Parker paled, her pink lips parting and working like a confused fish, and I already knew, from the fire she spit at me earlier, she was battling between telling him to piss off and doing the thing that would earn her greater job security.

I was almost willing to let her suffer, but my mom didn’t raise me that way. Besides, Fairchild was an asshole. I might have needed his money, but if I lay down like a mat for him to walk on, he’d have zero respect for me.

Leaning forward, I pinned him with a stare even though my smile was easy. “I can converse with you just fine where I am, Fairchild. Besides, I like having my honey close to me.”

I slung my arm over Parker’s slim shoulders and gave her a loving squeeze. A gurgle escaped her. She covered it up by smiling wide and pained as she leaned into my embrace, the picture of a loving girlfriend. But under the table, a spiked heel pressed down on the toe of my boot. Hard.

When I didn’t wince or move away, her brown gaze flicked to mine.

I grinned at her. Steeled-toed boots, honey. That’s what you get for tussling with a blue collar. Her sidelong glare promised retribution later. I was looking forward to it. Far too much. She was fun to rile. But it was a mistake touching her; the scent of roses and something richly smoky floated from silky soft skin. Some twisted part of me wanted to lean closer and take a deep breath, fill my lungs with that strange mix of innocence and sin.

What the hell was I going on about? Innocence and sin? Who the fuck said that? God, this chick was messing with my mind. I dropped my arm and sat back in my seat. Jackson took the chair opposite.

The waitress arrived to take drink orders—I was the only one who asked for a beer, something that had Parker’s lips compressing. It wasn’t as though I was dipping into the hard stuff like Fairchild, who had asked for a Macallan 25, neat. I might not know much, but I knew a glass of that would set him back at least two hundred dollars here. She should have been happy I’d stuck to my five-dollar draft beer.

As soon as the waitress left, Franklin was at it again. “Still can’t believe you quit, Morgan. Oh, I understand about losing your father.” He waved a hand as if to bat that inconvenience away. “But you could have simply taken a mourning break.”