Outmatched: A Novel

by Kristen Callihan

  “He’s very lucky.”

  “Yes, I know.” My sister shot me a look. “But I’m allowed to think I’m lucky too.”

  “Of course, you are. Omelet, you say.” I mused over the menu. “I’m thinking bagel.”

  “You’re distracted today. You were distracted last night too.”

  “Work is all-consuming,” I lied.

  The truth was I’d been worrying about my parents finding out about Rhys and, at the same time, a little disconcerted to find myself itching to text the man. When he’d dropped me off after the party, I’d told him I’d be in touch when I needed him next.

  So far there’d been no need of him.

  Hmm.

  The waiter arrived and my sister and I studied each other. I was waiting for the Stephen Chancer bomb-drop, and she was waiting for me to admit there was something going on I hadn’t told her about.

  My cell sounded a musical ditty that announced a text. “I have to,” I said apologetically as I reached for my purse. “It could be work.”

  It wasn’t work.

  HotHarley: No hours for me this weekend, Tinker Bell?

  I grinned, hearing his Boston accent in my head.

  ParkerB: Bored, Morgan?

  HotHarley: I don’t do bored. Got nothing, then?

  ParkerB: Not this weekend. You’re free to watch wildlife documentaries. I’ll send some tissues.

  HotHarley: No need. I have my own. What you up to?

  I frowned at the question, even as my stomach fluttered.

  ParkerB: I’m spending time with my sister. We’re ordering breakfast.

  HotHarley: Well, if you weren’t so stuck on keeping our deal from your family, I could have made you both my famous frittata.

  He cooked?

  He rode a hot bike (the emission levels were terrible and my guilt was real over the fact that it had not diminished its appeal nearly enough), he watched wildlife documentaries, and he cooked.

  Ugh, I should have stuck with Dean. He was way less complicated.

  ParkerB: Is that a euphemism? Or did you just admit to being able to cook?

  HotHarley: I just admitted to being able to FUCKING cook. There’s a difference.

  “Okay, who are you texting that’s making you smile like that?” Easton’s voice cut through my Rhys bubble.

  My head jerked up. I was mortified to realize I’d momentarily forgotten she was there. “Um, my boss.” I hedged. “He’s a funny guy.”

  “Single?” Easton asked, hopeful.

  I snorted. “No. Even if he was, you’re really encouraging me to sleep with my boss?”

  “I’m encouraging you to be happy.”

  “And that requires a man?”

  Easton narrowed her eyes. “You know it doesn’t. But it does require moving on. It’s been thirteen years, Parker. Don’t you think it’s time?”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to.” I shrugged. “However, I know how it’s supposed to feel, and I’ve tried to find it again and failed. Maybe a person is only allowed it once in their lives. Why waste all that energy dating men who don’t fit when I can just concentrate on the things that make me happy? Like my job. And helping my little sister plan the wedding of the century.”

  Now it was Easton’s turn to snort. “Helping me plan a wedding is the equivalent to dental torture for you.”

  “I’m your maid of honor.”

  “Yes. You are. But I love you and I don’t want to torture you, so I officially release you from all maid-of-honor duties. Just turn up for the dress fittings and the wedding events and I’ll be happy.”

  “I love you, you know that, right?”

  She grinned. “I’m very lovable.”

  “You are. But I refuse to relinquish my maid-of-honor duties. My little sister is getting married and I want to be a part of it.” Even if my idea of a bachelorette party was a quiz night followed by takeout and hanging out at my apartment with the girls. Somehow, I didn’t think that would cut it for Easton. It was going to have to involve a trip somewhere. Vegas or Hawaii.

  And she’d want strippers.

  Mostly to mortify our mother.

  “Fine, but I want strippers on my bachelorette trip,” Easton said, pointing a finger at me, her expression determined.

  Chuckling to myself, I nodded as I glanced down at my cell.

  ParkerB: Do you know any male strippers?

  There was no immediate answer.

  As I bit into my bagel, I got a text.

