I shook my head at her determination to mortify our mother, but deep down, I was a little jealous. Easton wasn’t a people-pleaser. She did what she wanted, no matter what. It just so happened most of what she wanted to do with her life fit into my parents’ ideas of the perfect career woman/society lady.

Yet Easton didn’t fear disappointing our parents. She didn’t strive to make them happy above her own happiness, and in fact, she liked to find little ways (like hiring male strippers) to ruffle their feathers.

The truth was, I knew why I so desperately wanted to please the people I loved. It was a grief buried deep down, and although I wished I could let it go, live my life as a grown woman who didn’t care about her parents’ opinion, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to.

“And we have to make Mom wear a grass skirt,” Easton continued.

“When hell freezes over, Easton. When hell freezes over.”

My sister frowned in thought and then nodded. “The strippers will just have to do.”

* * *

Rhys

Parker didn’t text me again. It shouldn’t pluck at my guts, but it did. She’d asked if I knew any male strippers. Seriously? I’d like to think she was joking, but I was fairly certain she wasn’t. Which meant, somewhere out there, prissy Parker Brown was hunting down male entertainment.

My fingers twitched, tapping out an agitated rhythm on my desk. Why did she want a stripper? Best guess was a bachelorette party. I couldn’t picture it, though. Couldn’t see Parker, with her cute little skirts and tops that had floppy bows, getting rowdy with other women, squealing over some naked dude.

A smile tugged on my lips. Or maybe I could. It’d be something to catch a glimpse of her like that, totally free from the stiff confines she normally held herself to. Without thought, I grabbed my phone and looked at her last texts, wanting to talk to her again.

“Idiot,” I muttered, tossing the phone on the desk in disgust. One freaking date with the woman—one fake-ass date—and I was acting like an adolescent.

“You’re in my seat.”

From the doorway, Dean wore his shit-eating grin.

“Deanie, you might be working here for the moment,” I said mildly, “but this here seat is mine.”

“Yeah, well, it’s parked in front of my desk, so …” He waved a hand toward the door. “Shove off.”

“It’s amusing the way you think I’m going to listen to you.”

Dean strolled into the office. The little shit actually had on a suit. “It’s not like you’re working. I watched you stare off into space for the past ten minutes.”

The knot in my stomach twisted tighter.

“You’ve been watching me for ten minutes? That’s creepy, little bro.”