Chapter 33
Blaise
Leo McConnell is the scariest-looking motherfucker I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
It’s a surprising assessment, considering how many men have forced me to eat astroturf over the years, and this man is pale and quiet and scrawny, but Jesus.
He’s got white blond hair like a movie villain and bright blue eyes that look like they shoot laser beams, and everything about his demeanor tells me he’s a robot.
I casually take Donovan from Tilly, but I’m not sure how to also protect Tilly.
When she received a message from Emerson that she needed to be at Aubergine & Ash at seven o’clock tonight, I assumed some of his vegan California film people were going to be in town and needed dinner and maybe some costumes fitted.
Since Emerson is among the many people saving my ass until my next big paycheck comes in — and making sure I get to keep it this time — I wasn’t going to begrudge him any weird demands he put on Tilly, but I also wasn’t going to let her go alone.
Besides, why wouldn’t he want his bougie friends to meet me? I’m great.
Instead, when we give our names to the ma?tre d’ of the ridiculously overpriced, overdone restaurant — seriously, not hating on vegans, but a plate of grass shouldn’t be $53 — they lead us to two unassuming, polished men in suits who are obviously criminals.
But the scary criminals.
The ones in movies who suddenly appear when needed and then immediately vanish the moment their services are concluded. The ones who never actually get in trouble because they’re working for the heroes of the movie, but everything they do is stupidly illegal.
The second man, Rhys, introduces himself as the CEO of the agency that Emerson contacted to track down my blackmailer.
He slides a card across the table that reads CONSUMMATE on one side and has a single phone number on the back of it.
No explanation of the company, no additional contact information, not even either of their names.
I get this feeling that if I looked at another of his cards, that one would have a different number.
“How are you doing this evening, Mr. Sinclair and Ms. Washington?” he asks.
“We’re, umm, we’re fine,” Tilly says, squirming in her seat. She looks to be unnerved by both men.
Which, fair. Rhys, with his short, crisp wedge of copper hair and engaging smile, his smooth manner, is terrifying in his own way. Perhaps because he’s so at ease with the monster next to him.
He gestures to the two available seats at the round table, which already have some sort of unidentifiable spread with what are, ostensibly, breadsticks — but I have my doubts — and shot glasses filled with an amber liquid arranged at them. “Please, have a seat.”
I don’t want to have a seat, but I gotta be a gentleman, so I pull Tilly’s chair out for her and do my best to slide it in with one hand while holding onto Donovan.
Rhys snaps his fingers twice, and a high chair materializes next to me. Donovan is a little small for it, but I’m not about to piss this guy off, so I strap him in as best as I can and keep a hand on him.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Rhys says as Leo’s focus goes to Donovan, studying him in a way that’s exactly how I’d expect a robot to study a baby. Like he’s probably not going to hurt him, but he also isn’t sure if Donovan’s quite human.
Yeah, I’m definitely going to keep my hand on Donovan.
“The pleasure is ours,” Tilly rushes out after a beat, like she’s also concerned about Leo’s interest in the baby. “You are . . . the people Emerson hired to handle our email issue?”
Email issue. That’s how everyone refers to it now.
If the press has gotten wind of it, they probably think I fell for a Nigerian prince scam, but mostly, no one has cared about all the weirdness surrounding me for the last couple weeks.
The Jugs’ rankings have gone down with my injury and the two consecutive losses that happened afterward, so even though they pulled out a win last week, everyone’s mostly just focused on when I’ll be back on the field.
I’m out the next game but hopeful for the following.
PT has been kicking my ass, but I meant it when I told the last reporter that I’m going to come back stronger than ever.
I’ve been working on a bunch of stuff the last couple weeks, and everything’s been restructured for ‘safer bonuses,’ Coach Keenan calls it.
There’s a big focus on making sure I’m not going to try more dumb shit.
Leo nods in response to Tilly, but he’s still staring at Donovan. He’s nodding to a baby. Fucking weird.
“We appreciate your cooperation and your patience over the matter,” Rhys says as he dips his bread stick-like object into the paste and examines it without actually eating it.
“The extended timeline made it more complicated than it would have been if it had been taken care of with the initial complaint, but we were able to track down the culprit.”
