Outmatched: A Novel

by Kristen Callihan

  “I don’t understand why those are your only options,” Zoe announced.

  I halted mid-pace and stared incredulously at her. “Did you not hear what happened?”

  “Yes. And I think you’re making way too big a deal out of it.” She took a sip of wine, curled up on the opposite couch, casually, and completely immune to my glare. “Honey, you hate lying. You hate lying so much, it’s a surprise you haven’t broken out into hives. Because of that, you’re making what happened today into something it’s not.”

  Slumping down onto the other couch, I put my own glass of wine on the glass coffee table and rethought the events of today.

  It was Thursday, almost a week since I’d texted Rhys about the strippers, and I still hadn’t seen him. There had been no need. Or so I thought. While I was minding my own business at work that day, Pete from payroll had wandered over to my desk to ask a question. However, our office was small and open plan. The only person who had walls enclosing their office was Jackson. Everyone else… no walls. Which meant conversation traveled.

  “So,” Pete said, eying me speculatively instead of walking away upon my answer to his overtime question, “you and the boxer aren’t together anymore.”

  My heart fluttered unpleasantly. “Excuse me?” I saw heads turn out of the corner of my eye.

  “Well, you never talk about him, you’re always here so you’re clearly not with him, and Evan”—he gestured to our tech guy across the room—“said you two weren’t that cozy at Fairchild’s yacht party.”

  And they said women gossiped.

  I cut a look at Evan who blushed beet red and slid down on his chair to hide behind his desktop.

  Turning my attention back to Pete, I tried not to sneer. I liked all my colleagues at Horus, except for Pete. He was the one who took great glee in telling me it was doubtful Fairchild would allow Jackson to keep me on after the six months was up. There was something sneaky and petty about Pete, and I had to wonder if he was jealous he never got invited to our events with Fairchild.

  “Cozy?” I attempted to sound casual.

  “No kissing, you barely touched him. You left the party early and then no more Rhys.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “So why do you never talk about him?” Pete sat on the edge of my desk.

  I huffed. “You don’t talk about your personal lives. What? Because I’m a woman, I should?”

  He scowled. “We refer to our personal lives. Say, when we leave the office at a respectable time, we always mention it’s because our partners are waiting for us.”

  I glared around the room and saw heads jerk back to their computers.

  Anxiety filled me.

  “Evan said Rhys seemed into you, but it doesn’t surprise me that you’re not into him. You’re from different worlds after all.”

  Seriously? Who was this guy? And Evan needed to shut up. I narrowed my eyes on Pete, suddenly wondering if his problem with me was more personal than I’d realized. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had taken a dislike to me because I came from a privileged background and a well-known family.

  Still, Evan, the little gossip, had said Rhys seemed into me but I wasn’t into him? All this time I was worried Rhys would let me down and it was me who was screwing up.

  A knot tightened in my gut. “I’m just very private,” I replied. “Rhys and I are still together.”

  “Pete, don’t you have other things to do?” Jackson’s voice cut through the room as he strode out of his office toward us.

  Pete jumped off my desk. “Of course, sir.” He threw me a look, as if I were the reason he got caught not working, and hurried across to his side of the room that I would now refer to as the Creepy Pete Department.

  Jackson wound around the desks and stopped in front of mine. He smiled down at me. “I’m glad to hear you and Rhys are still together because we’ve booked a paintball tournament. Everyone in the office is going and they’re bringing their partners. You should bring Rhys. I have no doubt he’ll make things interesting.”

  Confused, I asked, “Paintball?”

  “A team-building exercise. I’ve done it before, and it works great in bringing a team together. Even when you’re on opposite sides.” He flashed me a cheeky smile. “A little competition is invigorating and since you’re new here, I’d really like to see you there.”

  “Of course.” Paintball. My idea of hell. Yay. But wait! “Is it environmentally friendly?”

  Jackson grinned. “The shells and fill are biodegradable, yes.”

