Outmatched: A Novel

by Kristen Callihan

  The whole point of the dinner was to show Fairchild I was an important addition to the team. All he cared about was Rhys.

  “You derailed my dinner,” I seethed.

  “Derailed it?” Rhys huffed. “Anytime Jackson brought up the subject of renewable energy, Fairchild’s eyes glazed over. You should thank me for keeping the guy interested enough to stay through the entire meal.”

  “Yes, I so enjoyed him constantly grilling you about how much blood you’ve spilled and how many women you’ve bedded. That’s what I always look for in my dinner conversation.”

  “Hey, it’s not my fault your boss has no manners. The point is, I kept his interest. The guy loves me.”

  Ugh, unfortunately true.

  “It seems to me if you want this guy to keep you around, then the way to do that is to pay me the two thousand dollars a week to be your fake boyfriend. He wants me around and where you go, I go, right?”

  I stumbled to a halt, the anger mixing with frustration because I knew there was logic in his proposal. He was absolutely correct. And I hated it. “I don’t know you from Adam.”

  The muscle in his jaw ticked. “Like you know my brother from Adam? Or is the difference that he has a degree and I’m an uneducated meathead who runs a gym?”

  Why did he deliberately try to see the worst in me? “You are very prejudiced.”

  Rhys’s expression darkened. “Tinker Bell, like you said, you don’t fucking know me.”

  “Don’t curse at me.” I crossed my arms over my chest, refusing to be intimidated by him even though my legs were shaking a little at the idea of agreeing to his proposal. “I’m hardly going to hire a guy who hates me because I grew up with money.”

  He exhaled heavily, his earlier tension seeming to dissolve. “Tinker Bell,” he said, his tone softer, “I don’t fucking know you either. How can I hate you?”

  Tinker Bell. Is that how he saw me? Tiny, spoiled, and ill-tempered? Ouch. Wrinkling my nose, I began walking again. “Don’t call me Tinker Bell.”

  “Do we have a deal?” Rhys persisted as he fell into step beside me again.

  I cut him a look. “Why do you want to do this?”

  There went that muscle in his jaw again. Tick, tick, ticking. “I need the money,” he bit out.

  As if that was something to be ashamed of?

  Still, Dean needed the money because he was unemployed. Why did an ex-professional boxer who owned a gym need money? I wouldn’t be involved in anything nefarious. I said as much to him.

  He grimaced. “It’s nothing criminal. Jesus Christ. All the money I earned boxing went to my family, to Dean’s education, and other shit they needed. Now the gym isn’t doing great and the extra cash could help inject some new life into it.”

  “You paid for your brother’s college education?”

  He grunted; I took that as confirmation.

  The anger inside me simmered a little. A guy who spent his earnings on his little brother’s education couldn’t be all bad, right? It was actually kind of sweet.

  I considered him. “If we do this, I’ll need you to be flexible with your schedule. You must be able to attend events and dinners at the drop of a hat. That was the deal with Dean.”

  Rhys looked down at me with those too-beautiful eyes and nodded. “Deal.”

  I bit my lip, hesitating over making it official. Dean was so easy-going and charming, I’d been instantly relaxed in his company. The thought of playacting a romantic relationship with him hadn’t bothered me in the least.

  I surreptitiously looked over his big brother as he strolled down the street at my side, hands in his jeans’ pockets, impatiently waiting for my answer. Butterflies fluttered to life in my belly and the slight tremble in my legs returned as I imagined pretending to be Rhys’s girlfriend over the next few months.

  The man was rough, obnoxious, cursed way too much, and he had the ability to piss me off, which was hard to do. That Fairchild liked him wasn’t much of an endorsement either.

  And yet it was the latter that would persuade me to say yes.

  “Fine, but I want you to sign a contract.”

  “Did Dean have to sign a contract?”

  “No. But then Dean never ambushed me for the job either.”

  “You tried to prostitute my kid brother. I’m not going to apologize for my behavior.”

  The flame of outrage smoldered to life once more. “For the hundredth time, I did not try to prostitute your brother!”

