6. Parker
Parker
Her place is small but full of personality. Coastal tones, soft lighting, and plants she clearly remembers to water.
The couch has a throw blanket draped so, and there’s a bottle of red wine already sitting on the counter, like she was expecting company. Or, maybe she leaves it out for herself as a welcome home from work.
She kicks off her shoes and pads barefoot to the kitchen. She removes the cork with precision, grabs two glasses, and pours without asking. I find her quiet confidence sexy.
It’s easy. Comfortable. A little too domestic for what we are, but not unwelcome.
“Have a seat,” she says, nodding toward the couch. Her tone is casual, but her eyes track every move I make. She’s calculating but not cold, almost like she's trying to decide if she can take me seriously or not.
“Thanks for the wine,” I say, settling into the couch. She doesn’t sit right away. Instead, she leans against the counter and watches me, sipping from her glass like she’s waiting for me to start the real conversation .
“So, tell me what you’re thinking,” I say. I'm not pushing, but opening the door, feeling her out. She said she spoke to her attorney, so she must be at least considering it somewhat.
She crosses her arms and lets out a breath. “Let me start with, I think this is insane. That's what I'm thinking. But I'm intrigued enough to find out how it would work if I could agree to terms.”
I smile. “That’s a start. And, to be fair, I think this is insane, too. I'm still trying to figure out where in the world he came up with this craziness.”
She finally moves toward the couch and sits on the opposite end, folding one leg beneath her.
"Marriage isn’t exactly something you can undo with a text. Being completely frank, I could use the funds for my business, but I want to be smart about it. What are your thoughts? What are the requirements in the will?”
“Understandable,” I say, nodding. “So, the way the attorney described it to me, I would have to be legally married within thirty days, which, at this point, is more like twenty-four.”
She almost spits her wine out and coughs.
"Did you say twenty-four days?"
“Essentially, give or take."
"Okay. That's fast."
“I know, you're telling me."
I take a deep breath. "So, legally married at warp speed, and then remain married for at least six months. I asked, and he did say that if we divorce or annul the marriage, six months and one day later, it works. We would just have to stay married for six months."
"Wow. This is wild. How does someone even come up with something like this? And why?"
I shrug, smiling a little. “You’d have to know my uncle. Quirky doesn’t cover it. He was big into puzzles, loved weird challenges. I think he saw this as one final riddle. Something to make me have to work to get it.”
"Ahh. Interesting. Your uncle sounds... unique."
"That's putting it mildly."
She takes a big gulp, almost emptying her wine, and I clear my throat.
“But,” I add, “that doesn’t mean you have to decide right now. If anything about this feels off, we hit pause and walk away before we sign anything. No hard feelings. Regardless, I'm still looking forward to our date on Friday.”
Her shoulders relax a little. She adjusts her position, and I swear I can see her calculating the risks.
“I'd say the decision window is pretty short. Twenty-four days is a little more than three weeks. That's pretty imminent, so I think there isn't a lot of time to decide.”
“True,” I say. “I guess I mean this very minute. But, you’re exactly right, I'm under a tight time crunch if we are going to do this.”
She studies me like she’s trying to spot the catch. “Why me?”
I pause. Because if I'm being honest, it wasn’t one thing.
“We ran into each other at the hospital, and you looked familiar, but I couldn’t place you. Then it hit me.”
Her brow lifts slightly.
“After that, I got the call about my uncle. The will. All of it. I was still trying to process when I saw the article about Citrine—you, the stranger from Miami, building something from nothing. All in. Fierce. I don’t know... it stuck.”
I run a hand through my hair.
"Look, I know this is unconventional. I thought about asking friends, but that gets messy with people you have to see every day. My family..."
I shake my head. "That's a whole other complication. Hiring someone feels too risky. I wouldn't know their motivations, what they might want later."
"I'm a stranger."
"Sort of. I'd say you're more of a hybrid stranger."
