Outmatched: A Novel, Page 2

  All the blood in my head rushed to my toes before flooding back up in a surge of black heat. “You’re prostituting yourself? Is that what I’m hearing?”

  Where did I go wrong?

  “What?” His blond brows snapped together. “No! I’m an escort. I take Parker out on dates, go with her to functions and parties. Shit like that. I mean, I’m not going to say no if she asks—”

  “No. No fucking way.” A snarl tore out of me and I clenched my fists. “I did not drop eighty thousand dollars on your education so you could become a rent boy for some snobby rich chick…”

  “Oh, right, bring up the fact that you paid my way. Again.” He glared at me with hurt in his eyes.

  “Because I did!” I ran a hand through my hair and grabbed the short ends. I was liable to tear it out at this point. “I put every cent I had left into this gym and you. I was happy to do it. Thrilled.” It had been the least I could do; Dean needed direction, an education, a way out. “I’ll be damned if my efforts are flushed down the toilet because of the whims of some vapid, brainless…”

  “Hey, Parker is wicked smart. Look at this.” He shoved his phone in my face. “She went to MIT…”

  I snorted. “Figures.”

  “And her family is on dozens of different charity boards.”

  “Which means dick all to me.” I took the phone—it was that or have it pushed up my nose—and studied the article he had open. A sweetly pretty girl, about the size of my thumb, with big brown eyes under severely straight brows smiled back at me. It was a strained smile, nothing like the beaming, happy grins the older couple next to her wore. The couple were obviously her parents, and they were all standing on a rolling lawn overlooking the ocean, a massive Cape Cod-style mansion in the background.

  “Jesus,” I muttered. “They’re New Yorkers, Dean.”

  “So?” He laughed. “What do you have against New Yorkers?”

  “The rich ones are assholes.”

  The article said something about how Mr. and Mrs. Charles Brown were “summering” on the Cape and fundraising for a children’s literacy campaign. Which was nice, but it didn’t mean they were nice people.

  “Didn’t peg you for a snob, brother.”

  I curled my hand around the phone. “Do you know how many of these types I met when I was on the circuit? They’re all about wanting to give back to the little people, wanting to be your friend. In reality, they view people like us as fresh meat. We’re amusing at best. And when we fail to entertain them any longer, we’re gone.”

  Just ask all the so-called friends who disappeared when Jake died and I’d quit the business.

  “Parker isn’t like that. She’s sweet. Shy, really.” Dean’s chin kicked up. “And if she wants to use me as her personal pretty-boy puppet in exchange for a boatload of money, I’m going to let her.”

  “Dean…”

  “I told you because I thought… never mind what I thought. Point is, this is my life and my business. I’m going to pay you back my way.”

  Finally, my baby brother was growing some claws. I’d been more of a father to him than our own for years. With that responsibility came a certain amount of telling him what to do. But I wanted him to fight back, take charge of his life. Just not this way. He was too smart for this. I was the one who rolled around in the muck. Dean needed to stay clean.

  I knew that look he wore. He was serious. Nothing would persuade him otherwise. Out of all our differences, in that way we were alike—both of us stubborn to the core.

  He turned to go but I held out a hand. “Hold up.”

  Dean stiffened but waited.

  I pocketed his phone, the move so casual he didn’t see it. “If you insist on doing this…”

  “I am doing this.”

  My back teeth met with a click. Relax. Take it easy. “Then you should probably meet her without gunk in between your teeth.”

  Dean’s look of horror would have been funny if I wasn’t so pissed. “There’s something between my teeth?” He ran his tongue over them.

  His teeth were clean, but Dean snacked constantly. The threat was real enough.

  “Yep. You didn’t get it.” I inclined my head toward the private office bathroom. “Go clean yourself up.”

  He didn’t wait to be told twice but hurried toward the small room.

  I followed at his heels, grabbing one of the wooden visiting chairs from the side of the desk as I went. He was too distracted to notice. “So, where you meeting this girl?”

  “Yvonne’s.”