  A bark of laughter from across the street made me tense, and I watched the couple who’d overheard me stare at us as they chuckled their way out of earshot.

  I colored and glowered up at Rhys as if it were his fault.

  The big jerk grinned. “Maybe you should learn to control that temper, Tinker Bell. It’s going to get you in trouble one of these days.”

  There was a possibility I’d kill him before we ever signed a contract.

  “I did not try to prostitute Dean,” I said quietly. “And while we’re on the subject, that’s not what this is about. You realize there will be no actual sex happening between us?”

  “Don’t worry, small fry, you’re not my type.”

  Indignation and hurt pride made me sneer. “As if you’re mine.”

  Rhys flicked me a dirty look. “Yeah, I think we both know I’m not your type. Now that that’s sorted, do we have a deal or what?”

  It occurred to me Rhys was something of a contradiction. “Why is it okay for you to ‘prostitute’ yourself and not Dean?”

  His brow furrowed. “Didn’t we just confirm this isn’t prostitution?”

  “Don’t be obtuse.”

  “Look, my brother didn’t go to college to piss that education down the toilet making easy money escorting you to an event every now and then. He needs to focus on finding a career. I have a career—I run a gym. I need money for that gym. Doing this brings in that money. End of story. Now, do we have a deal?”

  “Contract first.”

  He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his unshaven jaw. “Fine.”

  Oh dear lord in heaven, was I going to do this?

  “You all right?” He squinted at me. “You look a little pale.”

  “That occurs with hypotension caused by a drop in blood pressure and that happens when you go into shock, which is what I’m sure is happening to me right now.” I flicked a weary hand at him. “Deal with the devil and all that.”

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re cracked in the head?”

  “Yes,” I huffed. “You. This evening. Before you hijacked my life.”

  “Saved your ass, you mean.” He winked at me.

  “Morgan, I’m putting no winking in the contract. No winking, no calling me Tinker Bell, and no cursing.” I drew to a halt, not far from my building, and narrowed my gaze. “Do you recycle?”

  Rhys looked at me like I really was cracked. “Who doesn’t?”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised. So that’s a yes?”

  He shrugged impatiently. “Yeah, of course I recycle.”

  “Do you have a ‘honk if you like’ sticker on your car?”

  His brow furrowed. “No…”

  I sighed in relief. Okay, maybe we could do this. “Where’s your gym? I’ll bring the contract around this weekend.”

  “It’s called Lights Out, just off Fourth in Chelsea. I’m usually free during lunchtime.”

  I nodded, wondering at the name. It sounded more like a nightclub than a gym. “All right. I’ll drop by Saturday afternoon.” I moved to walk around him.

  “I’m still walking you home.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “And yet here I am doing it.” He gave me another boyish grin that caused those butterflies to flutter again. I felt outmaneuvered, and I couldn’t remember the last time someone had made me feel vulnerable, like I had little control over the situation.

  Oh man. This guy was such a bad idea.

  We walked the rest of the way to my building in sil
ence, shooting each other wary looks (okay, mine were wary; his were deliberately provoking) as we strolled.

  Finally, we turned onto Harrison Avenue, where Zoe, my college roommate and bestie, owned a modern, two-bedroom apartment bought for her by her wealthy absentee father. She let me stay there for less than half the actual rent the room would normally cost. It was great. I got to stay in a nice place, in pricey Back Bay, and the bonus? It had nothing to do with my parents.

  If I’d gotten an apartment I could afford on my salary, I’d be living well outside the city in a place my parents would disapprove of. That would have caused me anxiety, they would have constantly plagued me to use my trust fund on a nicer place, and my stubborn refusal to do so would have caused a rift between us, thus leading to more anxiety on my part because I hated disappointing my parents as much as I hated relying on their money.

  Thankfully, Zoe didn’t want to live alone and begged me to take her second bedroom.

  Win-win.

  “This is me.” I stopped outside the glass-fronted reception. Lights blazed inside, showcasing the marble floors and expensive furnishings of the huge reception space.

