“Good! It’s not like I wanted you to buy this place anyway.”

“This place,” I ground out, “was Dad’s dream, his legacy to us.”

“Exactly. His dream. His legacy.” Dean flung an arm up. “It was never about me. You were the golden boy, the star. I can see why you’d want it, but don’t include me in this.”

“Fine.” I set my mug down with a sigh. “Regardless. If I hang around Parker, and therefore, Fairchild, I can try to convince him to sponsor the gym.”

Dean paced, grabbing at the ends of his hair. “So instead of me being pimped out, you’re going to pimp yourself out? Am I getting that right?” He laughed again. “Fucking unbelievable.”

He stopped short and faced me. “You know what I don’t get? Why the hell do you even need money? You were making bank when you were boxing. Where the hell did it all go? And don’t tell me it went into the gym and my education again. You made way more than that.”

What was I supposed to tell him? That a huge chunk of my early earnings had gone to paying for Mom’s cancer bills? We lived in the supposed best country in the world, yet my middle-class family was quickly bankrupted because my mom had been dying and my dad, who owned his own business and didn’t have good insurance, couldn’t afford the hospital bills. I’d stepped up and paid them.

Maybe Dean knew that much. But he sure as hell didn’t know that Dad, who had been my manager and was supposed to handle my money as well, lost almost all of it on shitty investments and gambling. That I hadn’t known the extent of the damage until after I’d bought the gym and paid for Dean’s tuition.

I could barely stomach that as it was. Dad had been my idol. Until he wasn’t. And frankly, I felt like a damn fool for letting it happen. That’s what you got when you trusted somebody, even the ones you loved. If you wanted to survive in this world, you didn’t let anyone fully in.

“The money is gone,” I said instead. “But the gym could turn a good profit if we updated it. We need new equipment, to redo the locker rooms… hell, the whole place needs a good coat of paint. In this market, we won’t be able to pull in new members if Lights Out stays looking like a shithole.”

I didn’t mention the offer from Garret. Dean would tell me to take it and I wasn’t hearing that. It was the last possible solution. “If the gym becomes profitable,” I added, “you’ll earn money too.”

Because the place was half Dean’s, whether he wanted it or not. I’d made certain to give him that safety net.

I expected him to scoff as he usually did when I spoke of the gym. But he nodded, tight and decisive.

“Okay, then. You got the job being Parker’s fun boy.”

“Believe me, there will be no fun involved.”

“Please. I’ve seen her. She’s hot. Audrey Hepburn hot, but nevertheless, hot.”

I didn’t want to agree. Not when I had to face the woman every day. But Dean was right. She was a total Hepburn. I’d bet my best leather jacket that she had a strand of perfectly matched pearls in her jewelry box—and that she’d look classy as fuck in them.

“Doesn’t matter what she looks like,” I told Dean. “We have a business agreement. Nothing more.”

“Nothing?” Dean’s blond brows lifted high. “Because I could have sworn there was a hint of maybe the arrangement leading to—”

I lifted a hand to stop him. I did not want to hear about Parker’s apparent willingness to actually date Dean. It stirred up feelings in my gut that I wanted no part of.

“Trust me,” I said. “It’s all business.”

He grinned wide and knowing. Smug bastard. “Interesting.”

“Whatever.” I grabbed my cup and poured the cold remnants of coffee into the sink.

At my back, Dean snickered. When I turned around, he still wore the smirk.

“So,” he said expansively, “while you’re Parker’s neutered pet…” He just loved rubbing it in. “I’ll take a nice, office job, just as you wanted.”

“Well, okay, then,” I said, pleased to hear him finally making sense.

“Thought you’d like that.” He was far too happy. “So you won’t object to taking your things out of the office. Because I’m going to need the space.”

Wait. “What?”

Dean looked at me as though I was two years old. “As the one with the big math-type brain, I’m going to sit my ass down and manage the accounts of Lights Out.”

When I simply stared, he tutted and shook his head slightly.

“You’ve been saying you’re crap at account managing. Well, move over, bro. Because I’m the new office manager.”

Shit. He’d go through the accounts. He’d find out about the second mortgage, and just how deep in the red we were. He’d find out about everything.