“Tinker Bell, you’re rambling.” Rhys cut me off.

He was grinning. Huge. Self-satisfied. Very, very pleased with himself for rattling me.

The big jerk. “If you’re done crowing, I’ll need your number.” I pulled my cell out of the small backpack I had with me and waited.

Rhys gave me his number.

“Okay. I’ve sent you a text so you have my number now. Text me your bank details. I’ll send the payment at the end of the first month.” I slipped my cell back into my backpack along with the contract. “I’ll be in touch.”

“I’ll be awaiting your call, boss.”

I sniffed haughtily and moved to stride past him. “That’s an improvement on Tinker Bell.”

Just as I cleared his personal space, I felt a tug on my ponytail and let out a little squawk as my hair tumbled down around my shoulders. Whirling around, I glared at the sight of my ponytail holder dangling from his fingertips. “What the heck?”

He shrugged. “No one would believe I’d date a woman who wears a ponytail other than to work out. You have nice hair.” His gaze looked over said hair. “Why hide it?”

“Because,” I said, snatching the holder back, “I rode my bike here and I need to be able to see, not to be constantly shoving windblown locks out of my eyes. I’m sorry if that interferes with your caveman expectations of what constitutes feminine beauty, but if you get to say the F word, I get to wear my ponytail.” I spun away, my strides furious and stompy.

“You got a lot of rage in you, Tinker Bell,” he called at my back.

I pulled open his office door with one hand and threw up my middle finger with the other. His laughter followed me all the way down the hall.

If we made it through this ruse with me going to prison for assault instead of murder, I’d call it a win.

The guy really pushed my buttons.

And I hadn’t even known I had any.

Six

Rhys

AngryTink: Hey. This is Parker. Parker Brown.

My phone dinged loudly. I fumbled around my bed, finally finding the damn thing under a pillow. Wiping the sleep off my face, I rolled onto my back and read the text that had pulled me out of a pleasant sleep. I smiled. It was just so … Parker. Settling in, I answered her.

RhysThis: Don’t have to tell me who you are. Your number is programmed on my phone. What do you want?

AngryTink: Well, good morning to you too, Happy Pants.

My smile turned into an evil grin. The girl was always going to punch back and make it count.

RhysThis: That’s Mr. Happy Pants. Though, TBH, my pants aren’t too happy at the moment. Want to help me out with that?

AngryTink: Tempting. Truly. But, no.

RhysThis: RU sure? ‘Cuz Happy Pants Rhys is much more agreeable than Sad That He Had to Self-Satisfy Rhys.

AngryTink: Would you please behave?

RhysThis: I’m not the one who mentioned the emotional state of my pants.

AngryTink: ARGH!

A chuckle rumbled in my chest as my thumbs tapped out a response I knew would piss her off more.

RhysThis: Was that even English? Honestly, Ms. Brown, I thought you were educated.

She took a moment to answer. I could picture her, phone in hand, grinding her teeth.

AngryTink: You’re deliberately trying to annoy me, aren’t you?

RhysThis: You’re quick. I’ll give you that.

AngryTink: Mr. Morgan, I’m about ten seconds away from finding an alternate fake boyfriend. A goat on a rope would be a better candidate at this point.

It was cute she thought that was threatening.

RhysThis: Yeah, probably. But the goat doesn’t have a signed contract. I do, Tinker Bell.

AngryTink: [email protected]!!

RhysThis: You’re kind of cute when you talk pirate.

She didn’t answer. Rubbing my chest, I sat up in bed and tried again.

RhysThis: Parker? You there?

RhysThis: Parker?

Hell. Maybe I pushed too far. Or maybe she dropped her phone. Or threw it. She might have thrown it.

RhysThis: You really going to give up that easily?

The phone rang in my hand, startling me. Parker Brown. I guess we were through with texting.

“You missed the sound of my voice, didn’t you?” I asked.

Hers was crisp with irritation. “My thumbs got tired. Would you please behave yourself for a moment, Morgan?”

“Misbehaving is much more fun.”

“Be that as it may, I have business to discuss.”

So fucking proper. It shouldn’t have turned me on. But it did. Which was unfortunate. Scowling, I hauled myself out of bed and walked toward the kitchen. Coffee was in order. Coffee and a good dose of reality. Flirting with Parker Brown was a stupid idea.

“All right,” I said, filling the carafe. “What’s up?”

“We’ve been invited to a cocktail party tonight.”

“Aw, look at us, already getting invited to places as a couple.”

She let out a long-suffering sigh. “Honestly, the speed in which they accepted our fallacy as a reality surprised me as well.”

“I bet.” I snorted and flicked on the brewer. “Just chalk it up to the magic of my winning personality.”

“More like your winning record,” she muttered.

“Nice volley, sweetheart.” I grabbed a cup off the shelf. “And a hard punch too. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“There’s a lot in me that you don’t know about… wait… I don’t know if that made sense. Never mind. The point is that you don’t know me.”

I smirked at her rambling. She was too cute.

Focus, Rhys. I poured myself a cup of coffee and took a much-needed sip. “So, where’s this gig tonight? Some fancy hotel?”

“No. It’s on Fairchild’s boat.”

“I’m not wearing boating shoes, Parker. I’m saying that right now.”

“His boat is a two-hundred-foot yacht, Morgan. No boating shoes required.”

Right. I should have known. Suffocating heat invaded my chest, and I set down my cup with a clink. Who was I kidding? I was a racehorse being pulled out and put on display so the guests could get a good look at the merchandise. It was my job here, and forgetting that was stupid.

Parker nervously filled the silence with more rambling. “No, I think a nice pair of trousers and a button-down shirt would work. If you’d like, I’d be happy to provide you with—”

“I told you I had proper clothes.” I rolled my tense shoulders and glanced at my closet. The thought of putting them on made my skin tighten. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head. I won’t embarrass you.”

“You are determined to be in a foul mood over this, aren’t you?”

“Let’s just say the only woman allowed to pick out my clothes was my mother, and that stopped when I was seven.”

“Fine. Moving on, we need to get our stories straight about how we met. I was going to discuss this with you on Saturday, but …”

She trailed off with a strangled sound. And I found myself smiling again.

“I distracted you, didn’t I?”

She didn’t say a thing. Because we both knew it was true.