“Already?” I blink, shocked. It hasn’t even been two weeks.
Leo shrugs. “I’ve been monitoring the situation since Taylor Reede initially reached out to us in March. We already had a good idea of what was happening?”
“And you didn’t do anything about it?” Tilly blurts out.
I squeeze her hand. These guys are definitely criminals. She passed on everything Emerson had told her, so I have no doubt that the moment this Consummate organization knew it wasn’t getting a paycheck, it had no interest in fighting crime. “Who was it?”
“There were several people involved at various stages, most of whom were independent contractors,” Rhys explains.
“Based on our findings, they were employed to handle smaller tasks that didn’t appear to be illegal from their perspectives.
Morally questionable at worst. Ultimately, we decided that those players do not pose a risk beyond a cautionary warning from us.
They’ll be monitored, I assure you, but you’ll not be hearing from them again. ”
Already, I’m exhausted listening to the way this guy talks. “Okay, but who hired them?”
“The primary culprits were two members of the management team and a corporate officer for the hotel. They identified a list of guests most likely to conduct themselves in such a manner that would lend itself to blackmail. They had the cameras installed and encouraged the guests to use the rooms however they wanted, apparently made it clear they needn’t worry over any damages or complaints. ”
“Emerson didn’t mention that,” Tilly murmurs.
“No, when Emerson requested an ADA room despite not having any apparent need for it, neither himself nor his wife, the culprits assumed that the second guest in the room was a mistress. It didn’t take much research to figure out who that mistress was.”
That gets Leo to shift his gaze from Donovan to Tilly.
“That’s my wife you’re talking about,” I remind both men sternly.
Considering who these men are, I’m sure they already know the truth behind that is technical at best, but Leo looks me right in the eye with those damn laser beams and says, “Yes, congratulations on the past nuptials.”
Dick.
“Well, so, how did they track me down?” I ask. “It wasn’t my room, and I was in costume.”
Everyone stares at me like they’ve all seen the videos by now, and I’m sure they have. I’m betting these guys have their own copies in some database that will absolutely bite me in the ass if they ever need something from me and I refuse. Hopefully, they’re not football fans.
“Hey, you didn’t recognize me, and I was literally raising our child with you,” I remind Tilly. “No one was going to recognize me if they didn’t know it was me already.”
“I concede the point,” Rhys says gamely. “But you weren’t in costume when you handed all your traveler’s checks over to the concierge.”
“That dick.”
“He had no idea anything was going on. Not guilty of anything except telling the front desk manager that Blaise Sinclair had just dropped off an envelope of cash for Emerson Michaels’ room.”
“That dick.” Seriously, hotel employees shouldn’t be gossiping like that. Not cool, bro.
Now I’m glad Ani-Con isn’t going to be at that hotel anymore, if the news reports are right.
Wait.
“We’ve taken care of the key players here,” Leo informs us while Rhys takes a cautious bite of the sauce-dipped stick, flares his nostrils as he decides on it, and gives a slightly defeated sigh before continuing to chew it. Leo must be the vegan.
Or it’s an intimidation tactic.
In fact, the gleam in his eyes now has me spluttering out, “You didn’t kill them, did you?”
“No, of course not,” Rhys says.
But he’s staring me down hard.
And the corners of Leo’s lips spread.
I’m pretty sure they killed them.
“Are they going to jail?” Tilly asks nervously. “Will we have to testify?”
“You don’t need to worry about that.”
Yeah, they definitely killed those guys. I don’t like that, but I also don’t have the ability to unkill someone.
“We are working to seize their finances now, but that’s more complicated due to the delay, so I cannot make promises about any of it being returned to you, but rest assured—”
“None of it?” I don’t want to sound whiny, but I sound whiny.
“Mr. Sinclair, we’ll be keeping half of it just to cover our expenses and fees.”
“What?” I explode, and only Tilly’s hand can get me to lower my voice. “Since when am I paying for this?”
“Blaise,” Tilly says warningly. “Emerson wasn’t going to pay for this. He was just going to make sure we had the best possible men taking care of this.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. But I still grumble, “He could have made it a wedding gift.”
