Outmatched: A Novel

by Kristen Callihan

  Charming, charming man.

  As for Fairchild … ugh, what a liar. He couldn’t have made his real agenda any more obvious, and he was completely unconcerned about being obvious. Which was probably why Jackson looked like he was sucking on a lemon.

  Poor Jackson. He loved Horus Renewable Energy. It must have caused him no end of frustration to have to rely on financial investment from someone like Franklin Fairchild.

  Fairchild was grinning, a devious twinkle in his eye, that made me suspicious. “Morgan, I have something to show everyone that I think you’re going to love.” He turned to my colleagues. “Grab your drinks, leave them, whatever you like—there is a bar in the theater. Let us proceed.” He strode toward Rhys and slid an arm around his shoulders. “This way, son.”

  My … well … whatever he was now glanced over his shoulder as Fairchild led him across the room. I would’ve felt guilty for letting go of his hand if Rhys hadn’t given me a reassuring nod.

  He was a big guy. He could take care of himself.

  So why did I feel like I was failing him when I should be trying to protect him from Fairchild?

  “Come on, Parker,” Jackson said, his voice gentle. I looked up to see him and Camille at my side, twin expressions of concern on their faces. “It’ll be all right.”

  I frowned. “You know what he’s attempting to do?”

  Jackson cut Camille a look before turning back to me. He lowered his voice as the rest of my colleagues followed the big boss out of the melodramatic living room. “I’m not sure exactly but it’s obvious this is all about Rhys.”

  Nodding, I sighed. “I’m sorry. We both are.” I shouldn’t have apologized for Rhys, but I knew him well enough to know that he was most likely pissed off that Fairchild had pulled my colleagues into this ridiculousness.

  “Why are you apologizing?” Jackson frowned, staring toward the now-empty doorway. “I’m the one who introduced you both to him.”

  Camille squeezed Jackson’s shoulder and whispered, “Honey.”

  Realizing my observations had been right, that Jackson was struggling with Fairchild, I wished there was something I could do. However, Rhys had to take priority. Once I was sure I had him out of Fairchild’s reach for good, I could turn my concentration to figuring out how to help free Horus Renewable Energy from an egomaniacal billionaire.

  One of the servers had to direct us to the theater since we’d lost track of everyone. When we stepped inside, I shouldn’t have been surprised to discover it was an actual movie theater. There was an expensive, mahogany-topped bar with brass tap handles and rows of glass shelves behind it filled with every alcohol imaginable. At the opposite end of the room was a screen that took up the entire wall, with rows of real cinema chairs situated in front of it. A discreet projector was built into the ceiling.

  Rhys stood at the bar with Jackson, and I decided I was done being pushed aside by Fairchild while he attempted to convince Rhys to fight. Striding toward them, I saw my boss’s boss narrow his eyes on me, but I remained undeterred.

  “Hey,” I said softly to Rhys as I nestled into his side and wrapped an arm around his waist.

  He gave me a soft look before sliding his arm around my shoulders to draw me even closer.

  His familiar scent, earth and spice, made me wish I could just haul him out of that room and back to the guest bedroom. Butterflies tickled my belly at the thought of finally being with him in all the ways I’d tried (and failed) to convince myself I didn’t want.

  The hard heat of him pressed against me wasn’t helping my wayward thoughts.

  Forcing myself to concentrate on the task at hand, I met Fairchild’s annoyed gaze. “So … what are we watching?”

  “It’s a surprise. Come, Rhys, let’s take a seat.” Fairchild cut me a dismissive look. “Why don’t you sit with the others, Ms. Brown?”

  Feeling Rhys tense beside me fueled my indignation. Relying on years of practice dealing with unjustifiable snobbery, I kept my voice pleasant. “I’ll sit with Rhys, but thank you.” Before Fairchild could say anything, I pulled away, taking Rhys with me, and led him to two seats in the back.

  “Sit up front.” Fairchild stood over us.

  “We’re good.” Rhys didn’t even look at him, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he reached for my hand to hold it on his knee.

