Denying Mr. Parks (The Parks #1)

by Lilly James

  “Travie?” I narrowed my eyes as he jumped up onto the barstool next to mine.

  “How strange to see you in here, girl.” His whole neck was covered in tattoos, and his toned arms were also full of them. It was hard not to admire them.

  I laughed and said the same back, because I hadn’t seen him in ages. I was drunk, unashamed, and probably unnecessarily flirting. I had only fancied Travie because he reminded me of Lenny Kravitz, who I adored. I broke it off with him because he started to get clingy after I made it clear I only wanted sex—no strings, no relationship, nothing else. The fact he didn’t take the news well made me wonder why he was so cheery to see me now. After turning his gorgeous brown eyes away from me, he quickly ordered a beer and asked if I wanted another. I shook my head, tilting my wine up to him.

  “I’m good. Besides, I can buy my own.”

  He held his hands up in a playful defensive gesture. “I forgot. You’re Miss Independent and all that jazz.” He smirked and had just brought his beer to his lips when his phone rang. “Two seconds, babe.”

  I shrugged before downing the rest of my wine, then took my own phone out of my bag. It hadn’t stopped ringing since lunch. Clarke had called me, Carla had called me, and Parks had called. As I held it in my hand, it rang again. It was Parks, probably to tell me to get my arse back to work. They could all politely get fucked.

  I decided to answer anyway, humouring him. “Evelyn Banks speaking.”

  “Where the fuck are you, Evelyn?” he roared down the phone, loud, angry, and so unlike him. “You walk out of my office like that, then don’t go back to work?”

  I wobbled a little on my seat, laughing. “I’m out.”

  “You’re drunk?” He sounded appalled. He didn’t know much about me, but not many people got drunk by two in the afternoon, so that must’ve been the reason for his alarm.

  “And what are you going to do about it?” I giggled petulantly.

  “Oh, you know what I’m going to do about it. Where are you?”

  “Sorry about that, Evey, where were we?” Travie turned to me, putting his phone away, then apologized again when he saw I was on mine.

  “Who is that?” Parks’s voice was almost a whisper, a dangerous whisper.

  “None of your business.”

  “You need to tell me where you are, Evelyn. Right now.” He was becoming frenetic, and I thought it was highly hilarious. I told him where I was and hung up. I didn’t know if I did that because I wanted him to come, but if I did, I was crazy.

  I ordered another wine and got chatting to Travie. He worked at a tattoo parlour and had done my first tattoo on the back of my neck. That was also where we first had sex. On his tattoo chair. I was sixteen at the time and he was nineteen. I was a mess, and I fancied him like there was no tomorrow. I’d always looked older than my age and told him I was eighteen so I could get the tattoo. When he found out the truth, he lost it. I didn’t see him again until I was really eighteen, and then the sex started up again. It wasn’t the best sex—he was rough, I’ll tell you that—but he was a Selfish Stan.

  He moved his hand onto my knee, leaned into my ear, and whispered, “Remember the first time we had sex? I will never forget it.”

  I looked up into his suggestive brown eyes and saw what gave me the hots for him in the first place. But I couldn’t go back to the past, and Travie had too many demons to remind me of. I shook my head and shifted away. I was dizzy, felt nauseous, and needed air.

  “I need to go,” I told him, clambering from the barstool. He took my elbow and pulled me into him. He smelt of a fresh shower but also cigarettes and beer.

  “Let’s go back to mine. You always were hard to beat in the sack.”

  “No. I’m leaving.” I pushed him out of my way, rounded him not looking where I was going, and bumped straight into another man. “Shit, sorry,” I mumbled and went to skirt him, but he grabbed me by the arm. “What the fuck?” My frustration took over until I looked up into Parks’s vivid green eyes. He was glaring at me.

  Oh fuck.

  “You’re coming home with me.”

  His no-nonsense tone angered me. “No, I’m not.” I tried to struggle from his grip, but he marched me right outside.