  “Swank.” I’d walked by it once. The place looked like a social club for the ultrarich.

  Dean chuckled. “Not like I’m paying.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “We’re having dinner drinks in thirty so I’ll have to hustle.” At the mirror, he made a grimace, inspecting his commercial-worthy teeth. “I don’t see anything…”

  I didn’t hear the rest. Swiftly, I pulled the door shut, turned the handle down, and wedged the chair under it. Just in time too. The door rattled fiercely.

  “Rhys! What the fuck? Open the fucking door!”

  Yeah, not likely. It would hold until someone let him out. I’d let Carlos know… In an hour.

  “Rhys!” Dean’s muffled shout followed me out of the office. “This isn’t funny. Are you kidding me?” A hard thud rang out. “You fucking bastard!”

  I was. But I didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. Dean was too good for this. He could hate me all he wanted. But I would make it crystal clear to this Parker Brown that she wasn’t going to go anywhere near my brother again.

  A fine fury worked its way through my system as I got on my bike. Parker Brown. She wasn’t going to know what hit her.

  Two

  Parker

  * * *

  It wasn’t my first time dining at Yvonne’s. However, it would be my first time dining at Yvonne’s with the guy I’d paid to pretend to be my date. My stomach roiled as I sat on the plush bar stool closest to the entrance. Opposite the bar ran a long, marble-topped, low divider wall between the bar area and the restaurant, where chatter and laughter from the diners had become white noise.

  I was so short my feet dangled off the bar stool, and I impatiently kicked against a bar that probably cost more than my annual salary.

  Speaking of which… I glanced nervously at my watch. Dean was supposed to be here already. We’d arranged for him to come ten minutes earlier than my boss and his boss so we could go over our game plan again.

  Throwing back the cocktail the harassed bartender had put down in front of me, I tried to quell the aggressive flutter of butterflies in my belly. Seriously, it felt like they’d escaped my gut, swarmed all over my lungs, and were now intent on suffocating me. I wiped a clammy hand across my forehead. “Get it together, Parker,” I muttered, probably looking and sounding like I was about to commit a felony.

  Was lying to your boss a felony?

  No, definitely not.

  Immoral?

  Yes, definitely yes.

  But really it just proved how much I loved my job and just how far I was willing to go to get a permanent contract with Horus Renewable Energy. I’d joined the fledgling three-year-old company after I’d earned my PhD in “Dynamic Modeling of Generation Capacity Investment in Electricity Markets with High Wind Penetration.” Say that five times fast.

  I was ecstatic to find a job as a data analyst with a company that had developed a market dispatch model that forecast future power prices and the impact of renewable power generation of market dynamics.

  It was everything I’d ever wanted out of a job and I was feeling good about it until Pete in payroll told me with a smug smirk that I was only hired to meet the diversity quota and I’d probably be let go after my six-month contract was up.

  And why?

  Because the big boss with all the money, the main investor, Mr. Franklin Fairchild, was only interested in hiring employees who had proven their commitment in their personal lives. It wa
s some 1950s retro bullcrap. Unless an employee was in a serious relationship/married, a parent and/or living in their own home and not a rental, Fairchild considered them a bad investment. Where was the commitment? If we couldn’t commit in our personal lives, surely we’d up and run from the company at the first sign of a sweeter deal elsewhere.

  I’d also verified with more reliable sources than Pete that it was correct.

  Being the only single, childless female analyst who sharing a rented apartment with a roommate, I freaked out. Said roommate, Zoe, offered me the solution in the form of an app. I found Dean on the app, the perfect fake boyfriend. He was educated, from Chelsea, down-to-earth, charming, good-looking, and he’d agreed to pretend to be my boyfriend for an indefinite period. Indefinite.

  Seriously, what was I worried about?

  No one would ever find out.

  “You.” A deep voice said at my side. The tone was accusatory.

