16. Parker
Parker
The sun is creeping through the window, throwing enough light to make everything look calm, like it's a normal day for a young married couple.
It’s anything but.
Adair’s still out cold beside me, hair everywhere, mouth slightly open. Her face is relaxed in a way I don’t see often. There's no fire or sass, stillness.
It does two things at once—turns me on and messes with my head.
Because last night, I saw something in her I hadn’t expected—jealousy. I saw real emotion. When she walked in and saw me on that call with Rose, she bolted before I could tell her what it was about. In her haste, she didn't give me a chance to explain. And when I tried, she didn’t want to hear it.
She doesn’t know Rose was helping her . Nor does she know that the whole reason I reached out to her in the first place was to help boost Citrine. And that’s not even the part that stuck with me.
What stuck is how much it mattered to her. Which, in my fucked up head, means I matter to her. That’s the part I can’t shake.
She groans, tossing an arm over her face. “Hey.”
“Morning,” I say, nudging a strand of hair from her cheek. “Ready for the big day?”
She groans again, burying her face in the pillow. I chuckle, but my brain’s still stuck on last night. On what it meant. On what it might mean.
Her voice comes out muffled. “You mean brunch with your charming father, who could ruin our entire fake life over eggs Benedict? Can’t wait.”
I chuckle, settling back against the headboard. “It’ll be fine. You don’t need to impress him. He’s already got his sights locked on me.”
She peeks out from under her arm, skeptical. “So what exactly is the plan? Smile, nod, and let him dissect me like a frog?”
“Nah. Just be yourself. Maybe dial up the lovey-dovey a little.”
Her brows lift. “Why? If he already knows we rushed into this for the will, what’s the point?”
“He suspects . I never confirmed anything. And if we can sell it and look solid, then maybe he backs off. My main goal today is to give him what he wants and get him out of town before Anders's guy gets here Tuesday.”
There’s something ridiculously hot about the way she goes silent when she’s working something out. “So we’re in theater mode now.”
“Think of it more like we're running PR. We need to show we’ve got chemistry and that we’re on the same page.”
She sighs and rubs her eyes. “I’m gonna need a gallon of coffee and possibly a tranquilizer.”
I stretch as she gets out of bed, grabs a t-shirt off the floor, and pulls it on without fanfare. She looks good like this, and I instantly stiffen at the sight of her body, even with the shit covering her.
“You heading next door?” she says, yawning. “I need to shower and get my game face on.” She glances back at me. “What time are we meeting him?”
That's her polite way of telling me to get the hell out. I read it loud and clear.
“One-thirty.”
She groans again, dragging her feet toward the door. “I think I can pull myself together by then.”
“Don’t forget, be yourself,” I call after her, earning a half-hearted wave as she disappears into her kitchen.
She flips me off over her shoulder without turning around. It’s practically a term of endearment by now.
Once I’m back in my condo, ten kisses and two ass squeezes later, I check the time. I don’t need as long as Adair to get ready, but I do need a minute to get my head on straight.
Because meeting my dad isn’t another brunch. It’s a goddamn obstacle course.
Leeland’s not here to size up Adair. That part’s done. I guarantee he’s already got her credit score, tax returns, and kindergarten report cards in a manila folder somewhere.
He’s here for me.
To watch how I move around her, to assess the performance, to make sure I don’t screw this up.
That’s what Leeland Matthews does. He hovers, waits, judges, and plays puppet master until someone blinks.
And I always blink first.
Just knowing he’s in town spikes my blood pressure. My whole life, I’ve felt the weight of his eyes, the quiet disapproval, impossible standards, and a bar he never let me reach. He didn’t have to yell. One clipped sigh or a single look of disappointment did more damage than a lecture ever could.
And now, here we are.
I’m married and we’re in deep. The ink’s dry, so there’s no changing course now—only damage control. And he’s already inserting himself, like he always does.
The estate rep arrives in forty-eight hours, and Leeland's doing what he does best: playing power games under the guise of concern. My job is to smile, let him think he’s steering the ship, and then politely shove him back to DC.
I can handle this.
I scrub a hand down my face. A run on the beach might not fix anything, but it’ll quiet the noise for a few miles.
Without thinking, I throw on some shorts, grab my flip flops, and head to the beach.
When I arrive, I leave my flip flops on the dune and dig my toes in. Immediately, I feel better.
