15. Adair
Adair
I slam the condo door behind me, hard enough to rattle the cheap art I swore I’d replace two months ago.
I shouldn’t care. I really shouldn’t. But I do. And that’s a fucking problem.
My keys clatter onto the counter. I kick off my shoes. One smacks the wall, the other vanishes under the couch. I don’t even care. Good riddance.
My heart’s still racing. Not from the shitty day I’ve had, that’s a whole mess of its own. But from the scene I walked into when I finally got home, and was looking forward to seeing him.
Laughter. Familiar. Easy. Like I was interrupting something real.
Who was I kidding? This was never going to be anything except a means to an end. How could I have been so stupid?
I didn’t stick around long enough for introductions. Didn’t let him explain. He doesn't owe me that. And if I'm being honest with myself, I don't have the energy to fake a smile and pretend it doesn't hurt. I'm probably seconds away from uninvited tears, and that's the last thing I want him to see.
One look at Parker grinning at his laptop was enough. I couldn't see her face, but I heard her sultry voice and watched how happy he looked.
And all I could think was: I shouldn’t have walked into his place like I belonged there. Like I was his wife.
That’s the issue. I’m getting too comfortable. I was the one who set the rules—real marriage, fake affection, keep it clean. But now I’m the one acting like a jealous wife.
It’s all too much. After Evelyn’s lukewarm hmm over my packaging, after grinding at Citrine all afternoon trying to figure out how to pivot before I run out of money, I thought the beach would clear my head.
It almost worked. Until I came home to that.
Doesn’t matter that we both know it isn't real. We agreed to sell it. Six months. That’s it. Couldn’t he at least respect me enough to keep it tight for six fucking months?
But I know the truth, even if I don’t want to say it out loud.
This isn’t about him. It’s about me, about the feelings I swore I wouldn’t catch. It's about the stupid part of me that hoped somewhere in the reaches of my soul that maybe we weren’t pretending alone.
That’s the real betrayal. Hope.
So I shift gears. It’s easier for me to be mad. Anger doesn’t ache the same way. It doesn’t make me feel stupid for falling for a man who’s never once promised me anything real.
Tonight, I'll let him be the bad guy. I'll get over this. I'll clear my head of him, do some breathing exercises, take a bath, and wash all of this away.
It’s safer than admitting I already let him in.
I swipe a towel off the counter, then toss it right back .
I’ve got too many problems to be letting Parker and his charm derail me. My product line is hanging by a thread, and I need to focus on getting it off the ground.
I'll put my energy on these leads in LA that might stock my stuff. That’s what I should be thinking about. I need actionable things to focus on.
I started putting together a presentation I can do for anyone willing to at least talk to me.
Not Parker. Not his text messages. Not the way his voice is an octave higher when he FaceTimes with whoever that was on his phone.
A knock at the door jolts me out of my spiral.
I sit up, my stomach tightening. It’s late. Too late for neighbors or deliveries. There’s only one person it could be.
I cross the room, hesitating for a moment before pressing my ear to the door.
“Adair?” Parker’s voice is muffled but unmistakable. "I can hear you on the other side of the door."
I close my eyes, shaking my head. Of course it’s him.
“Can we talk?"
I lean against the door, letting my forehead rest against the cool wood. “We can talk like this,” I say, my voice louder than I intended.
There's no one watching, so we don't have to put on a show. This is safer for me.
“Through the door?” He chuckles softly. “Don’t you think that’s a little immature?”
“Immature? Coming from the guy who’s been blowing up my phone all day?” I shoot back, smirking despite myself.
“That’s called communication,” he says, his tone teasing. “Maybe you’ve heard of it.”
“Maybe I have. But it doesn’t mean I have to answer. ”
There’s a pause, and then his voice gets serious. “Adair, come on. We do need to talk about this thing between us. Your reaction a little while ago...”
My heart stutters. “This thing ? It’s called a marriage, Parker. Six months. Are you not capable of six months?”
“I am,” he says, softer now. “Can I come in?”
I sigh, grabbing the doorknob. I don’t want to do this, but I also can’t ignore the sincerity in his voice. After a moment, I unlock the door and pull it open.
Plus, fuck me sideways. We are married, so I can’t escape him. Not for a while. Until we get a very real divorce.
Parker stands there, his hands stuffed into his pockets, looking every bit as tired as I feel.
“Fine,” I say, stepping aside. “Come in.”
He walks past me into the condo, his presence filling the space immediately. I close the door and follow him to the kitchen, where he leans against the counter, his eyes on me.