She tilts her head back and laughs. Something inside of me heats up as I trace the line of her neck down to her collarbone with my eyes. She takes a deep breath and composes herself.
I meet her eyes. "We have this connection, this chemistry. And you're building something real here, something that matters to you. That tells me you're not looking to scam anyone, just trying to make your own way."
Her mouth curves, but it's cautious. "You're not exactly making this sound romantic."
"It's not," I say plainly. "It's practical. But it needed one thing you can't fake—chemistry."
I hold her gaze. “And you didn’t flinch when I brought it up. That told me everything.”
"So what are we talking about here? I mean, you mentioned a financial component for me. What do you have in mind?"
"You tell me. I've never done something like this. What figure makes it worth it for you?"
She goes quiet for a moment, thumb tapping her wine glass, eyes distant. Then, almost like a reflex, she starts counting on her fingers.
“Okay,” she murmurs. “Rent. Payroll. Inventory. I need a manager if I’m ever going to scale. I want to take the product line to market—actual packaging, regional deals, a trade show. ”
She lifts her hand, ticking off one more finger. “Ballpark? Two hundred grand.”
I don’t blink. Just nod. “That’s fair.”
Her brows lift. “No flinch?”
“I think that sounds reasonable. Hell, I would do $300,000, if that works?”
“Oh, okay. Even better,” she says. “Three hundred big ones isn't nothing. You have that kind of cash?”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “No, I don't. I’m still paying off med school, and now I have a mortgage while also finishing out my lease.”
"Ahh. So I wouldn't be able to see any money until after the estate pays, after the six months?"
“I can commit to a structure that makes it doable in the short term. For both of us.”
"So what does that look like? What does that mean?"
“I can swing $8,000 a month. That’s yours, regardless of what happens. Call it short-term relief. Then, if we make it to six months and the estate closes, I’ll pay the balance, which would be..."
I do the math quickly in my head. "I'll pay the balance of $252,000 once everything goes through.”
She narrows her eyes slightly, calculating. “So, let me make sure I understand the full picture. I play the part, survive the judgment, keep this going for six months…”
“You walk away with three hundred grand,” I finish. “Exactly.”
“And if it blows up before then?”
“You keep what I’ve already paid. I take the hit. No penalties, no NDA bullshit. I don’t want to screw you over, Adair. I want this to work for both of us. If it doesn't, we tried.”
She leans back, silent for a beat. Then she nods slowly, and there’s steel behind it .
“Alright,” she says. “I think we can do it. Would you be okay if I have my attorney draw up a contract with specific terms? The money, but also what my expectations would be as part of this?”
"I have no problem with that."
"I'm guessing I need to pretend we are in love in public, like we're married for real, maybe some occasional PDA, that kind of stuff. Since we will be neighbors, we can probably maintain the front that we're living together in marital bliss fairly easily while keeping our own places."
"All of that tracks for me. We can keep the illusion going without crashing into each other’s routines.”
She nods, but her eyes keep moving. I can almost see her locking the pieces into place, like a strategy forming mid-air.
Then, quietly, she says, almost as a final condition, “I didn’t build Citrine for fun. This is my real life.”
“I get that.”
“I'm only considering this because I happen to need some capital to do some things.”
There’s no shame in her voice. Just honesty.
I nod. “None of that is my business, but I figured as a small business owner, this could be helpful for you.”
She lifts her glass, studies me over the rim. “Now that we’re clear. I’ll lie to the world, sign whatever contract you want, but don’t ever pity me.”
My mouth curves. “I wouldn't dream of it.”
Her eyes soften a little. “We both need something here.”
“Exactly right,” I say. “Consider yourself the CEO of our ruse.”
Her mouth twitches. “Not the worst promotion I’ve ever had.”
She crosses her arms again, gaze steady. “And sex? ”
I meet her eyes. “Not required, not expected. But, we both know the attraction’s there, so, I mean....”
She doesn’t deny it. “I won't deny that, but probably not the best idea, right?”
