9. Adair
Adair
The morning light filters through the store windows, catching the almost imperceptible dust. Everything here used to be so polished. Premium.
Now it's sad with a dull residue on everything.
I was supposed to be the boss, the dream-chaser. Now I’m the receptionist, back-office, and backup esthetician.
I straighten a few bottles out of habit, not purpose. They’re beautiful. They’re also unsold.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket. It's Jenna.
I almost let it go to voicemail, but then I realize talking to her might be better than sitting here wallowing in my despair.
“Jenna! Hey, girl?—”
She laughs. “I was beginning to think you forgot about me. My ankle’s fine, by the way, thanks for checking on me."
"I did call the other day, Missy!"
"Oh, I missed that. Sorry. I’m off the roller-scooter.”
“That was fast.”
“So? Did you talk to the hot ER doc again? ”
I smirk. Classic Jenna. "Define talk to..."
She gasps. “No. Shut up. Are you serious? You’ve talked to him!”
“I didn’t say anything,” I counter, all faux innocence. “You said ‘talk to,’ and I’m saying some communication may have occurred.”
“Oh my God,” she squeals. “Wait, is he the real deal? Are we talking first date or first name basis with his abs?”
I laugh and shake my head, deflecting with enough truth to keep her off the scent. “We’re getting to know each other. It’s still early."
"How did this happen?! Did you go back to the ER and stalk him out? I knew you guys had a thing. I could so tell."
"He came to Citrine the next day. We got properly acquainted."
"Have you slept with him? You slept with him!"
"It's complicated. How about we leave it there?”
“Complicated?” she repeats, suddenly suspicious. “Adair, are you seeing a married man? Is this some hot hospital soap opera?”
“No! Ew. Not even close.” I pause. “It’s unconventional. But I like him. More than I planned to.”
She sighs like she’s already writing the wedding vows. “Okay, fine. I won’t pry. Yet. But if this turns into something, you better not leave me out of the loop. Maid of honor rights. Dibs.”
Crap. I should tell her I've already married him, but I don’t have it in me to explain all of that.
In truth, I don’t even know what to say. It's not a real marriage, anyway. Well, technically it is, not the kind that involves love and bridesmaids and all that.
So I leave that alone for now .
“Noted,” I say, smiling despite the knot twisting in my stomach.
She doesn’t know the half of it. Of course, to Jenna and everyone else in my life, it has to look like Parker and I are the real thing.
She lets out a dreamy sigh. “Well, I’m so happy for you. Here I am, spending my days reading scripts and praying to land even the smallest role in a Liberty Insurance commercial, and you’re out there living the fairytale with a hot doctor you met because of me.”
Well, not entirely because of you. But she doesn't need to know about Miami, either.
“Jenna, your life is fabulous. Give me a break.”
“Please,” she scoffs, but I can hear the grin in her voice.
“I’d trade you places in a heartbeat. You’re a business owner, a total boss.
Sometimes I’m like, I don’t know, I'm such a cliché here, living off Dad’s money, running around in casting calls in Hollywood. You’re out there making things happen.”
“Hey, don’t talk down about yourself like that,” I say, forcing the energy back into my voice. “You’re following your dreams. That’s not something everyone has the guts to do.”
“Oh, stop it, you’re gonna make me tear up,” she says. “It’s hard sometimes, you know? But I’m doing it for me. Maybe one day I’ll land a role that doesn’t involve playing the sidewalk extra in Law & Order.”
“Just saying, I watch the hell out of Mariska Hargitay, so don't discount the importance of the people walking down the sidewalks of New York,” I say, laughing. “They make the show.”
“Thanks, Adair,” she laughs. “Really. That means a lot.” Her voice lifts. “So, I’m already planning my next visit in a few months. Can I book Citrine for a full pamper day? I want the works—facial, massage, all of it.”
I wince. Luckily, she can’t see it. I was able to keep her busy enough this last trip that there was no time for any services. I won’t be able to do that every time.
“Of course,” I say, my voice as bright as I can make it. “We’ll treat you like a queen.”
And by "we," I mean me, myself, and the ever-diminishing will ability to wear all the hats.