  “Okay.” Damn it. “I’ll be there.”

  “And Rhys too?”

  I nodded. “I’ll ask him.”

  The rest of the day I’d spent worrying instead of focusing on work, and then I’d come home to Zoe, still agitated.

  As I told her about Pete, I realized I couldn’t keep up the Rhys charade. I was a terrible liar, my colleagues already didn’t believe in our relationship, and they were really not going to believe in it if we joined the paintball tournament.

  My other option was to give into the inevitable and start looking for a new job.

  An ache flared in my chest at the thought.

  “The solution is staring you in the face,” Zoe said.

  “It is?”

  “Call Rhys, explain the situation, and tell him you need to arrange a fake date, just the two of you, so you can work on the intimacy thing.”

  My cheeks flushed at the thought. “What does that mean exactly?”

  Of course, my best friend knew about my whole deal with Rhys since she first suggested the app where I met Dean. Zoe Liu was a lot more outgoing and adventurous than I was. She pushed me out of my comfort zone and had a habit of doing that to most people.

  Zoe grew up in Boston with her single mom, Anna Liu. Anna had emigrated from Shenzhen, Guangdong, China, when she was eighteen years old, in search of the American Dream. Instead Anna’s life here had only led to motherhood, poverty so extreme she and Zoe had been homeless for a while, and then eventually terminal cancer when Zoe was sixteen. It was a long story but that’s when Zoe’s wealthy British father was hauled into the picture. She didn’t have much of a relationship with him, but he set her up with a trust fund that allowed her to attend Boston University. Zoe was now an assistant producer on an afternoon daily talk show.

  Zoe had taken some of her trust fund when she was in college and launched a charity for the homeless called Street Warriors. We met when I volunteered to help raise money,

  My best friend was pretty awesome.

  And I always listened to her advice. Even when it landed me in the position I now was in.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter.” She grinned. “I didn’t mean that kind of intimacy. Unless you want it to be. I’ve googled him. I wouldn’t blame you.”

  “Stop.” I waved away her comment. I didn’t need to know Zoe thought Rhys was hot. “What did you mean?”

  “I mean you need to practice getting comfortable with each other. Have a chilled-out fake date together and get that first kiss out of the way. Maybe even a second and third kiss. When he reaches out to you and you reach out to him, it has to look natural.”

  I scowled. “I thought I had been natural. He’s a touchy-feely guy, and I let him hold me.” It had been nice.

  Zoe frowned. “I’ve never known you to be averse to physical affection so has it occurred to you that Creepy Pete is just trying to mess with your head?”

  “Why would he do that? And it was Evan who was gossiping, apparently.”

  “Yes, but maybe Creepy Pete twisted those words around to suit his purpose. This is the guy who freaked you out about your position at Horus in the first place.” Her expression softened with sympathy. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone resented you for merely breathing just because of who your family is.”

  I sighed because she was reiterating my own suspicions about Pete. Both Zoe and I had dealt preconceived notions at college from people who judged us first
and thought our parents’ money had paved the way for our success.

  “But I know you, and it’ll put your mind at ease to practice. Call Rhys. Do it now. Tell him about paintball, tell him about Pete, and arrange a date. You’re paying him a lot of money, Parker. He’s not going to say no.”

  “He did mention the whole kissing thing.” I nodded, coming around to the idea. Relief began to move through me as I realized there was still hope. “He said we needed to get a little more affectionate with each other to sell this.”

  “I bet he did,” Zoe muttered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing.” She beamed. “Go call him.”

  Little butterflies sprang to life in my belly at the idea of contacting Rhys. It had seemed like ages since we’d talked, and I was a little unsettled by the rush of anticipation I felt as I hurried through the open-plan living space and down the hall to the privacy of my bedroom.

  Out of fairness and really a lack of preference, I’d taken the smallest of the bedrooms. It was still a little bare and unlived in because I hadn’t had time to put my stamp on it yet.

