Jackson and Camille grinned. “Guess who just became teacher’s pet,” Jackson teased. At my frown, he laughed. “I’m kidding. But it’s always great to keep Fairchild interested at these dinners. This is good, Parker.”

No.

This was a disaster.

Three

Rhys

What the hell was I doing? Though I ambled at apparent ease by Fairchild’s side, it felt like I was hurtling downhill on a runaway cart. I didn’t want to be here. I sure as hell didn’t want to be arm candy for an entitled—albeit cute—rich chick. Yet here I was, walking through a restaurant that looked more like an exclusive gentlemen’s club library.

Patrons watched us pass, more than one set of eyes lingering on my ripped jeans and scuffed work boots. This was a place for suits and silks, not rough and scruff.

The responsible side of me was saying get out, turn around and get the hell out now, that this was a disaster in the making. Unfortunately, I lived my life listening to the hothead inside who said let it ride. Plus, there was the bonus of Parker Brown glaring a hole through my back with each step I took.

She was a piece of work with her outraged protestations of innocence. That she somehow managed to look down her cute nose at me even though the top of her head barely reached my shoulder was a true talent. Little Miss Priss had actually shooed me. It would have been adorable if she hadn’t been trying to buy my brother’s services.

Even though I was laughing it up with Fairchild, pretending to listen to him ramble on about boxing stats, my awareness was attuned to Parker the same way it would have been if we were opponents about to enter the ring. Yeah, you worked the audience into a frenzy by talking yourself up, but what you were really doing was psyching out the competition.

And Parker Brown was rattled. I swore I heard her mutter something about sand snakes, whatever that meant. Her ire amused me.

When I saw her picture, I thought she’d crumble as quickly as dry toast when I told her off. I thought she was mildly pretty. I’d been wrong on both counts. Sure, she’d been flustered and blushed a nice deep pink, but she hadn’t folded. And her picture hadn’t done her justice.

A pixie with delicate bones and fine features, her skin was porcelain smooth, glowing with good health, her dark brown eyes too big for her heart-shaped face. I didn’t go for women like her. I liked a good, sweaty fuck to take the edge off. I’d be afraid I’d break Parker. Hell, I could probably span the woman’s waist with my hands.

I shook off thoughts of holding that slim waist steady as I… No. No. No. Discipline, Morgan. Use your fucking discipline.