“Perfect! Maybe I’ll even get to see you and your Dr. Dreamboat together and happier than ever. That way, I can make sure he’s good enough for you,” she teases.
It depends on whether you’re here in the next six months.
“Oh, you’ll have plenty of time to interrogate him,” I assure her, trying to keep my tone light.
“Great. And Adair?”
“Yes?”
“You’re okay, right? I mean, I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, but I don’t know. You’re always so strong, but I know things are tough right now.”
I hesitate for a second, feeling that familiar urge to spill everything—the stress, the worry, the way this place has become more of a burden than a dream. But I push it down.
Jenna doesn’t need my problems. She’s got her own life to worry about. She deserves support, not to be dragged down by my shitshow of a life.
“Of course, I’m fine,” I say brightly. “Just the usual business stuff. But I’m great, really.”
“Well, I’m here if you ever need a vent sesh,” she says. “You’re my best friend. I don’t care how busy you are, we are always there for each other. ”
“A thousand percent,” I say, feeling a pang of something I can’t quite name. “I can’t wait to see you again, JJ.”
We hang up, and for a moment, I stand there, phone in hand, as the weight of the conversation settles over me.
I hate hiding things from Jenna, hate pretending everything is perfect when it’s far from it.
I can practically hear her disappointment, even though I know she’d never judge me.
I take a deep breath, willing myself to shake it off. Just a little longer.
Things will turn around. They have to.
I’m bored out of my mind. After sitting in the store all morning, my most exciting task is contemplating what to order for lunch.
That's until the door chimes. I glance up, delighted to see my handsome fake husband. God, that’s so weird.
What is a fake husband, anyway? Because we are married, certificate and all. And the lines are becoming more fuzzy by the day.
He’s still in his scrubs, looking a little too attractive for my peace of mind.
“Hey, gorgeous,” Parker says in his easy way, a small smile tugging at his lips. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and I catch a flash of warmth in them that I hadn’t expected. He’s holding a coffee cup out toward me. “Thought you could use this.”
I accept it, surprised. “Thanks. Rough shift?”
“Not bad, a busy morning,” he says, his gaze sweeping over the store, landing on the shelves of my product line that I’ve rearranged for what feels like the tenth time this week. “Looks good in here. ”
I don’t want him noticing the rows and rows of unsold product, but I force myself to smile. “Trying to keep it that way.”
Parker leans against the counter, looking at me intently. “So, I thought about what happened at the club the other day.”
My mouth goes dry instantly. I still haven’t decided whether his little announcement was a smart move or a nightmare in the making. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “It was unexpected that Gunner would make such a deal of it when I told him. It was my way of testing the waters.”
“Um, tiny bit awkward, but we survived.”
“I’m sorry if it caught you off guard. But I think it was overall a good thing. Honestly, I think we should do more than keep up the act. Maybe we should, I don’t know, lean into it more.”
“Lean into it?” I repeat, trying not to sound like I’m already halfway to a panic attack. “You make it sound like we’re building an MLM for fake spouses.”
"Good point. It's so odd, talking about it like this. I don't know. Just thinking if we play it up more, it might be easier if we have to put on the show for Anders, the attorney."
"You might be right. I don't even know how to do that. I talked to my best friend and couldn't bring myself to tell her. It feels like lying."
"I hear you there. I never thought about how it would feel to say such a big lie.”
I sip my coffee while watching him. I can tell there is something else on his mind.
“In other news, speaking of lying, there’s been a new development,” he says, dragging a hand through his hair.
Not good. Nothing that starts with that tone ever is .
“My dad called earlier.”
He says it casually, but something in his face tightens. Something tells me this wasn’t a quick check-in.
"Oh. How did that go?"
He hesitates, then sighs. “He’s coming down to meet my wife.” He gives a dry smile. “He somehow found out about the will and the clause, even though the attorney told me it would be private.”
“Interesting.” I arch a brow. “I guess you didn't want him to know? Are you two close?” I dig while trying not to be too intrusive.
He laughs, but there’s no joy in it. It's more a reflex than humor. Something shifts behind his eyes. This doesn’t feel like a relationship milestone. It feels like a warning.
