“So, this is Fairchild’s summer house?” I asked as we stepped outside. Garden terraces flanked either side of a wide flagstone patio. A set of central stairs went down to a pool straight out of The Great Gatsby. Well, if Gatsby had women wearing string bikinis. Fairchild definitely liked the whole bikini-model cliché.

“One of them, anyway.” Parker didn’t look impressed. “I believe this one was his late parents—oh, shoot.”

Shoot?

My lips twitched. “You can say ‘shit,’ sweetheart. Your mom’s not gonna pop out of the bushes and point the finger at you.”

But Parker wasn’t listening. Panic flared in her eyes as she did a half step away from me before whirling back to grab my wrist. “Quick, this way—”

“Parker Brown?” a woman called out, as though surprised.

Parker went stiff as a pipe. “Fiddlesticks,” she said under her breath. She plastered on a fake smile—more like a grimace—and moved to greet an elegant older woman with sleek dark hair. They did that kiss-on-the-cheek thing some women liked.

“Vida,” Parker said a little less stiff but clearly still pained. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“And you, sweet girl.” Vida drew back and gave Parker an approving look. She was clearly aware of me; I just hadn’t been acknowledged. “It’s been too long.”

“My new job has been keeping me busy.”

“Ah, yes, of course.” The woman glanced at me, calculation in her dark eyes. “You’re working for Franklin.”

“Well, in a way, yes,” Parker replied. “I didn’t realize you knew him.”

Vida laughed, her red lips parting to reveal some truly white teeth. “Doesn’t everybody?”

Parker’s cheeks turned pale, and her slim shoulders hunched. “Seems that way.” She gave Vida another plastic smile. “Well, I’ll just go say hello to the host …”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Only then did Vida look my way. Her gaze slid over me with slow appreciation.

I was used to that look. I got it before and after every match. Women wanted to fuck me for the thrill of it, for bragging rights. I made the mistake of accepting a few of those advances, only to have some of their friends contact me afterward, so very certain I’d do them too. After all, I was nothing more than a sexed-up, muscle head.

I should be grateful; I learned what it was to feel cheap and used. That familiar crawling sensation writhed in my gut. Then it occurred to me that Parker hadn’t introduced me. I was here to be her arm candy, and she was leaning away from me as though she wanted to be anywhere but here.

That sure as shit didn’t sit right.

Parker eyed me, and I saw another flare of reluctance. Shame. Regret.

I felt sick.

“Yes, of course,” she said, her voice dull through the buzzing in my ears. “This is Rhys.”