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.