  HotHarley: I’m gonna have to charge extra for that, Tinker Bell.

  I laughed, almost choking on my breakfast.

  “Your boss really must be funny, huh?” Easton had a knowing twinkle in her eye.

  Oh God, I didn’t know what was worse. Worrying about my parents finding out from Stephen Chancer’s aunt that I was “dating” Rhys Morgan, or my sister thinking I had a crush on Jackson.

  This is what happened when you lied, people.

  In the words of Sir Walter Scott, “Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.”

  “Did you just mutter Shakespeare under your breath?” Easton asked.

  Poor Sir Walter Scott. “I’m thinking Hawaii for the bachelorette.” I sought to distract her again.

  Her eyes lit up. “Ooh, yes. Strippers in loincloths. Mom will die.”

  I shook my head at her determination to mortify our mother, but deep down, I was a little jealous. Easton wasn’t a people-pleaser. She did what she wanted, no matter what. It just so happened most of what she wanted to do with her life fit into my parents’ ideas of the perfect career woman/society lady.

  Yet Easton didn’t fear disappointing our parents. She didn’t strive to make them happy above her own happiness, and in fact, she liked to find little ways (like hiring male strippers) to ruffle their feathers.

  The truth was, I knew why I so desperately wanted to please the people I loved. It was a grief buried deep down, and although I wished I could let it go, live my life as a grown woman who didn’t care about her parents’ opinion, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to.

  “And we have to make Mom wear a grass skirt,” Easton continued.

  “When hell freezes over, Easton. When hell freezes over.”

  My sister frowned in thought and then nodded. “The strippers will just have to do.”

  Rhys

  * * *

  Parker didn’t text me again. It shouldn’t pluck at my guts, but it did. She’d asked if I knew any male strippers. Seriously? I’d like to think she was joking, but I was fairly certain she wasn’t. Which meant, somewhere out there, prissy Parker Brown was hunting down male entertainment.

  My fingers twitched, tapping out an agitated rhythm on my desk. Why did she want a stripper? Best guess was a bachelorette party. I couldn’t picture it, though. Couldn’t see Parker, with her cute little skirts and tops that had floppy bows, getting rowdy with other women, squealing over some naked dude.

  A smile tugged on my lips. Or maybe I could. It’d be something to catch a glimpse of her like that, totally free from the stiff confines she normally held herself to. Without thought, I grabbed my phone and looked at her last texts, wanting to talk to her again.

  “Idiot,” I muttered, tossing the phone on the desk in disgust. One freaking date with the woman—one fake-ass date—and I was acting like an adolescent.

  “You’re in my seat.”

  From the doorway, Dean wore his shit-eating grin.

  “Deanie, you might be working here for the moment,” I said mildly, “but this here seat is mine.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s parked in front of my desk, so …” He waved a hand toward the door. “Shove off.”

  “It’s amusing the way you think I’m going to listen to you.”

  Dean strolled into the office. The little shit actually had on a suit. “It’s not like you’re working. I watched you stare off into space for the past ten minutes.”

  The knot in my stomach twisted tighter.
r />   “You’ve been watching me for ten minutes? That’s creepy, little bro.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “No, what’s creepy is the witless smile you had on your face the whole time. Well, just before you snapped out of it and grimaced like you had indigestion.”

  Crap. I’d been smiling? God, no. I didn’t know what horrified me more—that I’d been making goofy faces or that Dean had caught me. When he kept on silently laughing at my expense, I rubbed my eye with my middle finger.

  “Nice.” Dean looked me over like he was trying to read my mind. “What’s got you loopy-eyed? Could it be a certain preppy heiress?”

  This line of conversation had to end. Fast.

  I stood and stretched the kink out of my tense neck. “I was considering all the ways I could make your life a living hell while you’re here.”

  Pocketing my phone with casual ease, because I did not want to check for texts, I rounded the desk and clasped Dean’s shoulder. “See that pile of papers on the conference table?”

  The table in question ran along the far length of the room and could seat fifteen.

