Page 6 of What Doesn't Kill You…

"Well, no pressure then," Violet grumbled, but she already knew she couldn't be the reason Benson Security's Houston office was closed down for good. She might not consider her team to be friends, but they were still her team. And she owed them. Even if it meant pretending to be a bride to save their backsides.

"I'm sorry the weight of our situation falls on your shoulders," Rochelle said solemnly. "But you are an excellent operative and I know you can do this job. I have faith in you."

Oh, the poor deluded woman. Of course, Violet could do the bodyguard part of the job. Hell, she could do that in her sleep. It was the rest of the stupid plan that was the problem. But this was what happened when you let the client plan an op. They had no experience and no idea what was needed. And because of that, she had to pretend to get married.

There was a good chance she was going to kill the client before the op was over.

“Fine," Violet said, sounding every bit as ungracious as she felt. "I’ll take one for the team, even though I don’t like it and it's clear that this plan is doomed before it begins. But if we’re doing it anyway, then I’m laying down some ground rules. I might be playing the part of a fiancée, but I sure as hell won't be one of those girly ones that squeal every five seconds as they cling to their man. There will be no public displays of affection, no stupid bachelorette party, and no high-heeled shoes.” She stared down her boss. “This has disaster written all over it but if I have to do it, I’ll do it.”

“That’s the spirit,” Rochelle said as she stood. "Now, let's go meet the groom."

CHAPTER TWO

The groom was not what Violet expected.

The investigative journalist label had led her astray. She'd imagined someone with a pasty complexion from not getting outdoors enough, maybe too thin from forgetting to eat while they worked, and definitely wearing glasses because of eyestrain. She was wrong on all counts.

Max Durant was a puppy of a human being. His smile was warm and welcoming, and his eyes sparkled with delight, while the mop of wavy, brown hair that flopped onto his forehead was disarmingly tousled. All of which softened the angular planes of his face, and the too-sharp intelligence in his dark eyes. He had a lean, rangy build, broad shoulders, and a complexion that spoke of plenty of time outdoors. He also had the long, slender fingers of an artist—or in this case, a writer.

"You must be my bride," he said with a welcoming smile, after she’d followed Rochelle into their open plan office.

The whole team, minus Noah who was in Atlantic City, were gathered together. They were spread around the room, lounging at their desks. As one, they appeared to be holding their breaths, waiting to see how Violet would react.

She didn't leave them hanging. "I'm not your bride, I'm your bodyguard."

"My mistake." He strode toward her, hand outstretched. "Maximillian Alexander Leopold Durant," he said with a grin. "Thought you should probably know my full name now, so you don't faint from shock during the ceremony."

Violet looked at his hand, then back to his face. "We're not getting married. There won't be any ceremony." She glared at Rochelle. "Or was that part a lie?"

Max dropped his hand but didn't seem bothered that she hadn't shaken it. He thrust his hands into his jeans pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Oh, no, your boss was right. This whole thing should be over long before we have to walk down the aisle. Sorry, I was trying to ease the tension with a joke."

"It wasn't funny," Violet told him.

"I see that now," he said. "For future reference, is it all jokes you don't find funny or just this one?"

Over in the corner, by the computers, one of the triplets coughed the words "all of them". She ignored the fools. The constant chitter of the triplets had become the white noise background of her life. Sure, she would have liked to have duct taped their mouths, and bought everyone some blessed peace, but apparently that sort of thing was frowned upon.

She kept her focus on the reporter. "How do you know the op will be over before the wedding?"

"I was just going to grab a coffee before I went over that with your team." He smiled again. "Would you like a cup too?"

Violet stared at him while she tried to figure out what was going on. This was her office, not his, yet he'd clearly made himself at home. What was his motivation? What was he trying to do? Charm her into liking him? The whole thing was weird. Before she could reply, her stomach rumbled loudly.

His twinkly eyes met hers. "I'll take that as a yes and add a couple of pastries to your plate." He sauntered over to the sideboard where the coffee pot sat next to a box of baked goods.

She was still trying to figure him out when he returned with a mug of coffee and a plate with two pastries on it.

"There you go," he said.

Violet stared at him.

Max was unfazed. "How about I put them down on this desk and you can get to them when you're ready?" He turned and placed them on the only desk that was completely bare on top. No photos, no notes, no computer. It just so happened that he'd chosen her desk.

"He's trying to be friendly," Rochelle whispered in her ear before shoving her toward the food.

Feeling tense, Violet cautiously took her seat, and poked at the pastries. Her stomach rumbled again.

"Don't think he's trying to kill you," Rodrigo said from the desk opposite hers. "They're safe to eat." He seemed amused by her hesitance.