Outmatched

Unfortunately, I was in for a walk down memory lane with Fairchild. He clasped my shoulder and gave it a shake and a squeeze. “Where have you been, son?”

Only one person had the right to call me son, and he was dead. I gritted my teeth and shrugged lightly, dislodging his grip. “Here and there.”

The pretty hostess stopped at a table in a secluded corner. She pulled out a chair and Fairchild smoothly sat down before Parker could. All class, this guy.

I turned and gave my “date” a smile with teeth before pulling out another chair. “Sweetheart?”

Glossy dark eyes shot sparks of pure rage at me as she returned my smile—it was more of a grimace, honestly—and took the proffered seat with the easy grace of someone born to money.

“Thank you.”

Butter wouldn’t melt in that mouth.

Like that, I imagined her mouth slick and soft and melting on my… Discipline, damn it! No way in hell was I going to allow myself to be attracted to Ms. Parker Brown, Fifth Avenue princess.

She was nothing more than a possible solution to my current problems. Because, as much as I hated to agree with Dean, a couple thousand dollars a month for pretending to be her boyfriend was easy, much-needed money. And, in a stroke of rare but brilliant insight, it occurred to me that I could kill two birds with one stone here. Fairchild was a fan and fucking loaded, which made him a potential sponsor for the gym. I only had to convince him of it.

Otherwise, I’d chalk the night up as an opportunity to rattle Parker Brown’s chain as payback for attempting to buy my brother. Then I was out of here and out of her life.

Clearing my throat, I sat in the chair next to hers. But Fairchild scowled with all the petulance of a spoiled kid. “I thought I said you were sitting with me, Rhys. Ms. Brown, change seats.”

Parker paled, her pink lips parting and working like a confused fish, and I already knew, from the fire she spit at me earlier, she was battling between telling him to piss off and doing the thing that would earn her greater job security.

I was almost willing to let her suffer, but my mom didn’t raise me that way. Besides, Fairchild was an asshole. I might have needed his money, but if I lay down like a mat for him to walk on, he’d have zero respect for me.

Leaning forward, I pinned him with a stare even though my smile was easy. “I can converse with you just fine where I am, Fairchild. Besides, I like having my honey close to me.”

I slung my arm over Parker’s slim shoulders and gave her a loving squeeze. A gurgle escaped her. She covered it up by smiling wide and pained as she leaned into my embrace, the picture of a loving girlfriend. But under the table, a spiked heel pressed down on the toe of my boot. Hard.

When I didn’t wince or move away, her brown gaze flicked to mine.

I grinned at her. Steeled-toed boots, honey. That’s what you get for tussling with a blue collar. Her sidelong glare promised retribution later. I was looking forward to it. Far too much. She was fun to rile. But it was a mistake touching her; the scent of roses and something richly smoky floated from silky soft skin. Some twisted part of me wanted to lean closer and take a deep breath, fill my lungs with that strange mix of innocence and sin.

What the hell was I going on about? Innocence and sin? Who the fuck said that? God, this chick was messing with my mind. I dropped my arm and sat back in my seat. Jackson took the chair opposite.

The waitress arrived to take drink orders—I was the only one who asked for a beer, something that had Parker’s lips compressing. It wasn’t as though I was dipping into the hard stuff like Fairchild, who had asked for a Macallan 25, neat. I might not know much, but I knew a glass of that would set him back at least two hundred dollars here. She should have been happy I’d stuck to my five-dollar draft beer.

As soon as the waitress left, Franklin was at it again. “Still can’t believe you quit, Morgan. Oh, I understand about losing your father.” He waved a hand as if to bat that inconvenience away. “But you could have simply taken a mourning break.”

The official story I’d given the world—and Dean—was that when Dad died, I’d lost heart and had decided to focus on my family. It was true for the most part, and it seemed like the best reason to give, because I would be damned if I brought Jake into the mix. No one would get anymore of him at my expense.