  Settling down onto my bed, those butterflies grew frantic. Heart racing, I hit Rhys’s name on my cell before I could talk myself out of it.

  It was a Thursday evening, I realized. Maybe he was on a date.

  The thought caused an unpleasant lurch in my stomach.

  “I was beginning to think I was being ghosted,” Rhys answered without preamble.

  A stupid smile curled my lips at the sound of his deep voice. “It appears I’m not very good at this fake relationship stuff.”

  “Yeah, I’m getting that.”

  Glad to hear amusement in his voice, I continued, “I need your help, Morgan.”

  “Hit me.”

  I explained about Pete and Evan’s gossiping.

  “Fuck, don’t these guys have anything better to do?” he huffed.

  My thoughts exactly. “Apparently not.”

  “So, what do you need, Tinker Bell?”

  “You and I are invited to a team-building paintball ball tournament next weekend. Are you available?”

  “I’ll make myself available.”

  “Great. But I think we need to practice before then.”

  “Practice?”

  “Go on a fake date together. Just you and I practice…being together. Try to create that illusion of intimacy.” I felt my cheeks burning but forced out, “Maybe share a practice kiss.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line.

  “Rhys?” Oh my goodness, had he changed his mind? Did he feel like I was trying to prostitute him? “Or not!” I hurried to say. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

  A rumbly chuckle down the line created a tingling in my body I desperately ignored. “Dahlin’, I told you this shit at Fairchild’s yacht thing. When are you going to start listening to me? I’m very smart.”

  I grinned. “You are. And I should have listened. Does that mean you’re willing to go on a fake date with me?”

  “You free tomorrow night?”

  My smile widened to almost painful. “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  Nine

  Rhys

  * * *

  “What are we doing?” Parker’s arms were wrapped around my waist, her slim, strong thighs clenching mine. It felt so good that I was momentarily distracted.

  Didn’t stop me from answering. I was good at multitasking. “Honey, if you don’t know, there’s no helping you.”

  She laughed, sending a glossy strand of hair fluttering, and then poked my ribs with a bony finger. “Cut it out. And. Tell. Me.”

  Each word ended with a poke. Violent little pixie. I approved.

  “We’re going to my place.”

  Her response was lost to me as the light turned green and I took off down the street. She squeezed me tighter, but I knew she liked speed. Her fingers did this massage thing on my abs when I accelerated, as if she could urge me faster just by touch alone. I knew she wasn’t aware she was doing it; Parker was too self-contained and careful when she thought about her actions. Which was why the little touches got me off even more. They were glimpses of the real her, usually buried deep inside.

  A bolt of pure heat licked the underside of my dick. Damn. My mind kept jumping to sex, and I needed to cut that shit out. Especially since I was about to “practice” kissing her.

  Practice. I wanted to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of that. Kissing was the last thing I needed to practice. Pretending to be a boyfriend? I had no clue how that was done.

  I entered the covered loading dock area at the back of the gym’s warehouse and parked. Parker’s hair, once pulled back into a smooth, tidy ponytail, was now a mess of flyaway strands when she took off her helmet. She didn’t seem to notice but gaped around the grimy, cold space.

  “We’re at the gym?”

  “I live here.” With a jerk of my chin, I gestured toward the back door and headed that way.

  “You live at the gym?” She followed, still looking around, brown eyes wide and bright.

  The woman seemed to have endless curiosity about everything. What would it be like to see the world through her eyes?

  Hitting the button that would close the big bay door, I shook my head and then led her to the elevators. “You should see your expression, Tinker Bell. I’m not sleeping on the couch and taking showers in the locker room. My apartment is on the top floor.”

  Pink swarmed her cheeks as she stood up straight and gave me a repressive glare. “I didn’t presume to think …” She trailed off with a huff, and her lips quirked. “All right, that might have been what I was thinking.”

  “Gotcha.” I barely stopped myself from reaching out and tweaking her ponytail. That would have pissed her off. What was it about this girl that had me acting like an awkward teen?

