Outmatched - Kristen Callihan Page 0,5

my biceps and gently pushed me away from him. Off the stool, I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze, and as he towered over me, I suddenly wondered if it was a bad idea to engage in any kind of conversation with an angry man who could crush me like a bug between his two big paws. However, I would not be easily intimidated. Okay, sure, this guy was intimidating, but I’d studied in a male-dominated field for years. Now I was the only woman in the company I worked for. I’d learned quickly to not let any guy, no matter how smart or physically impressive he was, see that I was intimidated.

Or discombobulated by him.

Even if I was.

“First, I’m not from Massachusetts.” I didn’t know why that was important, but I really hated the term “Masshole,” which referred to the rich blue bloods around here who weren’t very nice.

Rhys sneered. “You’re a New Yorker who summers.” He pronounced summers like “summahs” with a thick Boston accent I normally found adorable. There was nothing adorable about this guy. “Same fucking difference, Tinker Bell.”

Ugh. There was so much to hate in that last sentence. “Please don’t curse.” My mother nagged swear words out of my vocabulary before I even got the chance to fully explore their usage. Consequently, discomfort was a knee-jerk reaction to unwarranted curse words. “And mocking my height is extremely rude.”

“You know what’s extremely rude?” He stepped right into my personal space, forcing me to crane my neck to keep eye contact. “Hiring a desperate kid to service your needs.”

I was certain my whole body turned as red as a bull flag. For a moment, I could only splutter. “That-that-that is so not what I did,” I hissed. “For a start, he’s not a kid. He’s twenty-five years old. Moreover, I am not paying him to ‘service my needs.’ I’ll thank you to not insult me by assuming that I need to pay for that.”

He dragged his gaze over my body and grunted.

“I’m going to ignore whatever that noise meant since I’ve evolved beyond the Tertiary Period. Back to my point: Dean is a grown-up and I hired him to escort me to dates and events that involved my colleagues and my boss. Without going into the details, I need my bosses to think I’m in a committed relationship so they’ll consider hiring me for a permanent position. Mr. Fairchild is a little old-fashioned that way.” There. That was very diplomatic. I beamed at myself. It was the first time I’d described the situation without calling Mr. Fairchild a plague on women’s rights.

Rhys scowled. “Wipe the smile off your face, Tinker Bell. I could give two New York-sized shits why you hired Dean. It was fucking wrong and you know it.”

Anxiety and hurt mingled as I glared up at my accuser. Had hiring Dean been wrong? I’d thought it was mutually beneficial. At no point had I felt like I was taking advantage of or using him, but his brother was making it seem that way. Like I was a privileged princess who thought I could do whatever I liked because I had money.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “I refuse to stand here and be made to feel like I did something wrong. If you’re upset by your brother’s choices, that’s your problem, because he did have a choice and he was being well compensated. Two thousand dollars a week to go on a few dates throughout said month is more than fair.” It was ludicrous. I’d had to dip into my trust fund for it. But no guy was willing to be my fake boyfriend for an indefinite amount of time without excellent compensation.

Not that I was tragically unattractive or had an awful personality. It’s just that most people needed an end date because they had other commitments. I couldn’t give them an end date just yet.

Rocking back on his heels at the sum, Rhys seemed momentarily struck dumb.

Good, because I needed him gone! “Look, Mr. Morgan, my bosses will be here any minute so I would really appreciate you leaving. Now. Now would be good.” I indicated the door behind me. “Bye-bye.” He didn’t move. “Adios?” Still staring at me. “Vámonos. Ciao. Au revoir.” I sighed heavily. “Shoo.”

He scowled. “Did you just shoo me?”

“Only if it worked.”

“Darlin’, you’re cracked in the head. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Look—”

“Parker, there you are!”

I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing a door to a multidimensional

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