  I turned my head and blinked rapidly against the sight in front of me. A very tall man glowered at me, nostrils flared, like a bull getting ready to charge. My eyes dipped down his body and back up again, thinking I’d never seen a specimen like him up close before. The guy was at least three inches over six feet, dressed in jeans that had seen better days and a long thermal shirt that showed a very defined muscular build. Very defined. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, showing off thickly veined forearms. Didn’t Yvonne’s have a dress code?

  I looked into what would have been beautiful green eyes if they hadn’t been glaring at me. At me?

  What the heck? I didn’t have time for miscreants right now. “Can I help you?”

  “Parker Brown?”

  Oh crap.

  “Yes?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m Rhys Morgan. Dean’s big brother. He’s not coming.”

  For a moment, I could only stare. How could this guy be Dean’s big brother? Dean was fair-haired and blue eyed, clean-cut and handsome in a pretty way. This guy had close-cropped dark hair, the aforementioned gorgeous green eyes, needed to shave a few days ago, and with his rugged, angular features and broken nose, definitely not a pretty boy. I guess some women might find him appealing but he was too big and rough for me.

  I liked my guys nerdy and cute.

  Anyhoo, back to my point… I snapped my attention away from the impressive definition in his biceps. “You don’t look anything alike.”

  His nostrils flared again. “Yeah, we’re nothing alike. I wouldn’t let some uptown Masshole prostitute me.”

  My cheeks burned as I glanced around in horror. Loud! Wow, he was loud! I hopped off the stool and pressed my hands to his chest to push him toward the exit but stopped. He had pecs. “Oh, those are well developed.” I dropped my hands like they’d been burned.

  Dean’s supposed brother grit his teeth in obvious agitation.

  “Let’s talk a little away from the bar.” I led him around the corner to the hallway between the entrance and the restaurant, giving a tight “All is okay here” smile to a passing host. Turning around to face Rhys, I almost smacked right into his chest.

  He took hold of my biceps and gently pushed me away from him. Off the stool, I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze, and as he towered over me, I suddenly wondered if it was a bad idea to engage in any kind of conversation with an angry man who could crush me like a bug between his two big paws. However, I would not be easily intimidated. Okay, sure, this guy was intimidating, but I’d studied in a male-dominated field for years. Now I was the only woman in the company I worked for. I’d learned quickly to not let any guy, no matter how smart or physically impressive he was, see that I was intimidated.

  Or discombobulated by him.

  Even if I was.

  “First, I’m not from Massachusetts.” I didn’t know why that was important, but I really hated the term “Masshole,” which referred to the rich blue bloods around here who weren’t very nice.

  Rhys sneered. “You’re a New Yorker who summers.” He pronounced summers like “summahs” with a thick Boston accent I normally found adorable. There was nothing adorable about this guy. “Same fucking difference, Tinker Bell.”

  Ugh. There was so much to hate in that last sentence. “Please don’t curse.” My mother nagged swear words out of my vocabulary before I even got the chance to fully explore their usage. Consequently, discomfort was a knee-jerk reaction to unwarranted curse words. “And mocking my height is extremely rude.”

  “You know what’s extremely rude?” He stepped right into my personal space, forcing me to crane my neck to keep eye contact. “Hiring a desperate kid to service your needs.”

  I was certain my whole body turned as red as a bull flag. For a moment, I could only splutter. “That-that-that is so not what I did,” I hissed. “For a start, he’s not a kid. He’s twenty-five years old. Moreover, I am not paying him to ‘service my needs.’ I’ll thank you to not insult me by assuming that I need to pay for that.”

  He dragged his gaze over my body and grunted.

  “I’m going to ignore whatever that noise meant since I’ve evolved beyond the Tertiary Period. Back to my point: Dean is a grown-up and I hired him to escort me to dates and events that involved my colleagues and my boss. Without going into the details, I need my bosses to think I’m in a committed relationship so they’ll consider hiring me for a permanent position. Mr. Fairchild is a little old-fashioned that way.” There. That was very diplomatic. I beamed at myself. It was the first time I’d described the situation without calling Mr. Fairchild a plague on women’s rights.