  “Piles of paper, Rhys. I see piles.”

  I grinned. “That’s the accounting work for Lights Out.”

  His eyes widened in horror. “You don’t have it on the computer?”

  I did. But he didn’t need to know that. Shrugging, I let his stiff shoulder go. “Guess Dad liked doing things the old-fashioned way, and I haven’t had the time to get around to it. I guess it’s up to you.”

  A few ripe curses ripped through the air as Dean stalked over to the table and lifted a folder to thumb through it. “I’ll be here all fucking month!”

  That was the idea. And he’d never get the chance to see the true mess Dad left behind.

  “Then you better start now.” I made a show of glancing at my watch. “I’m going to get a coffee. You want one? You’ll probably need the caffeine.”

  “Fuck you, Rhys,” he said it without much heat, already slumped down on a conference chair and reaching for more files. “Seriously. Fuck you. This is an embarrassment. And you call me irresponsible. No wonder the gym is on shaky ground.” His brows winged up as he looked over his shoulder at me. “How can you possibly run a business this way?”

  “Hey, I never said I was a businessman.” In truth, I wasn’t bad at business. But it was damn near impossible to be in the black when you started off with a mountain of debt. And I damn near shuddered at how my relatively innocent brother would have received that bit of news.

  Although I was deliberately messing with him, I couldn’t ignore the small twinge of shame at his disappointment. He’d looked up to me all his life. I’d been his idol. Now, he clearly saw me as a has-been and a fuck-up.

  I was beginning to think I’d never rid myself of the hot, sticky tar of regret and rage that coated my insides and pulled on my skin. It shouldn’t matter what others thought of me. But Dean mattered. I both loved and hated him for it.

  Without saying another word, I turned and left the office, the sound of Dean’s bitching following me down the hall.

  Carlos met up with me in the lobby. “Please tell me Dean working here is one of his jokes.”

  “It is, but he seems determined to try.” I glanced at the office. “How long he’ll actually keep at it is anyone’s guess.”

  “He is easily bored.”

  “Usually.” Grimacing, I headed for the lounge. It wasn’t in the shape I wanted it to be; we needed something better than yellowing vending machines and two ancient coffee makers. In my mind’s eye, I replaced the clunky percolator with a push-button espresso maker, set up a new juice bar on the far side of the room, and changed the cracked tile floors to smooth, wide hardwoods.

  Fairchild could make it happen. With his money, I could fix everything; more importantly, I could hire instructors and trainers and get bodies in the door, membership cards in their hands. Admiring my former career wasn’t enough, though. I had to figure out how to sell this place to him. I might be an okay businessman, but I definitely wasn’t a good salesman.

  I poured myself a cup of truly shitty coffee and faced Carlos. He punched in the code for a power drink and bent to retrieve it.

  “You aren’t worried about Dean getting into the accounting?” Carlos twisted the cap off the bottle and took a long drink.

  “I left every bill and financial transaction the gym has had since time began on the conference room table and told him nothing was on the computer.”

  Carlos choked on his drink. “Damn, man. That’s just evil.”

  “But necessary. Hopefully Dean will give up long before he realizes there are holes in the accounting.”

  Laughing, Carlos followed me out of the lounge. We headed toward the front stoop. Sadly, the gym smelled like feet—something I couldn’t figure out how to get rid of—and the stoop was the only place we could get some fresh air and be certain Dean wouldn’t hear us.

  The sunshine blinded me as I stepped outside. Yet another reminder of how dark and dank the damn gym was. I glared down into my Styrofoam cup and then tossed the whole thing into the nearby trashcan. I didn’t want shitty coffee. I didn’t want to be here at all.

  Do not think about her.

  Was she really hiring a stripper?

  “Fuck me.”

  Carlos raised a brow. “Sorry, bro. There are some things I am unwilling to do. You’ll just have to live with disappointment that my extraordinary dick is unattainable.”