  For a moment, I thought Fairchild would argue because he hovered over us longer than appropriate. Finally, however, he strode away, back toward the bar.

  “Fucking psycho,” Rhys muttered under his breath.

  I squeezed his hand. “What do you think this is about?”

  “One guess.” He cut me a dark look. “We’re about to see a match.”

  Understanding dawned and anger rippled through me. “One of yours?”

  “I’d place money on it.”

  Ugh! That man! My skin was hot with anger as I sat stiff beside Rhys. “I am so sorry.”

  I felt a tug and turned to Rhys as he pulled my hand against his chest. “Don’t you apologize. I mean it.”

  Seeing the sincerity on his face, I nodded, but that didn’t mean my guilt miraculously disappeared.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Fairchild called from the back of the room, “some of you may know that we are in the presence of one of the finest boxing champions of his generation. Rhys Morgan.”

  I looked over my shoulder at Fairchild, along with the rest of my colleagues. Rhys stared straight ahead. When Fairchild began to clap, forcing everyone else to join in, I wanted a hole in the floor to open so Rhys and I could disappear from the awkwardness of the moment.

  “Jesus fuck,” Rhys murmured.

  “I agree,” I whispered. “Jesus is probably asking himself, ‘What the fuck was his Father thinking making this guy a billionaire?’ That is … if you believe in that stuff.”

  Rhys grinned at me, and a pleasurable ache spread across my chest at the sight of it.

  “So, without further ado,” Fairchild said, his awful voice ruining the moment, “I have procured footage from Morgan’s most memorable fight with Cal Davis. Settle in and enjoy.”

  The lights went down and the screen flickered to life.

  If it weren’t for the tension emanating from Rhys, I might have enjoyed watching him fight. However, knowing about his best friend, understanding the soul-deep fear Rhys had of ending someone’s life or leaving his brother alone in this world, killed that enjoyment.

  Instead, I tried to take Rhys’s mind off the fight playing out on the screen, and the man behind us, who was attempting what felt like underhanded mental warfare to get Rhys to do what he wanted.

  I leaned into Rhys, my voice low, my lips touching his ear as I whispered, “You are unfairly hot.”

  He stiffened a little but didn’t move away as I continued. “I could ignore it, the hotness, I mean, if you weren’t so funny, charming, sweet, kind, and loyal. It takes your hotness to combustible levels. Oh, and the bike. The bike that—” His mouth cut off my words.

  I clasped his face in my hands, feeling the bristle of his unshaven cheeks as he kissed me hard and deep in the dark of the theater. The sounds of the fight became background noise as I made out with him in public.

  And I didn’t care.

  As long as I was distracting him from Fairchild’s underhanded antics, I remained unconcerned what anyone thought of my actions.

  Rhys broke the kiss to whisper, “I ain’t sweet, dahlin’, but fuck, you definitely are. Taste it too.”

  The lights suddenly came to life, and we blinked against it. Our colleagues murmured around us and we realized the fight had finished. I could feel their eyes on us, but Rhys and I were engrossed in one another.

  He brushed a thumb over my lips. “Thank you.”

  Understanding, I smiled. “That kind of distraction wasn’t really a hardship.”

  Rhys chuckled, pressed a cute kiss to my nose, and stood, taking me with him. Glancing around, I saw I was right—my colleagues were looking at him, entirely fa
scinated.

  They may have known he was an ex-heavyweight boxing champion, but knowing and seeing were two different things.

  “Isn’t he something?” Fairchild said to the room as he walked toward us. “Now that our viewing entertainment is over, my guests must be hungry. My staff has laid out a world-class buffet in the dining room. Follow Andrew.” He gestured to the exit where Andrew the house concierge waited. “He’ll show you the way.”

  Rhys and I moved toward the door, but Fairchild blocked our path. He held up a hand to stay us and waited until everyone else had left the room before opening his mouth. “Morgan, you and I need to talk.” His eyes cut to me and his expression hardened. “I need to speak with Rhys privately. Please follow the others to the dining room, Ms. Brown.”