“Perhaps not,” I say. “But I won’t pretend I wouldn't love to hone in on the whole making the marriage as realistic as possible.”
Her mouth twitches like she’s suppressing a smile. “So we see what happens with regards to that?”
“We set clear boundaries,” I say. “And if it does happen, it’s not part of the contract. It’s real. Or at least... not fake.”
She nods slowly, like that earns points. “Okay, then. I don’t sleep for money. But I might for fun.”
I grin. “Noted.”
She turns to grab her laptop, but I glance at my phone out of habit. That’s when I see the unread email from Anders Blankenship.
Subject: Notice of Outside Inquiry – Matthews Estate
I open it.
Dr. Matthews,
This is a courtesy notification letting you know that your father, Mr. Leeland Matthews, contacted our office earlier today to inquire about the Roger L.
Matthews estate. As a non-party to the will or trust, no details were disclosed beyond confirmation of our firm’s representation.
A record of the inquiry has been documented, but I also wanted to let you know.
Respectfully,
Anders Blankenship
Blankenship & Gunner, LLP
Montpelier, VT
I stare at the screen.
He already knows. Fuck .
I lock my phone and set it face down on the table. I’ll deal with that later. Right now, I’ve got something more important to secure.
She returns with her laptop tucked under her arm. “Alright. Let’s talk logistics. I want to get this into a rough draft to send to my attorney before I lose my nerve.”
I nod, trying not to smile. “My favorite kind of foreplay.”
That gets a real laugh. The tension breaks, slightly, but it hums under the surface.
She sinks back onto the couch beside me, opening her screen. We start outlining the basics—payment structure, living arrangements, and a few agreed-upon rules.
But her knee brushes mine.
And when I lean in, she doesn’t pull away.
Six Days Later
Thirty minutes and fifty bucks later, Adair and I are standing in the Palm Beach County courthouse, reciting vows so dry and transactional they could double as assembly instructions for IKEA furniture.
The justice of the peace, a tired-looking woman in thick glasses, drones through the script like she's announcing jury duty, not binding two souls in eternal matrimony.
“Do you, Parker Matthews, take Adair Carpenter?—”
“Yes,” I cut in, a little too quickly. “I mean, I do. Definitely.”
Adair arches a perfectly shaped brow at me. “Easy there. Pace yourself. ”
“Sorry, eager to legally bind my assets,” I quip, giving her a smirk.
She snorts softly. “Romantic.”
The justice sighs and pushes her glasses up. “Do you, Adair?—”
“Yep,” she says, equally enthusiastic. “I've got to get back to the store, so no sense in dragging this out.”
“You know, you don’t have to sound quite so excited,” I mutter under my breath, suppressing a laugh.
She leans in, whispering back. “Can’t help myself. I’m a sucker for paperwork.”
The justice of the peace clears her throat pointedly, glaring at us over her rims. “By the power vested in me by the State of Florida?—”
Adair tilts her head. “Do we need rings or something?”
I glance down at my watch, then back at her. “Do you want a ring?”
“Not really.”
“Same.”
The justice finishes, deadpan. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. Please sign here.”
We scribble our names hastily on the dotted line, exchanging a quick, perfunctory handshake. The witness we snagged in the lobby signs. Getting married is a lot easier than I'd imagined.
“Congrats, Dr. and Mrs. Matthews,” the justice says flatly, looking relieved it’s over.
“Thanks,” I reply, offering a sheepish grin. “We’ll try not to make you do this again.”
Adair elbows me gently. “At least for six months.”
“Right.” I nod solemnly. “Long-term commitment.”
We head out into the humid Florida sunshine, marriage certificate in hand, the ink barely dry .
“Well,” Adair says, squinting at me in the glaring sunlight. “Here we are. We did the thing.”
“Married,” I reply, the notion way more bizarre now that it is done than when we were talking about it. I'm married!
“For business purposes only,” she adds firmly.
I smirk. “Obviously.”
And like that, we’re officially, legally, and ridiculously bound together—for richer or poorer.
For the next six months.