you at home.
The words make my chest tight. Because in four weeks it will mean something different. She'll be living in Holiday's mansion, wearing his ring, building the perfect life everyone expects of her.
And I'll be here, sleeping on my floor, raising my brother's daughter, trying to forget how right it felt to have Vivi in our lives—for just a minute.
I drive past the exit that would take me to practice, heading instead to a security firm run by my old squad mate, who turned from special forces to hired mercenary, to private security company, and now even owns a helicopter charter business.
Because even if I can't keep her, I can make damn sure she's protected.
The thought feels like shrapnel in my chest, but I push it down. I've survived worse. I'll survive this too.
But as I park outside Lawson Security Solutions, I can't help wondering if survival is enough anymore.