“That’s a loaded question,” he says. “We’re not close. We stay in touch. Mostly so he can monitor the perimeter. I was hoping we could get through all this without him finding out, but I should have known that was a pipe dream.”
My heart sinks. I certainly don't want to get in the middle of his family drama while maintaining this lie.
“So he's not coming here to meet your wife. It’s about the inheritance.”
“Pretty much,” he says, tension pulling at his jaw. “He’s coming to insert himself. Not maybe. Not eventually. It’s what he does. He’ll find a crack and wedge himself in. Meeting you is part of that reconnaissance, if you will.”
I hesitate. “Does he… know?”
Parker meets my gaze, eyes steady. “That we got married solely for the stipulation in the will?”
I nod.
“No,” he says. “And I want to keep it that way.”
“So we’re playing the part for him, too?”
“Especially for him.” His voice darkens. “If he thinks there’s even a crack, he’ll wedge it open and turn it into a whole production. And then demand a piece for helping us hold it together.”
I frown. “But why? Why would your father want to sabotage something your uncle wanted you to have? Especially if he doesn’t need the money.”
He touches the back of his neck, a nervous habit he probably doesn’t know he has.
“Because if I succeed without him, he loses control. And Leeland Matthews doesn’t do powerlessness. It’s not about the money—it never is. It’s about making sure I don’t win unless he gets to say how. The money is gravy.”
His voice lowers, but the edge doesn’t soften.
“He needs to be the smartest guy in the room. The one calling the shots. And if he can’t control the outcome, he’ll sabotage it to prove he still can.”
I blink. The way he says it—it’s not dramatic. It’s scary. His father sounds like a monster.
“If he catches wind that this marriage isn’t real,” Parker continues, “he’ll dig. Push. Make the attorney nervous. Make us nervous. He doesn’t need proof, a scintilla of doubt. That’s all it would take to slow things down and maybe derail it completely.”
I don’t say anything. Because suddenly, this isn’t a game we’re playing. It’s a minefield.
"Geez, Parker. I'm sorry."
“He’s done it before,” Parker adds quietly. “Calls it ‘keeping people honest.’”
“So what do we do?” I finally manage.
He steps a little closer.
“We make it perfect,” he says. “That’s the only way we keep him out.”
He pauses, then pulls me into a hug. I get the sense he needs this more than I do. So I let myself lean in .
And for one second, it doesn’t feel like acting.
Because that’s the problem. We’re not performing for anyone right now.
I reach up—automatic, ridiculous—and brush an imaginary speck off his shoulder.
“I think we can do perfect,” I say.
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear like it’s nothing, and we both crack up.
“Look at us. Rehearsing the roles even when no one’s watching. We’re going to slay when your father shows up.”
He tightens his arm around me and gives me a playful nudge, his grin crooked and too charming for my well-being.
We pull apart, a little breathless. I try not to overthink it.
“Definitely convincing,” I say, hoping he can’t hear my pulse hammering in my chest.
“Good,” he says, letting his gaze linger for a beat too long. “The more real this looks, the better.”
Before I can respond, the door swings open, and Bets and Jackie Percell stroll in. The two of them take one look at Parker and break into wide grins.
“Well, isn’t this a sweet surprise?” Bets teases, eyeing us both. “You're the catch around town, Parker, I’ve been hearing. Everyone wants to know how Adair snagged you.”
“Oh, that’s silly,” Parker says without missing a beat. He turns to face them, keeping his arm firmly around me, and plants a quick, playful kiss on the top of my head.
“I’d say she’s the one who’s the catch. I’m lucky she agreed to this craziness.”
My heart flips, even though I know he’s playing his part. I laugh, brushing it off like it’s nothing, but there’s a weird little pang in my chest as I catch Bets and Jackie trading amused looks .
I’m usually the one making the calls, the one who wears “entrepreneur” like a badge. And I typically get bored with men who act all lovey-dovey.
But standing next to Parker, I sense a shift inside of me. He’s a catch. Bets isn't wrong.
And the fawning is fun, which is what gets me.
It’s not the kiss or the charm.
But the way this lie fits too well.
It’s almost like I’m slipping into someone else’s life, and realizing I kind of like the feel of it.