  I glanced at Rhys. His expression had flattened. “Figures,” he muttered.

  I frowned, wondering why he was so prejudiced against people with money. He hadn’t seemed that way with Fairchild, and he had more money than God. Shuddering at the thought, I huffed. “Well, good night, then.”

  There was no boyish grin this time. Instead he gave me a curt nod before walking away.

  “Oh yeah, he’s Prince Charming all right.” I hauled open the reception door, wondering what the heck I’d just gotten myself into.

  Rhys

  * * *

  “Wakey, wakey, asshole!”

  The shout barely broke through the fog of sleep when the slap of cold water hit. All over. A gasp of shock tore from my throat, and I lurched up, already swinging.

  Dean, smart little fucker that he was, had made sure to stay out of striking range. He stood by the bedroom door, empty bucket in hand, smirking. “Sleeping naked, Rhys? I’d pegged you for a tighty-whitie type.”

  With a roar, I launched out of bed. He dropped the bucket and ran—saved by the fact that I wasn’t about to chase my brother down buck-ass naked. Cursing, I wiped off my face and reached for a pair of sweats. The little fucker was going to get it.

  My feet pounded the floorboards. I hadn’t heard him leave my loft, so I knew he was somewhere. So, not as smart as I’d thought he was.

  He stood in the kitchen, one of Mom’s coffee mugs in hand, sipping as though he had all the time in the world to live.

  “Asshole,” I snarled, rubbing a hand through my hair, water droplets scattering. “You think holding on to Mom’s mug is going to stop me from beating your ass?”

  He shrugged. “I know you don’t want to risk breaking it.”

  “Then you better hold onto it for the rest of your short life,” I said as I strolled up. When he started to smile, I struck. A lightning-quick but light jab. Dean let out a grunt, the cup slipping as he touched his busted lip.

  I caught the cup in my other hand before he could blink and took a much-needed sip of coffee. Unfortunately, it was loaded with sugar. Grimacing, I set it down on the counter and eyed my scowling brother.

  “Asshole,” he muttered. “Fucking fast asshole.”

  “At least I pulled the punch. I’m guessing that little show…” I nodded toward the bedroom, “was for last night?”

  A flush of rage colored his cheeks. “You’re damn right it was. I was stuck in there for over an hour, not to mention I missed my date with Parker, who won’t answer my calls, by the way.”

  Interesting. The thought of Parker made me smile. For reasons I didn’t want to dwell on.

  Dean saw the smile and glared. “You’re such a dick.”

  “I know.” I shrugged. “But I warned you that plan of yours wasn’t going to happen.”

  He gave me a pleasant look, the kind we used to give Great Uncle Morty when he’d do ventriloquist impressions with his false teeth in hand. “I’m not sure if you’ve realized this, but you’re not actually my father. He’s dead and I’m a goddamn adult.”

  “I’m as good as, and have been for years.” Waving him off, I went to get my own coffee. “I’m not rehashing it, Dean. It’s done. Your job opportunity is gone.”

  “You don’t know that.” He pressed his hands on the counter, bracing himself. “I’ll explain to Parker—”

  “It’s done. Use that fancy-ass education your big brain earned and go get a true job. Make your life happen.” I quirked a brow. “And then you can pay me all your back rent.”

  “If you cared so much about me paying rent, you’d have let me go on my date. No, this is about control. You can’t stand not controlling everything around you.”

  He might have a point. I took another sip of coffee—black, thank you very much. “That may be, but believe it or not, it’s more about me wanting more for my baby brother. Sappy but it’s the truth.”

  Dean shifted his feet, not meeting my eyes. “Fine. I get it.” His chin lifted high and stubborn. “But what you did was shitty and wrong.”

  “It was.”

  He shook his head in disgust. “I’m calling her—”

  “I took the job.”

  The words landed between us like a stink bomb. Dean’s nostrils flared as his eyes narrowed. “What job?”

  I was pretty sure he knew, but I answered anyway. “I’m going to pose as Parker’s boyfriend.”

