A summons, then.

“Thanks,” I said. “Bye, Andrew.”

“Oh—ah … Goodbye, Mr. Morgan.”

As soon as it was silent, Parker snickered, leaning her head into the hollow of my shoulder. I liked her there. “He scared me to death,” she said.

A reluctant smile pulled on my lips. “Yeah, me too. I thought he was in the room.”

We both chuckled, a release of tension. But then Parker pulled back. “I guess we better get out there before he shows up in person.”

“He shows up in person and I’m tossing him out the window.” I groaned and buried my face in her neck, idly kissing along the smooth curve—because I could. Because she smelled so damn good and felt even better. “Fuck it. Let’s stay here. They can figure out why.”

She shivered when I hit a particularly sensitive spot, and I was gratified to find her arching into me. But her hand slid to my shoulder and stayed my progress. “You know Fairchild won’t give up that easily.”

With a sigh, I set her down and ran a hand over my hair. “Yeah. Fuck, I hate that guy.”

Parker fixed her pink cashmere sweater. “I do too. But it is what it is.”

“I thought I’d charm him a little, not give him a permanent boxing boner for me.”

A choked laugh escaped Parker, and she grinned. “You should be more careful with that charm, Morgan. It’s very potent.”

Chuckling, I bent my head and kissed her. “I’ll save it all for you from now on.” When she hummed in satisfaction, I eased back and met her gaze. “I don’t know how, but one day, when you’re safe from retaliation, I’m going to make sure he gets what’s coming to him.” Specifically, an ass-kicking.

She smiled wide with a spark of evil glee that I loved. “Just make sure I’m there to witness it.”

“Count on it, sweetheart.” I kissed the tip of her nose, then held out my hand to her. She took it and something inside me locked into place.

Before we headed out of the room, I paused. The phone system made a pleasing sound when I yanked it out of the wall and cracked it in my hand. Parker squeaked and laughed.

“Rhys!”

“It needed to be done.” I tossed the phone aside and grinned. “Let’s do this.”

Sixteen

Parker

For the first time, walking into a room with Rhys holding my hand didn’t make me feel like a fraud. Or that any minute someone would jump up and point at us and shout, “Aha! Stop right there, you charlatans!”

Not that anyone really talked like that in real life.

Still, despite being trapped in Fairchild’s house, I walked with giddiness in my step.

Rhys Morgan and I were now officially a real thing.

I didn’t know how it had happened or what would happen between us in the future—I just knew I had to explore it. Our chemistry could not be ignored.

Yes, I was unbelievably attracted to Rhys, more than I’d ever been attracted to anyone, but it was more than that. He was a really good man. I felt like I could trust him.

That was a huge deal for me.

He was the first guy since Theo who made me feel brave enough to take the chance on something real. The idea of walking away hadn’t even crossed my mind. I should probably be overanalyzing that and freaking out, but thankfully, there was plenty to distract me from doing so.

As we wandered into the main living room of Franklin Fairchild’s house, Rhys’s hand tightened reflexively in mine. A few of my colleagues and their partners were gathered, drinks in hand. Fairchild stood in front of the fireplace talking with Jackson.

His house was … interesting.

A massive Renaissance painting hung above the huge brick fireplace. Situated around the hearth were sofas and chairs where my colleagues sat beneath large, circular wrought iron chandeliers that held electric candles.

These would not have looked out of place in a medieval banquet hall.

A tapestry hung on the opposing wall; suits of armor stood at quiet attention in several corners. All of it distracted guests from the massive picture window perpendicular to the fireplace that captured the stunning snow-covered landscape beyond.

Two smaller windows on either side did just as beautiful a job framing the scenery.

Yet, that view, that amazing view, was lost in the over-the-top decoration that said Franklin Fairchild saw himself as some kind of feudal lord.

As soon as Rhys and I crossed the threshold into the room, a server approached us. “Drinks, sir? Madam?” He gestured to a small bar tucked into the far corner.

“Tink?” Rhys said.

“Uh … I’ll have a beer.”

“Make that two.”

“Export or import?”

I pressed my lips together to stop my laughter at Rhys’s expression. He covered the flash of incredulity and replied, “Whatever you recommend.”

“Bottled or draft?”

Rhys looked at me. I shrugged. He turned back to the guy. “Bottled is fine.”