I shivered in the chilly late spring night, my heart thumping in my chest as I watched Rhys talk in undertones with Mr. Fairchild. Jackson and Camille had already left. Finally, Fairchild got into his Town Car, and I narrowed my gaze on Rhys as he sauntered back over to me.

He walked with the swagger of a man who’d just won a boxing bout.

The big jerk.

“So, I just saved your ass.” He had the audacity to grin.

The anger that had been slow-cooking in my gut since we’d all sat down to dinner threatened to boil over. If I stayed here one more second, I would eviscerate him with the power of my mind.

I was sure of it.

There was no way a person could be this angry with someone without that energy manifesting itself. I abruptly turned away from Yvonne’s and began walking south toward the apartment I shared with my best friend Zoe. It was thirty minutes by foot, which should give me some time to walk off my uncharacteristic rage.

“I’ll walk you home and we can discuss terms.” Rhys fell into step beside me.

Bafflement overtook the fury. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged. “You still need someone to pretend to be your boyfriend, right? And I think I can say with certainty that Fairchild thinks I’m the shit.”

Yes, Fairchild definitely thought Rhys was the poo. Of course he would. They were both Neanderthals. I gritted my teeth, frustrated that my short legs could never out-stride the tall boxer beside me. A boxer, for goodness’ sake!

Not that I didn’t appreciate boxing. Any competitive sport demonstrated discipline, determination, and skill. Those were all good qualities.

No, the boxing didn’t bother me.

It explained the muscles and the broken nose.

What bothered me was the sycophantic bromance that had developed between Rhys and Fairchild. He never outright agreed with any of the backward, bordering-on-misogynistic bull-twaddle that came out of my boss’s mouth, but Rhys also hadn’t outright disagreed.

For most of the evening, Jackson, Camille, and I had to listen to Rhys entertain Fairchild with stories of his glory days as a boxer. It wasn’t that the stories weren’t somewhat interesting; it was just that they opened the door for Fairchild’s commentary. And his toxic masculinity.

The whole point of the dinner was to show Fairchild I was an important addition to the team. All he cared about was Rhys.

“You derailed my dinner,” I seethed.

“Derailed it?” Rhys huffed. “Anytime Jackson brought up the subject of renewable energy, Fairchild’s eyes glazed over. You should thank me for keeping the guy interested enough to stay through the entire meal.”

“Yes, I so enjoyed him constantly grilling you about how much blood you’ve spilled and how many women you’ve bedded. That’s what I always look for in my dinner conversation.”