belly. Seriously, it felt like they’d escaped my gut, swarmed all over my lungs, and were now intent on suffocating me. I wiped a clammy hand across my forehead. “Get it together, Parker,” I muttered, probably looking and sounding like I was about to commit a felony.
Was lying to your boss a felony?
No, definitely not.
Immoral?
Yes, definitely yes.
But really it just proved how much I loved my job and just how far I was willing to go to get a permanent contract with Horus Renewable Energy. I’d joined the fledgling three-year-old company after I’d earned my PhD in “Dynamic Modeling of Generation Capacity Investment in Electricity Markets with High Wind Penetration.” Say that five times fast.
I was ecstatic to find a job as a data analyst with a company that had developed a market dispatch model that forecast future power prices and the impact of renewable power generation of market dynamics.
It was everything I’d ever wanted out of a job and I was feeling good about it until Pete in payroll told me with a smug smirk that I was only hired to meet the diversity quota and I’d probably be let go after my six-month contract was up.
And why?
Because the big boss with all the money, the main investor, Mr. Franklin Fairchild, was only interested in hiring employees who had proven their commitment in their personal lives. It was some 1950s retro bullcrap. Unless an employee was in a serious relationship/married, a parent and/or living in their own home and not a rental, Fairchild considered them a bad investment. Where was the commitment? If we couldn’t commit in our personal lives, surely we’d up and run from the company at the first sign of a sweeter deal elsewhere.
I’d also verified with more reliable sources than Pete that it was correct.
Being the only single, childless female analyst who sharing a rented apartment with a roommate, I freaked out. Said roommate, Zoe, offered me the solution in the form of an app. I found Dean on the app, the perfect fake boyfriend. He was educated, from Chelsea, down-to-earth, charming, good-looking, and he’d agreed to pretend to be my boyfriend for an indefinite period. Indefinite.
Seriously, what was I worried about?
No one would ever find out.
“You.” A deep voice said at my side. The tone was accusatory.
I turned my head and blinked rapidly against the sight in front of me. A very tall man glowered at me, nostrils flared, like a bull getting ready to charge. My eyes dipped down his body and back up again, thinking I’d never seen a specimen like him up close before. The guy was at least three inches over six feet, dressed in jeans that had seen better days and a long thermal shirt that showed a very defined muscular build. Very defined. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, showing off thickly veined forearms. Didn’t Yvonne’s have a dress code?
I looked into what would have been beautiful green eyes if they hadn’t been glaring at me. At me?
What the heck? I didn’t have time for miscreants right now. “Can I help you?”
“Parker Brown?”
Oh crap.
“Yes?”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m Rhys Morgan. Dean’s big brother. He’s not coming.”
For a moment, I could only stare. How could this guy be Dean’s big brother? Dean was fair-haired and blue eyed, clean-cut and handsome in a pretty way. This guy had close-cropped dark hair, the aforementioned gorgeous green eyes, needed to shave a few days ago, and with his rugged, angular features and broken nose, definitely not a pretty boy. I guess some women might find him appealing but he was too big and rough for me.
I liked my guys nerdy and cute.
Anyhoo, back to my point… I snapped my attention away from the impressive definition in his biceps. “You don’t look anything alike.”
His nostrils flared again. “Yeah, we’re nothing alike. I wouldn’t let some uptown Masshole prostitute me.”
My cheeks burned as I glanced around in horror. Loud! Wow, he was loud! I hopped off the stool and pressed my hands to his chest to push him toward the exit but stopped. He had pecs. “Oh, those are well developed.” I dropped my hands like they’d been burned.
Dean’s supposed brother grit his teeth in obvious agitation.
“Let’s talk a little away from the bar.” I led him around the corner to the hallway between the entrance and the restaurant, giving a tight “All is okay here” smile to a passing host. Turning around to face Rhys, I almost smacked right into his chest.