“Morgan!” Fairchild’s voice cut through us, reminding me we were not alone.

Rhys turned toward the voice, dropping one hand but sliding his other arm around my waist. Mr. Fairchild crossed the upper deck with the tall, glamorous redhead from earlier. She wore a white dress that clung to every smooth curve of her body, of which there were plenty. Her huge breasts strained against the draped, low neckline of the dress, so much so even I stared.

Mine were bee stings in comparison.

“Morgan, this is Adriana Bellington. She attended one of your fights, immediately recognized you—”

“And forced Fairchild to introduce us.” Adriana fluttered her lashes at him. If it were possible, I think even her boobs were fluttering at Rhys.

I was discomfited to find myself comparing assets as the redhead pulled Rhys away from me to kiss his cheeks and crush her humongous tatas against his chest.

I’d never felt insecure about my figure but then I’d never pretend dated a guy whose usual type was voluptuous women. That niggle of insecurity was accompanied by more than a hint of annoyance.

He was my fake boyfriend. Who cared if he preferred watermelons over my little peaches? He’d never get near them for it to be an issue.

“Nice to meet you,” Rhys said to Adriana, moving back toward me and doing an admirable job of averting his gaze from her enviable frontage.

The redhead flicked a look and summarily dismissed me, and moved a little closer to Rhys. “I’ve just taken over ownership of Sportbox.”

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “The sports network?”

“The very one.”

A successful businesswoman, in sports, and she was ridiculously sexy.

Wonderful.

“We’re making boxing a focus. It’s a pity you’re no longer fighting. Perhaps we could grab a drink together and you can tell me what you’ve been up to?” Adriana nodded her head toward the bar.

“A sound idea,” Fairchild agreed. “Perhaps you can let me convince the man to come out of retirement.”

Adriana smiled at Rhys in a way there was no misinterpreting the come-on. “Oh, I’m very good at convincing a man to see things my way.”

“Oh wow,” I muttered before I could stop myself.

Seriously?

Rhys appeared to be struggling not to laugh as he wrapped his arm around my waist again and pulled me into his side. A minute ago, I’d felt feminine and fragile in his arms and with those feelings came unexpected sexy ones. Who knew overwhelming masculinity could be a turn-on?

Now, however, next to Adriana Bellington, I felt like a little girl.

It was upsetting that my fake date could provoke such feelings of self-doubt.

I did not like this revelation at all.

Rhys was unaware of my inner turmoil as he stroked a hand down my hip. “I’m here with my girlfriend, actually.”

Adriana’s features flattened with surprise and displeasure.

This was how it would always be, I realized. No one in Rhys’s previous or current circle would ever believe he would date someone like me, and no one in mine would believe I’d date someone like him.

“Well, it was nice to see you.” Adriana flicked a look at me. “And meet you.” She turned to Fairchild. “We’ll talk later about the Hamilton deal.”

Fairchild nodded and watched her walk away. She was something to watch. He turned to us. “What a woman.” He winked at Rhys. “You’ve got an ‘in’ there.”

My jaw dropped.

It might have even made a sound hitting the floor.

Rhys’s hold on me tightened. “Not meaning any disrespect, sir, but I’m not sure that’s the kind of thing I like you saying in front of my girl.”

Fairchild blinked and then stared at me as if he were seeing me for the first time. “Oh. Of course. I meant no harm by it. My apologies.” My boss gave me the first genuine smile I’d ever received from him. “Very rude of me.”

“It’s quite alright,” I lied because I’d been raised to accept an apology when it was given. And also because I was still trying to impress this man even if that made me feel like a sell-out.

“Yes, yes, Jackson has been very impressed by you, Parker. And if you managed to make this man settle down,” he said, slapping Rhys on the shoulder, “then that’s truly impressive.”

Thankfully, he told us he’d be right back and disappeared so I could turn to Rhys and growl my frustration.

A real, honest-to-goodness growl.

My fake date snorted.

“It’s not funny,” I hissed, turning toward the water. “He’s despicable. I’m suddenly worthy of his attention because I’m not just some girl you’re taking ‘for a ride’ but someone you are serious about. He is everything that is male and white and privileged and wrong about this country.”

Rhys leaned on the railing, his arm brushing mine. “Then why are you trying to impress the guy? You got money to tide you over while you find another job.”

I looked at him, startled to find his face so close. His proximity afforded me the opportunity to study his eyes. There was a ring of light golden brown around the inner iris that I’d never noticed before. The vivid pale green of the outer iris swam into the golden brown, so startling you could never call them hazel.

Mossy green, I thought.

A beautiful mossy green.

And naturally soulful too. A woman could fall into those eyes if she wasn’t careful.

With a sigh, I looked out at the water. “Because I love my job. It’s an important job and it’s everything I’ve worked for. My family wanted me to join their fancy law firm in New York and I refused because this is what I wanted to do. And I hate disappointing my family. That’s how much I want this job.”

“So we put up with him.”

I wrinkled my nose. “He doesn’t seem to bother you that much.”

Rhys shrugged. “We’re trying to impress the guy. I’m not going to be outright rude to him even when he’s being a prick.”

I jumped on that. “You think he’s a p-r-i-c-k?”

He threw me that boyish grin as he gestured behind us. “I think they’re all pricks—if you sound out your words, Tinker Bell, you’ll get there eventually.”

I rolled my eyes and decided to ignore that. “Well, that’s not fair. About them being pri—nkles. You don’t know them.”

“Let’s be clear.” He turned toward me. “I didn’t call them prinkles. That sounds like something you put on a fucking cupcake. And I know enough about these people to know most of them are pricks.” A hint of bitterness laced his words.

“If you think these are ‘my people,’ you must think I’m a prinkle too.”

Rhys smirked. “Do I think you’d taste nice on a cupcake? Yeah, I fucking do.”

Determined not to laugh at his teasing in case it encouraged him, I fought a smile and shook my head at him like he was a naughty schoolboy. This just seemed to delight him more.

“Truthfully,” he said, nudging me with his arm, “what’s with the schoolmarm, no-cussing thing?”

My amusement died. “It’s not a thing. I just don’t like curse words.”

“You’re a grown woman, denying herself the right to a gratifying ‘fuck’ every now and then. That ain’t right.”