Pulling into the car park, I did a final check in the rearview mirror. The man staring back at me was calm, collected, confident.
In other words, a fucking liar. But it was okay. This was a lie I was used to. One I’d spouted so often I’d started to believe it was true.
That this was the real me.
I thought through the other information my research had turned up as I strode into the building and checked in with the receptionist. The man I was meeting, Chris Wynne, was the CEO and founder. There was little information about him on social media, but I knew he’d served in the army before starting Blackthorne.
For a moment, there was a brief pang as I thought of Max, the other man who’d returned unexpectedly to my life. If things had been different between us, maybe he’d be able to give me some hints and tips on how to get Chris Wynne to warm up to me. Hell, maybe this meeting could’ve taken place on a golf coursewith him tagging along.
But things weren’t different. Max might not have caused any shit the other night, but I doubted he’d go so far as to help me.
Doubted he played golf either. Another marker of how different we still were.
I could’ve called Xander. He was navy, not army, but he could’ve maybe helped me out. The fact that the idea hadn’t even crossed my mind until now showed just how fucking distracted I was.
The receptionist smiled at me brightly, gesturing for me to follow her. “Chriswill see you now.”
“Thank you.” I noted her use of his first name. Perhaps Chris Wynne wasn’t as formal as his military background might suggest. “This is a lovely building.”
“It is.” Her heels clicked sharply on the tiles as she led me along a brightly lit corridor. “We moved in about six months ago. You should’ve seen the place we were in before. Calling it a cupboard would be generous.”
I chuckled, following her into a conference room. “I imagine it’s been quite a change.”
“Indeed it has.” The deep voice reverberated off the glass walls as a man stepped in after us. He had an accent, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint it. “Didn’t have fellas like you popping by to schmooze us, that’s for sure.”
I hid my surprise at the sheer size of the man who now stood before us. Chris Wynne towered over me, and I wasn’t short. That, coupled with the muscles his suit jacket was entirely failing to hide, could’ve been quite intimidating. But there was nothing intimidating about the warm smile he gave his receptionist. “Thank you, Janet. I’ve got it from here.”
“Lovely to meet you, Janet,” I called after her before turning to greet Chris. “And it’s great to meet you too. I’m Ryan Davies from NFP.”
“Chris Wynne,” he said with an unmistakeable twinkle in his eye. “But everyone calls me Taff.”
“Ah, a Welshman?” I guessed, the pieces dropping into place.
He chuckled wryly. “All the original nicknames in theforces, and I got stuck with the most obvious. Born and raised in Abergavenny and Taff forever more.”
“Could’ve been worse, I suppose.” I breathed a little easier as we settled into chairs. This was going well. Better than expected. Chris, or Taff, was nice. Bringing him on board didn’t seem as daunting as it did before. “At least it’s nothing incriminating or embarrassing. My best mate is in the navy and they all call him Splash.”
Taff let out a booming laugh. “I take it he fell overboard at some point?”
“Right in the middle of an exercise.” I laughed, despite not finding it all that funny. The way Xander had described it had been the stuff of nightmares. It had filled me with worry, not just for him, but for Dominic. For what he might be going through. “It was during his first year, but the nickname stuck.”
“They have a habit of doing that. Worst one I came across was Chuck.”
I worked it through in my mind, a grin slowly curling my lips. “Let me guess—he inadvertently chucked up somewhere he shouldn’t have.”
Taff laughed heartily again. “Right in some bird’s Radley handbag. Could hear her screeches from miles away.”
“Then that nickname was well deserved.”
“It was. It’s funny how some nicknames can mean nothing,” Taff said, “and others can mean everything.”
I frowned. Bit of an odd thing to say, but I wasn’t about to question him on it. Not when I needed his business as desperately as I did. “I guess so.”
“Anyway.” He clasped his hands together on the table. “Why don’t you give me the headline pitch, then we can relax while we have lunch?”
I nodded approvingly, pulling the prepared folder from my bag. “A man after my own heart.”
Taff shrugged. “Don’t see the point in beating around the bush when we both know why you’re here.”