  The elevator opened straight into my loft, and I held out my hand, making a motion for her to enter first. She hesitated for a second, that pink blush remaining, then carefully stepped out and started slowly walking around, taking it all in.

  My loft wasn’t one of those high-priced remodels they were selling off for millions. It was the genuine article, old and drafty industrial grid windows, exposed brick and ductwork—not because a designer decided those things looked cool but because that’s what was there to begin with. Didn’t really matter to me; I loved it anyway.

  The place held all that remained of my past life, the things I couldn’t let myself sell off or let go. Some of it was essential to living here: the Swedish wood stove I’d picked up while on tour that put off so much heat, I didn’t have to worry about drafts and cold in the winter; the butter leather couch and two chairs I relaxed on when not working; Mom’s dining room set, and a dozen other odds and ends of hers I’d kept.

  Parker’s gaze drifted over everything. Her little heels clicked in the echoing silence. The loft was enormous, taking up the entire top of the building. I’d cordoned off a bedroom, bathroom, and personal workout space on the back half, but the main space still dwarfed us.

  She stopped and turned to face me. “It’s perfect.”

  I shouldn’t give a rat’s ass if this woman liked my place. I shouldn’t care if anyone did. But something in me eased at her statement. Then I got annoyed all over again.

  Grunting, I headed toward the kitchen. It had taken Carlos and I the better part of a summer to put it in, but we’d got the job done. Black cabinets on the bottom, open shelving—which is damn cheaper—along the top. We’d spent two weeks cursing like fiends trying to figure out how to pour a proper concrete countertop, but we figured it out eventually. I glanced at the lumpy end of one counter and swallowed a laugh. Okay, so we’d gone with wood butcher block for the center island after the whole concrete experiment.

  “It’s home, anyway. Used to have a condo by the harbor.” A sleek penthouse with views for miles. “Seemed easier to fix up the loft and live here when I took over the
gym.” Cheaper. It was cheaper, and I needed the cash. “Saves me commuting time, that’s for damn sure.”

  Babbling like a fool, I stopped at my fridge and pulled out the groceries I’d picked up for tonight. But a thought hit me, and I paused to glance back at Parker. She’d followed me to the kitchen and was standing by the island, her big brown eyes on me.

  She’d taken off her jacket and draped it over the back of a barstool. Even so, she appeared far from relaxed.

  “You okay with fettuccine carbonara?” Maybe I should have picked something … lighter. Fish. Chicken. I had no idea what Parker ate.

  “It sounds delicious. Can I help?” She edged closer, clearly too aware of every move she made.

  We both were. Blowing out a breath, I rooted around for a head of butter lettuce and vegetables. “Yeah, sure. Can you make the salad?”

  “I can do that.”

  Well, this was going…horribly. I’d had easier conversational flow with strangers in elevators. Get Parker and me alone, where no one might interrupt us, and we were stiff as old sticks.

  I grinned at the ridiculousness of our reaction, and Parker immediately noticed.

  Her nose wrinkled. “We’re acting like strangers, aren’t we?”

  “Yep.”

  “We’re not going to fool anyone, are we?” Worry clouded her eyes.

  “Fail?” I placed a hand over my heart in mock horror. “I don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  She rolled her eyes and grabbed the lettuce and salad fixings. “Good. At least one of us doesn’t.” Before I could respond, she glanced around. “Where are your knives and cutting board?”

  I got her what she needed, and then turned on the stove and set a pot of water on the burner. Parker was already cutting up the tomatoes.

  “Since you’re holding the knife,” I said, “I’m warning you now—I’m about to touch you.”

  She huffed in wry amusement but held herself very still. “Probably a good call to warn me.”

  “Getting stabbed isn’t on my list of activities for tonight.” Slowly, like I was approaching a skittish cat, I eased up to Parker, standing right next to her, and then gently placed my hand on the small of her back.