  Rhys scowled. “Wipe the smile off your face, Tinker Bell. I could give two New York-sized shits why you hired Dean. It was fucking wrong and you know it.”

  Anxiety and hurt mingled as I glared up at my accuser. Had hiring Dean been wrong? I’d thought it was mutually beneficial. At no point had I felt like I was taking advantage of or using him, but his brother was making it seem that way. Like I was a privileged princess who thought I could do whatever I liked because I had money.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “I refuse to stand here and be made to feel like I did something wrong. If you’re upset by your brother’s choices, that’s your problem, because he did have a choice and he was being well compensated. Two thousand dollars a week to go on a few dates throughout said month is more than fair.” It was ludicrous. I’d had to dip into my trust fund for it. But no guy was willing to be my fake boyfriend for an indefinite amount of time without excellent compensation.

  Not that I was tragically unattractive or had an awful personality. It’s just that most people needed an end date because they had other commitments. I couldn’t give them an end date just yet.

  Rocking back on his heels at the sum, Rhys seemed momentarily struck dumb.

  Good, because I needed him gone! “Look, Mr. Morgan, my bosses will be here any minute so I would really appreciate you leaving. Now. Now would be good.” I indicated the door behind me. “Bye-bye.” He didn’t move. “Adios?” Still staring at me. “Vámonos. Ciao. Au revoir.” I sighed heavily. “Shoo.”

  He scowled. “Did you just shoo me?”

  “Only if it worked.”

  “Darlin’, you’re cracked in the head. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  “Look—”

  “Parker, there you are!”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing a door to a multidimensional would open so I could shove Rhys Morgan into its dark depths and hope he ended up in a world of giant sand snakes.

  My boss had arrived.

  Opening my eyes, I turned, pasting on a bright smile as Jackson Sánchez, my boss, strolled toward me with Mr. Fairchild on one side and Jackson’s fiancée, Camille, on the other.

  My stomach lurched.

  When Jackson said Mr. Fairchild wanted to meet the newest member of the team (that would be me), I’d promised him I was bringing my boyfriend, knowing I needed to impress Fairchild. Not only did I feel bad about lying to Jackson, whom I genuinely liked and admired, I now
was without said boyfriend. Because of the caveman at my side. A caveman who was quite possibly going to blurt out what I’d done and ruin any chance I had of extending my contract with Horus. In fact, I’d probably get fired.

  Where was a sand snake dimension when you needed one?

  The three of them crowded in around us and I swear those butterflies returned with a fury, definitely intent on suffocating the life out of me.

  I was so doomed.

  “Mr. Fairchild, this is our newest and most impressive recruit, Parker Brown.” Jackson grinned at me.

  I held out my hand to Mr. Fairchild.

  Franklin Fairchild was from Boston’s old money. He’d taken what he’d inherited as a young man and quadrupled it by investing it wisely. By his own admission, he was surrounded by a great team of advisors. It was those same advisors that told him renewable energy was a smart place to invest.

  He wasn’t particularly green, which chafed a little, as he had way more input in the company than I’d thought a guy like him would have time for.

  Fairchild shook my hand, an aggressive, energetic pump up and down. “Tiny woman, big brain, huh?” He laughed.

  Oh yeah, like I’d never heard that one before. My smile was pained. When Jackson turned to Rhys, my smile was paralyzed with agony.

  “And this must be the boyfriend.” Jackson couldn’t hide the surprise on his face. Of course he was surprised! Rhys was not at all what anyone would expect of me and I certainly knew I wasn’t Rhys Morgan’s type. A guy like him probably dated women with massive breasts and asses honed to defy gravity from daily squat thrusts.

  My mouth was opening, the word no about to spill out in great vehemence when—

  “Yeah.” Rhys held out a hand to shake Jackson’s. “I’m Parker’s boyfriend. Rhys. How’s it going?”

  I think my brain was having a signaling issue because I thought I just heard him say he was my boyfriend.

  Rhys smirked at me, the devil dancing in those disarming eyes.

  He did!