  “Evey, you okay?” Travie asked as he followed us, and Parks pulled me behind him like he was protecting his feast. He glared at Travie, his pose rigid and unyielding. It was as if he hungered for Travie’s blood.

  “You wanna take advantage of a woman who can hardly walk?”

  “Come again?” Travie was now just as angry, and by the way Parks stepped towards him, I knew a fight was about to break out. I pushed myself between them both and faced Parks.

  “I know him.” The shameful look I gave Parks told him exactly how I knew Travie.

  “Stay away from her.” Parks grabbed a hard hold of my hand and marched me towards his car like I was a disobedient daughter with her father. Swinging the passenger-side door open, he then roughly sat me in the illegally parked Jaguar and pulled my seat belt around me tightly. I knew it was to make sure I wouldn’t run off. Run off? I didn’t have the energy to walk, let alone run.

  “He’s an ex?” He spat indignantly as he settled next to me on the driver’s side.

  I rolled my eyes and leaned my head against the window as he started up the car and pulled out into the road. “Not an ex like you’re thinking of. I don’t do boyfriend exes. I do sex exes.”

  He grunted, clearly hating those words. “Do you realise how many times I called you at lunch? I had so much work to get through but couldn’t do any of it because I was so Goddamn worried about you.”

  “I didn’t ask you to be worried,” I yelled back.

  “When you don’t show up at work after our talk, you think I’m not going to be worried? You gave no explanation, Evelyn. Clarke had to go to court, you weren’t there to take his calls, and Carla was about to fire you for going AWOL. I told her you were unexpectedly sick.”

  I lifted my head from the window and pushed my face towards his aggressively. “You didn’t fucking have to.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” he yelled, punching the steering wheel. I wasn’t alarmed by his dramatic actions but by his words.

  “Then why did you?”

  He closed his eyes softly, exhaling acutely. “I wanted to save your job, Evelyn, haven’t you figured it out yet? I care about you.”

  I spoke with my hands balled into fists. “Why the hell do you want me, Parks? Look at the fucking state of me.”

  “You’re not a state,” he said. “You’ve just had too much to drink.”

  “I’m a drunken state who pushes everyone away because I can’t bear getting too close. I don’t know how Steph puts up with me. I don’t know how my aunty and uncle took care of me…”

  He immediately stopped the car and reached over to keep my hands from flying around violently. “Because they love you, Evelyn. And it’s not hard to see why. I won’t have you speaking this way about yourself. You’re drunk and not thinking straight.”

  I was drunk, yes, and maybe I wasn’t thinking straight, but that didn’t stop me talking to myself, scolding myself more than anything. “I don’t know how my nan didn’t wash her hands of me. I don’t know how she could love a grandchild like me. But…I was so good with my nan; it only got worse when she died.”

  I took my hands from his grip and leaned against the window again, watching people flow past as Parks finally pulled out again.

  “What did? What got worse?”

  “I’m not talking about it.” I needed him to leave it alone.

  We drove in silence for almost ten minutes, the air thick with tension. I would have happily remained silent, but I quickly started to panic when I saw my street coming into view. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Home.”

  “No.” I took hold of the steering wheel. “You can’t take me home.”

  He shoved my hands away, gained control of the steering wheel, and jerked
to a stop. “Are you trying to get us fucking killed? What is wrong with you?”

  What wasn’t wrong with me? “I can’t go home. Please, I can’t go home.”

  He huffed loudly, shooting me a look of exasperation. I was getting on his nerves.

  He was getting on mine.

  After observing my panic a moment, he agreed. “Then you’ll come with me.” He turned the car around, but I panicked even more.

  “No. I can’t go with you. I can’t stay with you.”

  “You’ll do as I say,” he growled.

  Hell no. “Listen, Parks,” I probably spat as I was drunk and slurring. Then I knew I’d spat as he wiped his eye. “I didn’t ask you to come and rescue me in your expensive Gucci suit and—”

  “It’s Dior.”

  “What?” I blinked, not following.

  “My suit. It’s Dior.”