  I didn’t want to leave Rhys. My tight hold on Rhys’s hand told him that. After glaring at Fairchild for a good couple of seconds, Rhys looked down at me. His expression gentled. “Baby, you should go. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  I felt more than a flutter in my belly at the “baby” endearment. That was new. It caught me so off guard, I found myself nodding. “Okay. I’ll save you some food.”

  He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You do that.”

  Leaving him there felt like I was abandoning him, my frustration real as I stepped into the hallway. To my surprise, Jackson was waiting on me.

  “He’s a big guy,” he said. “He can handle Fairchild.”

  Grateful for his perceptiveness, I gave my good boss a tremulous smile and let him lead me toward the dining room.

  Franklin Fairchild was a slimy, inconsiderate, obnoxious bulldozer of a man.

  He held Rhys captive for the rest of the night.

  When I realized his plan all along had been to get Rhys alone and badger him endlessly, fury filled me. I was terrible company, sitting amongst my colleagues as they talked about work, life, and their plans to ski the next day. They eventually all started to cotton on about Rhys’s importance to Fairchild when my boyfriend (if he was that) didn’t reappear. I began to worry something had happened to him.

  Everyone moved to retire for the night, so I asked one of the servers to put together a plate for Rhys from the cold selection; I was informed that Rhys had already eaten with Mr. Fairchild.

  Well, that was something. At least he wasn’t attempting to starve him into submission.

  More than three hours after I’d been separated from Rhys, I paced our guest bedroom, growing antsier by the second. Unable to deal with this madness any longer, I crossed the room toward the door, intending to search the house for Rhys.

  Yanking open the bedroom door, I was brought to a halt.

  Rhys.

  Thank goodness.

  My shoulders slumped in relief, and I stepped aside to let him in.

  Looking drained, Rhys moved into the room, but instead of walking by me, he turned into me, his soulful eyes locked with mine. My breath hitched as he curled his hands around my biceps and slowly backed me up against the door until my body weight closed it. He released one arm to lock us in.

  My heart raced as anticipation of yummy physical intimacy filled me.

  Instead of ravishing me, however, Rhys cupped my face in his big hands, bent down, and pressed the sweetest, softest kiss to my lips. He let out a little exhalation as he released me, his breath tickling my mouth, before he straightened and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

  I moved into him, slid my arms around his waist, and rested my head on his chest.

  “Are you okay?”

  Rhys was silent so long, I thought he might not answer.

  But then, “I think I’m gonna have to fight.”

  Shock rooted me in place, and I stiffened in his hold. “Rhys, please tell me you did not agree to fight?”

  “Not yet.”

  Oh, thank God. I pulled out of his arms and placed my hands on his chest. He looked down at me, curiosity in his expression, and then surprise when I gently pushed him backward.

  He let me.

  Of course he let me.

  Like I could move a man his size without him letting me.

  I backed him up to the bed. “Sit.”

  A tired smile quirked his lips. “You got it, boss.”

  How could he possibly find anything amusing right now after three hours of interrogative warfare that had clearly worked?

  I studied him. We’d only just decided to explore what was between us, so pushing him to confide in me was a big risk. Yet, I knew there had to be more going on if he would agree to fight, despite his deep-seated aversion to it.

  For his sake, I had to be brave. I couldn’t be selfish just because I was afraid he’d turn away from me.

  “Okay … I don’t know what he said to you in the three very long hours he held you captive”—Rhys raised an eyebrow at my word choice but I pushed on—“but what is going on? Something has to be going on beyond the financial problems of the gym to make you even contemplate this fight. Did Fairchild threaten you?”

  “No, but it was implied that your contract would be made permanent if I fight for him.”

  I felt my fury boil down deep inside. “I can find another job. He is not manipulating you into this fight.”

  He looked momentarily stunned.

  Realizing what it said about my feelings—that I’d walk away from a job I loved to save Rhys from Fairchild—I blushed.

  Rhys studied me intently, his expression warming by the second. “That means a damn lot to me, Parker. But we started this thing together because of how much your job means to you. I don’t want to see you lose it because of this.”