She’s firm with me as she says, “This is what we needed. We’ll be fine. We can rebuild.”
“You’re right.” I lift her hand to kiss it, and she lights up.
The men look away awkwardly. Not surprisingly.
Donovan coos at us. He’s used to mommy and daddy kissing. Probably Leo and Rhys were both raised in laboratories. Definitely Leo, who’s analyzing Donovan again.
“You have our assurance that all evidence of what happened in that hotel room has been scrubbed from the internet and all devices we were able to locate — including your own devices and the email server’s,” Rhys continues.
“Part of our fee also includes continued scans for these videos should they be uploaded from a hard drive. We cannot guarantee that the files have ceased to exist, but we can guarantee that they will never be found on the internet.”
“Great, thank you,” Tilly says.
We all stare at each other in silence.
Tilly squeezes my hand as though to communicate something.
“Right, yeah. Thanks, guys.”
Rhys nods to us.
Leo continues to stare at Donovan.
After another impossible silence in which I take my shot glass, sniff it, and decide it’s definitely grass juice, Tilly says, “Would you, umm, like to hold him?”
Leo considers it. Seriously considers it. Like, either you do or you don’t, but he’s unsure. I’m about to pick up Donovan for his own safety when Leo says, “No.”
The moment they leave, Tilly whispers, “I think they took Ani-Con away from the Winn and killed those people in an elevator.”
“Yeahhhhhh.”
Our final bye week is the first weekend in December.
I’m back on the field by then and, just as I promised, playing better than ever.
Morales did turn it around and finish his brief tenure strong, but my position is secure.
And we’re finally saving money, although we had a long discussion and decided that Tilly’s father’s comfort and her unconscionable medical debt from both the cancer and the C-section needed to be taken care of before we can start spending money.
But Tilly deserves a wedding, and thanks to a lot of friends chipping in and a teammate who’s ordained, we’re having a wedding.
We set it up at the Jugs house. It’s not unusual for big parties to happen there, and the neighbors have all been warned in advance and told it’s a birthday party.
We set it all up in the backyard, hidden from prying eyes by fences, so we know it’s not going to leak that Tilly and I are actually getting married now and not two years ago.
Cora makes Tilly’s wedding gown. I tell Tilly to ask for whatever she wants, that what she wears is her own choice.
I figure she’ll go with something simple, and instead, what walks out of the back kitchen door of the Jugs house and onto the dense trail of white flowers, speckled with pink rose petals dropped by Allore’s little girl, is a princess.
The dress is gigantic, layers and layers of skirt traveling miles behind her and a snug bodice with the sleeves that lay over the arms instead of the shoulders and the dip in the center that almost shows cleavage.
She’s got a long, shimmery veil and a gigantic bouquet of white flowers that drapes nearly to the ground.
Behind her veil, I catch a peek of soft, baby pink curls.
I’m marrying a goddamn princess.
I sniffle.
Gammy in the front row, with Donovan in his tiny tux on her lap, sniffles. Tilly’s dad, who wasn’t able to walk Tilly down the aisle but was at least able to sit next to Gammy, sniffles.
Joss, standing across from me in the maid of honor spot, sniffles.
Gabe, standing directly behind me, sniffles.
Cadence Morales begins to play a different song on her fiddle from what she played for everyone else, something more regal, and I swear even she sniffles.
We didn’t write our own vows. That was Tilly’s call, too.
She said because she didn’t trust me not to say something dumb, but I think it was just a lot of pressure she didn’t want, and I get that.
I tell her all the reasons I love her every day.
So does she. I don’t need to tell the entire world those things.
Kai Bodley walks us through the vows. He finally asks if I take Tilly to be my lawfully wedded wife in all those things they always say, and I say, “I do.”
He asks Tilly if she’ll take me to be her lawfully wedded husband, and she says, “Apparently, I did two years ago,” and everyone laughs.
Cora whispers to Joss, “Technically, Blaise was her kill,” and I have no idea what that means because I’m slipping a ring on Tilly’s finger — my one splurge since I stopped stressing about the blackmail, a giant engagement ring she’ll only wear for fancy occasions, I’m sure, but everyone does need to see she’s getting all the shinies from me — and kissing my bride.