  “Dior, then. Fuck. And act like some knight in shining armour to take me back to your London hotel.” I waved my hand around dramatically.

  “Then I’ll take you to my home.”

  That got my attention for sure. “Oh? You have a place in London?”

  “Of course.”

  “Of course,” I copied on an eye roll. The rich bastard.

  “Now you’re mimicking me? I don’t think I like the drunk Evelyn.”

  “Don’t worry, neither do I,” I mumbled as I put my head in my lap. In the small part of my brain that had some sanity left when I was drunk, I was ultimately regretting how much I said. Even though it wasn’t a substantial amount, to me, it was meaningful. I knew he would probably ask me to elaborate when I was sober, and the only person to blame for that was me.

  Parks drove to his apartment in Kensington in silence. His phone rang nonstop, but as always, when he was in my company, he ignored it. When we arrived, he parked the car outside the revolving doors to the entrance, and out came an older gentlemen who seemed to be the valet. He tipped his red hat to Parks and graciously took his car keys.

  I was vaguely aware of walking through a black-and-white lobby and into mirrored lifts. When we arrived at the top floor, Parks gestured for me to walk out first, then placed his hand on the small of my back. We walked to a walnut-coloured door, Parks ran an ID card in front of a scanner on the side, and it opened. Again, he allowed me to walk inside first, and what I came face-to-face with was stunning. It was another cream, marble lobby, with floor-to-ceiling windows to my right. To my left, integrated into the wall, was a large aquarium which contained the most extraordinary fish. Right in front of me was a black-and-white spiral staircase, and underneath was a shiny, black grand piano.

  “After you.” He indicated the stairs with his hand. I was mesmerized. When I got to the top, I saw they led right into a kitchen/living area, and Jesus was it beautifully laid out. The floors were whitewashed wood, and the walls and ceilings were also white, with canvases of calm paintings. The kitchen island was white with sparkles in the marble. It matched the light grey countertops and gorgeous, sliver hanging-dome lights. He had a dining table with room for eight, and across from that was a living area with a light grey, L-shaped sofa bending around a large white rug. There was also an entertainment area in front of the sofa. But the most impressive things were the large skylight windows which allowed the sun to beam down on us. Parks busied himself in his kitchen whilst I looked around in awe.

  “I can’t believe you live in a place like this.”

  “Here.” He ignored my comment and handed me a glass of water. “Drink it, then I’ll put you to bed.” He shrugged off his suit jacket and placed it over the kitchen island. “Have you eaten?”

  My gaze drifted back to his. “Um…”

  “That’s a no.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  As usual, he wasn’t listening. “You will eat. Sit down. I’ll prepare you something.”

  But I protested. I needed to lie down, not eat. “I don’t feel too good, Parks.”

  He aggressively slammed a serving spoon into the sink, swung around to face me, and snapped, “Call me Wade, Evelyn. Jesus.” I stared at him until he sighed, ruffling his dark hair. “You know, it’s true what they say about Aquarius women.”

  I was even more stunned. He’d read up on astrology when he said he had no interest?

  “I was curious,” he defended when I continued to stare.

  I looked at the floor, avoiding his arresting greens. “And what did you find that was intriguing?” I asked, quite impressed he looked up my star sign.

  “You Aquarius women are not a gentle breeze, which I knew. You don’t take kindly to people telling you what to do, which I also knew. You’re funny, witty, full of mischief, and unpredictable. You don’t care what people think; neither do you care about many people. You came across as cold—”

  “Hold up.” I held up a wobbly finger. “Is this what you think of me or what you’ve read? Because I do care about people.”

  “Oh, you do?”

  I inhaled deeply, and he realised I wanted to end the conversation. “I’ll take you to bed. Come on.” He walked around the kitchen island and took my hand before leading me up another set of spiral stairs that led to his beautiful bedroom. The carpets were cream, and the frame of the four-poster bed was white, as were the bedsheets and cushions. At the bottom of the bed was a white sofa with black-and-white patterned cushions, and in front of the sofa was a small table with a vase of beautifully arranged flowers. The décor was masculine but so stunning. The ceiling also had a skylight, and to the left of the room was an en suite bathroom.