  When I opened my mouth to object, he held up a hand. “There’s more. The fight is worth a lot of money.”

  Although I was relieved that Rhys wasn’t lingering over what I’d inadvertently revealed about my feelings for him, I was concerned about what fighting would do to him emotionally. “I asked before and I’ll ask again—is the gym really worth the toll this will take on you? Or am I missing something here? Rhys … what am I missing?”

  Rhys’s expression hardened, and he looked away. “It’s nothing, Tink.”

  “It’s not nothing. It’s most definitely something. I know you and I are … new … but before the kissing and the very hot touching started … well, Rhys, I’m your friend. Talk to me.”

  His lips twitched. “Hot touching, huh?”

  I struggled not to smile. “Don’t change the subject.”

  He stared at me for a long moment and then sighed, deep and heavy. “I’m going to lose the gym if I don’t start making payments to the bank. I have a guy interested in buying it, and it’s looking more and more likely I’m going to have to sell.”

  My stomach dropped. I knew how much the gym meant to him. “Rhys …”

  “Before my dad died, he told me the gym was in trouble and that he was behind on his payments for the gym, and that he’d also mishandled my finances. He’d gambled … almost everything was gone.”

  Oh my God. All his earnings. Every hit he’d taken in the ring … all for nothing in the end.

  I felt a little off-kilter and stumbled toward the nearest armchair. “Oh God, Rhys.”

  “I’ve been hiding it from Dean.”

  I frowned. “But he’s managing the accounts now, I thought?”

  He snorted. “I fucked with him, gave him a shit ton of paperwork to go through, and kept the real accounts—digital accounts—to myself.” Rhys slumped forward, resting his head in his hands as he stared at his feet. “When I started making real money boxing, Mom got sick with cancer. I didn’t want my parents to have that debt, so I paid all her medical bills.”

  My heart ached. “Rhys …”

  “Dad was renting the building for the gym. I bought it for him. Paid Dean’s tuition. But I also left my dad to handle my finances, and I found out too late it was a mistake. He made a lot of bad investments, gambled … what I had left went to paying Dad’s funeral costs when he died, and I
paid off a chunk of the debt to the bank by selling my condo. But now we’re a few months behind on the mortgage …”

  Nerves fluttered in my stomach. All this time he’d had this hellish pressure on his shoulders. No wonder he’d jumped at the chance to make friends with someone as powerful as Fairchild.

  “Does Fairchild know any of this?”

  “Not that I’m aware of but I wouldn’t put it past him to have done a background check into my finances.”

  “Manipulative cur. You can’t let him persuade you to do this. Seriously… I hope that man gets eaten by sand snakes.”

  Rhys frowned but there was laughter in his words. “Wait a second … is that what you muttered when we first met?”

  Uh-oh.

  “Maybe. You did accost me just as my boss was arriving so I may or may not have wished for a door to another dimension to open, in which you’d fall through into a world of terrifying sand snakes.”

  “Like Beetlejuice?”

  I flashed him a quick grin, amazed he could amuse me when I was so goddamn angry at Fairchild. “Yes. But back to the point …

  There was a moment of silence between us while I gathered my thoughts on this new information. Finally, I said, “You need to tell Dean.”

  “No.” Rhys sat back on the bed, his countenance granite. “No fucking way.”

  “I know you’ve been protecting him a long time … but, Rhys, he deserves to know the truth. He’s a grown man now, and keeping this from him, fobbing him off with fake accounting, isn’t protecting him. It’s making him a chump.” I ignored his blistering glare and continued. “Your brother is very smart. Confide in him. Take the pressure off your shoulders. Then maybe the two of you can come up with a plan.”

  “I have a plan. I’m going to fight.”

  I stood, anger at Fairchild ripping through me. “You are not fighting for that man.” I pointed toward the bedroom door. “He doesn’t get that from you, Rhys. If you fight for him, you know that will mess with your head in more ways than one. Please … before you do anything, please promise that you’ll talk to Dean. And I’m here. I can help … you know I am a problem solver. It’s kind of what I do.”