“Funny,” he says, scanning the space. “I remembered it smaller. Maybe because that night, all I saw was you.”
“Cut the charming bullshit, Parker.”
My defense is to be hard, but I appreciate that he doesn’t look. He notices. His eyes scan the framed photo of my mom on the bookshelf, the stack of half-assembled Citrine boxes near the island.
I watch him take it in, not judging, absorbing, and that throws all of my resolve out the window. When did I become such a sentimental sap?
“What did you come here to say?”
He runs a hand along the back of his neck and then looks up at me like I'm going to save him. “First of all, the elephant in the room, about the call you saw a few minutes ago?— ”
“Don’t,” I interrupt, crossing my arms. “You don’t owe me an explanation. This is fake, remember? I don’t want to look like a dumb ass. I’ll remember next time not to show up unannounced.”
His jaw tightens. “Stop. I know it’s fake, Adair, but that doesn’t mean I want you thinking something that isn’t true. Rose is a friend. We were catching up, that’s all.”
I raise an eyebrow, skeptical. Rose? Nice name.
I want to stay mad. I do. But the way he’s looking at me, earnest, like the last thing he wants is to hurt me, is harder than it should be. Someone who looks like Parker is probably a pro at talking his way out of shit like this.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice steady.
I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. “Frankly, if you'd asked me an hour ago, I'd have said yes. Now, I don't know. Do you trust me?”
He smirks, leaning closer. “I do. You can trust me.”
For a moment, the tension between us melts away, replaced by something warmer. Something lighter. I bite back a smile, and he notices.
“There it is,” he says softly.
“There what is?”
“That smile I’ve been missing all day.”
I make a face, but my heart flutters in a way that annoys me. “It’s a fake smile. I’m good at being fake.”
He steps in, close enough that I can sense the electricity coming from his body. “I know the difference.”
He holds my gaze, but doesn’t try to fill the silence with some rehearsed line or distraction. He just lets it sit there, raw and real.
“Adair, I don’t want to screw this up. Whatever this is. I know it’s complicated, but I care about you. And I need you to know that. Even if nothing about this setup is normal. ”
It lands like a sucker punch. Not because it’s grand or dramatic—but because it’s not. It's just… real.
I open my mouth, no idea what’s about to come out. “Parker?—”
He closes the gap, brushing his fingers over mine like he’s giving me a chance to pull away.
I don’t.
Because sex solves everything, right?
Brilliant logic.
Our mouths meet, and whatever fight I had left in me is gone. All the tension melts into his mouth along with me, and suddenly, it isn't about convenience or business. It's about us.
He deepens the kiss as his hands expertly move to my waist, pulling me in until I forget why I ever wanted distance in the first place.
When we finally break for air, I’m dizzy. He’s watching me like I’m something to be unraveled, not conquered.
And it wrecks me.
I should walk away. Tell him we need boundaries. Remind him—and myself—that this is all a performance.
Instead, I let him kiss me again.
Because I don’t have to decide what this means tonight.
We can fall into bed, and I can still pretend I’m keeping him at arm’s length.
Right?
I close my eyes as his lips explore my neck, gentle at first, feather-light, tracing a path down to my collarbone.
My breath hitches, and my heart flutters like I’ve forgotten how to breathe. His fingertips trail up my sides, slipping beneath my shirt. Slowly, carefully, he eases it upward, grazing my skin as he moves.
The cool air teases my skin, raising goosebumps as my shirt hits the floor .
His mouth finds my shoulder, placing kisses there, soft, teasing little touches that send sparks shooting down my spine. When his hands move to the clasp of my bra, I tilt my head back, giving in completely.
He unhooks it, guiding the straps gently down my arms. My chest rises sharply with anticipation, nipples tightening as the delicate fabric slips away. Standing there, half-naked and vulnerable, I tremble, not from cold, but from the way he’s looking at me, hungry and reverent all at once.
“So damn sexy,” he murmurs, his eyes dark and intense as he takes in every inch of exposed skin.
He steps forward, bowing his head to gently kiss each nipple. My lungs forget how to work again, and sex floods between my thighs, making me ache for him.
His hands drift lower now, fingertips brushing the tender area below my belly button beneath my skirt. He undoes the back zipper slowly, carefully, teasing me with deliberate patience. Each tug, each movement, makes my pulse hammer louder, faster.
Soon, my pencil skirt is a crumpled heap at our feet, followed by my underwear, leaving nothing but air and raw hunger between us.