  “Are you going to tell me why you thought it was necessary to get drunk today?” Parks let go of my hands, so I walked towards the windows and studied London, anything to stop myself getting captivated by his looks, his scent, and anything else about him.

  “I went to the pub for lunch, saw Travie, and got carried away. No big deal.”

  “It is a big deal when you were meant to be at work, Evelyn. Besides that, what’s the story with that man?”

  “Travie,” I spat out his name in correction. “And there isn’t a story. I fucked him a few times. No. Big. Deal.”

  Parks winced at my bluntness, but it was the truth. “Looked to me like he still has feelings for you. Are you done with him?”

  I hated the way he was asking me a question, yet it didn’t sound like one. It sounded like an order, like I had to be done with him. No discussion.

  “Like I said, it was just sex.”

  “Good.” He nodded contently. “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

  “I have nothing to sleep in,” I told him, physically stumbling.

  “Sleep in nothing,” he suggested, grinning cheekily.

  Like that was going to happen. “I have to sleep in something.” I could never stand myself being naked, not even alone. I would be anxious, worrying someone would see me, so I wasn’t sleeping naked where I knew Parks could see me that way.

  “And why is that?”

  “I just don’t like it, okay?” I snapped. I didn’t want to have that conversation. I never wanted to have that conversation.

  He narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t push me. Instead he walked into his walk-in wardrobe that opened to the right of the bedroom door. I heard him opening a drawer, and moments later he appeared with a white shirt in his hands.

  “That one Gucci?” I smirked, taking it from him.

  “Actually, it’s Prada. And this is the part where you’re going to tell me to leave. Correct?”

  “Correct.” I nodded.

  “Then I’ll give you some privacy.” He walked out of the room, and I couldn’t help but watch his fine arse leave, almost wishing he wasn’t fully dressed. Okay, I was drunk and definitely needed to sober up.

  As I slipped his shirt over my body, I couldn’t help notice how soft the material was and that it smelt just like Parks. I almost took a second to inhale the scent but scolded myself for being so stupid. Then I looked at his bed, and it was the only thing I need
ed at that point.

  I pulled the covers back and jumped in. As soon as my head hit the pillow, everything started to spin. My head and thoughts. I’d slipped again and got reckless. What the fuck was wrong with me? And when Parks was around me, why did I feel so calm? I hated myself, but somehow, when I was near this man, I didn’t really think about how fucked my life was. But then when he left, all those thoughts came rushing back. I couldn’t comprehend it.

  “What’s wrong?” I looked up at the sound of his voice and was startled to see Parks perched at the side of the bed with a glass of water in his hand.

  “Shit.” I laughed nervously. “I didn’t see you there.” I laid back down and watched him place the glass beside my head on the bedside table. He then knelt on one knee to look at me. His voice was soft as he brushed my hair off my forehead.

  “You know, sometimes those with big personalities, and those who are extremely loud and always have too much to say on the outside, are the ones that are quiet, fragile, frightened, and lonely on the inside.”

  Objecting, yelling, and screaming at someone for pointing out the truth, or words I didn’t want to hear, accept, and think about, was something I always did. Instead, I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes. “Sometimes it’s easier to be strong because life seems so hard when I’m weak.” I kept my eyes shut so I couldn’t see his expression.

  “Why do you feel you have to be strong all the time?” he asked softly.

  I sucked in a deep breath. “Because I don’t want to be vulnerable. I can’t.”

  After a pause, he asked, “Will you let me lie with you so I can hold you?”

  Parks’s tone halted my heart. It had a slight vulnerability I didn’t know he was capable of. I wasn’t sure if he was fighting an inner fear when he asked if he could hold me, because it seemed he’d never shown affection to a woman, either. Or maybe it was because he wasn’t sure how I would react to his question. My gut instinct told me the first option was the truth. But I couldn’t do it.