  The kitchen clock ticked out a loud ten seconds before he responded. “You? You’re telling me you went in my place last night?”

  It was weird how much he sounded like my mother just then, the way she used to get when we’d done something really wrong, right before she totally lost it.

  “Yes. I met up with her and we came to an agreement. It’s a done deal,” I told a silent Dean. “So, like I said, put on the suit and hunt down a job you’re made for.”

  I felt like an asshole. How could I not? I was. But some things had to be done. You sucked it up, pushed away the guilt, the regret, and got on with it. I’d been doing that my whole adult life. And my adult life had started way before I’d been ready.

  “I can’t believe you,” Dean rasped. “You fucking stole my gig with Parker.” He laughed broadly and without humor. “You dickhead! You weren’t worried about me. You just saw a good opportunity to make some cash yourself. You selfish, fucking—”

  “Hey.” I pointed at him in warning, guilt riding me hard. Because he was right. And he was wrong. “That’s not what I had planned when I went over there. I planned to hand her her ass.”

  “And then you saw how cute her ass was,” Dean said, nodding as though it all made sense to him now.

  “No.” Yes. Maybe. “I realized that she was hanging out with Franklin Fairchild.”

  He blinked. “Who the fuck is that?”

  “Some big-shot billionaire with too much time on his hands and not enough ways to spend it. Parker works for one of his companies.” I glanced around the sparse loft apartment before pinning Dean with a stare. “I didn’t want to worry you, but we’re in danger of losing the gym—”

  “Good! It’s not like I wanted you to buy this place anyway.”

  “This place,” I ground out, “was Dad’s dream, his legacy to us.”

  “Exactly. His dream. His legacy.” Dean flung an arm up. “It was never about me. You were the golden boy, the star. I can see why you’d want it, but don’t include me in this.”

  “Fine.” I set my mug down with a sigh. “Regardless. If I hang around Parker, and therefore, Fairchild, I can try to convince him to sponsor the gym.”

  Dean paced, grabbing at the ends of his hair. “So instead of me being pimped out, you’re going to pimp yourself out? Am I getting that right?” He laughed again. “Fucking unbelievable.”

  He stopped short and faced me. “You know what I don’t get? Why the
hell do you even need money? You were making bank when you were boxing. Where the hell did it all go? And don’t tell me it went into the gym and my education again. You made way more than that.”

  What was I supposed to tell him? That a huge chunk of my early earnings had gone to paying for Mom’s cancer bills? We lived in the supposed best country in the world, yet my middle-class family was quickly bankrupted because my mom had been dying and my dad, who owned his own business and didn’t have good insurance, couldn’t afford the hospital bills. I’d stepped up and paid them.

  Maybe Dean knew that much. But he sure as hell didn’t know that Dad, who had been my manager and was supposed to handle my money as well, lost almost all of it on shitty investments and gambling. That I hadn’t known the extent of the damage until after I’d bought the gym and paid for Dean’s tuition.

  I could barely stomach that as it was. Dad had been my idol. Until he wasn’t. And frankly, I felt like a damn fool for letting it happen. That’s what you got when you trusted somebody, even the ones you loved. If you wanted to survive in this world, you didn’t let anyone fully in.

  “The money is gone,” I said instead. “But the gym could turn a good profit if we updated it. We need new equipment, to redo the locker rooms… hell, the whole place needs a good coat of paint. In this market, we won’t be able to pull in new members if Lights Out stays looking like a shithole.”

  I didn’t mention the offer from Garret. Dean would tell me to take it and I wasn’t hearing that. It was the last possible solution. “If the gym becomes profitable,” I added, “you’ll earn money too.”

  Because the place was half Dean’s, whether he wanted it or not. I’d made certain to give him that safety net.

  I expected him to scoff as he usually did when I spoke of the gym. But he nodded, tight and decisive.

  “Okay, then. You got the job being Parker’s fun boy.”

  “Believe me, there will be no fun involved.”

  “Please. I’ve seen her. She’s hot. Audrey Hepburn hot, but nevertheless, hot.”