  I snorted. “I guess that dream will have to die.” I was about to give him shit when a Land Rover rolled up in front of the gym. A much-needed tide of white-hot rage crashed through my system. I planted my feet and let it ride.

  At my side, Carlos stood up, his hands fisting. “Puñeta.”

  A chauffeur opened the back door, and a tall blond guy got out. Garret.

  Ignoring the ribald Spanish curses flowing from Carlos’s mouth, I tried not to glare down at the guy. But he was a persistent fucker.

  He nodded at us both as he stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “I wondered if you had time to chat?”

  “If it’s about buying the gym, then I don’t think so,” I said.

  “I have a new offer for you.”

  Shit. My gut churned. Part of me wondered if turning this guy away made my choices just as fucked up as my dad’s. “The gym is not on the market. It would just be a waste of your time and mine.”

  Garret sighed and glanced down the street before turning back to me. “I know you’re in trouble with the bank.”

  Heat crawled up my neck, but I kept my voice neutral despite my anger. “Yeah? And how the fuck would you know anything about my finances?”

  He shrugged. “I know people.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t know me, Garret. I’m not selling my gym.” I crossed my arms over my chest and spread my legs.

  Garret’s gaze drifted over me. “I understand pride, Mr. Morgan. But if you’d put yours aside for a minute, you’d realize I’m doing you a favor.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  His smile was thin, half amused, half pissed off. “When the bank takes this place from you, they’ll auction it off on the cheap.”

  Like I didn’t know this. I had nightmares about it. They’d auction off my gym and then turn around and suddenly I’d be on stage. Behold the final death of a broke-down boxer’s pride. So, yeah, I knew about pride. Sometimes it was all you had.

  “Makes me wonder why you’re bothering now, instead of waiting.”

  Garret shrugged. “Maybe I’m just a nice guy.”

  “Maybe.” But he wasn’t. In my experience, no one was when it came to money. No, somewhere in Garret’s head, he feared I wouldn’t fail and he wanted to snap the gym up now. It bolstered me, and I stared him down.

  Finally, he nodded. “You know where I am if you change your mind.”

  The tension released from my body as he walked back to his fancy SUV.

  Carlos’s shoulders sagged but
his chin remained stubbornly fixed. “You’re doing the right thing.”

  “Am I?”

  He nodded. “It’s the last resort. We’re not there yet.”

  “All we got is ourselves. And the promise of Parker Brown’s connections.”

  “You better hope your fake sweetheart has some generous ones.”

  I didn’t know what I’d do if Fairchild failed to take the bait. But I’d figure it out when I got there. The gym door squeaked open. Dean frowned down at us. “Who was that?”

  “Who?” Carlos parroted, looking around. “I don’t see anyone.”

  Dean rolled his eyes. “The guy in the Land Rover. You know, the one with the chauffeur?”

  My jaw clenched. “One of Parker’s friends looking for boxing lessons.”

  Carlos muttered at my side—something about my lying abilities being faster than my jabs.

  I headed back up the stairs. “You finished with the files?”

  Dean was still peering down the road, a thoughtful look on his face. “Fuck you, Rhys.” His blue eyes, the exact color of my mother’s, met mine. “I thought you were getting me a coffee.”

  “I was just about to go. You want to come?”

  He got a look on his face as though he couldn’t figure out if I was still messing with him. I wasn’t. For once, I didn’t want to fight with my baby brother. I wanted to remember what it was like when we got along. I wanted to forget this fucking day.

  “Naw,” he said. “I’ll just grab a Coke out of the machine.”

  He slipped back inside, and I tried not to feel disappointed. Without thought, I pulled out my phone.

  RhysThis: Tink, about this stripping gig. Am I going to need a sparkly thong? Or are you down for the full monty?

  * * *

  Parker didn’t answer. And I tried not to feel disappointed about that either.

  Eight

  Parker

  * * *

  I paced the sitting room in the apartment I shared with Zoe. My mind volleyed between giving up the ruse with Rhys and finding a new job.

  Out of my periphery, I could see my roommate’s head swinging as she watched me.