Epilogue
It was Monday evening, and for once they’d been able to switch off completely to enjoy some personal down time. From the gentle stirring beneath his arm, Nick had a feeling his wife was waking up from her nap.
“Have you heard from Tay at all? I’m assuming, since we haven’t heard anything to the contrary, that they haven’t killed each other yet.”
Charity swung her feet to the floor and stretched, temporarily robbing him of her body heat until she slid closer to him on the enormous leather sofa. “I’m assuming no news is good news. Let me check.”
She leaned over him to retrieve her cell phone from the table beside him, and the next thing Nick heard was the kind of delighted squeal that could have meant either the best news ever, or the worst. “Well, come on—tell me. Put me out of my misery.”
Charity chuckled. “You know what you said about running a dating agency?”
Not again. Nick rolled his eyes and sighed. “Break it to me gently.”
“Rhys proposed earlier today, and Tay said yes.”
The excitement in Charity’s voice was infectious, and though he was threatening to project his grumpy image, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “I knew it. The lady doth protest too much.”
Charity snorted. “Hey—to the best of my recollection, so did the man. Tay says they’re shopping for an engagement ring for her and wedding rings for both of them while they’re over there, because he wants her to have Welsh gold rings. Wait—they have gold in Wales?”
“Uh-huh. Traditionally, all the royal wedding rings have been crafted from Welsh gold. It’s very rare.”
His wife sighed happily. “That’s so romantic. Do you think they’ll stay in Wales?”
Nick groaned. “Oh God, I hope not. I need both of them back here. We have more work in the pipeline than I ever anticipated, and the new builds will be ready soon. We need Tay’s organizational skills to make sure they’re ready in time for the new recruits.”
Charity fired a judgy look at him. “That’s your priority? Getting her to work on the new cabins? I need my friend back for the sake of my sanity. The testosterone around here is off the charts. Which reminds me—when are you going to do what Ros has done and recruit more female operators?”
His wife had walked in on a Zoom meeting he’d recently had with Spectrum’s director of VIP Protection; she’d refused to walk out when she’d realized they were discussing the budget requirements for a business proposal for the recruitment of such a team in the UK.
Charity had been particularly amused by Ros Northwood swearing him to secrecy while she prepared her case to present to the big boss, Alex Lombard.
“She hasn’t recruited them yet,” Nick reminded her. “It might not happen. Alex has the final veto on an exclusively female team of close protection officers.”
His reward for that comment was a swift elbow in the ribs, delivered with the deadly accuracy of much practice. “It’s a fantastic idea, and I don’t believe for one moment Alex won’t approve it.”
“Hey, quit with the elbow. I agree with you. The demand is there, and the numbers make sense.”
“So have you run the numbers for a similar team here?”
Nick sighed, rolled his eyes, and shook his head. His tenacious wife wouldn’t let it go until he gave her an answer—preferably the correct one, according to her definition of the word “correct”.
“I’m looking into it. I need to assess the demand for the kind of services Ros plans to provide. What applies in the UK might not necessarily apply here.”
“Possibly, but I think it will—maybe even more so. Why don’t you let me research it for you? You know how good I am at research.”
Nick did indeed know how good his beloved wife was at research. If it was out there, she’d find it. “All right, then, but on one condition.”
“Which is?” She slanted a suspicious look at him.
“You have to remain objective. Promise?”
The dramatic sigh accompanying her eye roll spoke volumes. “I promise.”
Despite the sigh, Nick was confident Charity would remain true to the brief. “In that case, when can you start?”