The sand’s cool underfoot, the ocean still waking up. It's the crash of waves, my breath, and the low screech of a gull overhead. I find my rhythm quickly. It's easy, automatic.
Meeting with my dad today is first on the list, the top of the stress pile. But it doesn't end there.
Then there’s Tuesday, when the estate rep arrives. With him, the first verdict on whether this whole marriage charade holds up under a microscope. Then, of course, we have to keep it up for the next five plus months, or however long it is, to meet that seemingly arbitrary six-month mark.
I should be more nervous about that. But I’m still stuck on Adair. Not how she looked this morning, all soft skin and sleepy sass, but what it meant to wake up beside her and not want it to end .
And then there’s Gunner’s offer. A real position. Assistant General Surgeon. Everything I said I wanted before any of this. Before her. Before the inheritance. It’d tie me to Palm Beach, to this version of my life I didn’t see coming.
Do I even stay in medicine? After the inheritance comes through, is it still about the career grind, or does everything shift?
Too many questions. No answers.
So I run harder. I push until my legs burn and the doubt fades into the background. Just sand, breath, and the pounding surf ahead.
I glance at the water. The sunlight's hitting the surface just so, turning everything into gold flecks. This is why I love being here early in the morning before the wind and people change everything.
I like it here. The pace, the people, the space to breathe.
That’s all before I acknowledge the most important part about Palm Beach. Adair. She’s here.
By the time I hit the end of the beach and turn back, I’m sweating, my heart's pounding, and my lungs are burning. There’s something about being here that feels like home in a way nowhere else ever has. I always assumed Palm Beach would be temporary.
Now I’m not so sure.
I step out of the car once we pull up. The brightness of the midday sun warms my shoulders as I scan the parking lot of the yacht club.
The sleek cars lined up like soldiers remind me why I’ve never been a true Yacht Club Guy, even though I grew up surrounded by them.
Adair steps out of the passenger side, calm on the surface but with that thin, tight line across her lips. Her ponytail’s sleek, and the sundress is chic but understated, like I suggested. Safe and controlled.
She’s playing the part perfectly, but I know her well enough by now to see the tension in the set of her jaw.
“Are you ready for this?” I ask as we start toward the entrance.
She glances at me, arching an eyebrow. “Lunch with your charming father, who doesn’t like me already? I'm as ready as I can be.”
I smirk. “Good point. You can never be ready for Leeland.”
We step inside, and the cool air-conditioned interior of the club is a welcome relief from the summer settling in at the beach. A hostess greets us and leads the way to a table near the window, where my dad is already waiting.
Leeland Matthews is the picture of composed power. Of course, he's got the tailored suit, salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed, and the kind of presence that turns heads without him saying a word.
He rises as we approach, his sharp blue eyes zeroing in on Adair like she’s a challenge he’s eager to take on.
“You must be Adair,” he says, extending a hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you.”
She shakes his hand firmly. Her smile is polite but not overly warm. “Mr. Matthews, thanks for having me. It's a pleasure to meet you, too.”
“Call me Leeland,” he says, settling back in his seat and gesturing for us to do the same. “No need for formalities. We’re family, after all.”
Almost convincing, until you catch the gleam in his eyes. It’s not warmth, it’s performance. And the condescension? Not subtle.
The first ten minutes crawl by. The waiter drops off waters and menus, but the table’s stiff. Tight smiles. Chilly small talk. Two sharks circling, both pretending not to smell blood.
I try to keep things safe. Weather, Yacht club renovations, Mindless filler. But Leeland cuts right through it.
“So, Adair,” he says, casually placing his glass down like he’s setting a stage. “I hear your wellness café’s had a few bumps.”
My stomach knots. That wasn’t a question. It was a trap.
Mother fucker. I should’ve warned her.
Adair’s spine straightens. No panic, a flicker of steel behind her eyes. She brushes an imaginary crumb from her lap and meets his gaze with a smile I’ve seen disarm men twice his size.
“I wouldn’t call it trouble,” she says lightly. “More like growing pains. Starting something from scratch isn’t for the faint of heart. But I’m sure you know that.”
Leeland’s lips twitch, but he doesn't offer a smile. “Well,” he says, “I could’ve called it a strategic pivot to maintain operational flexibility, but that felt a little too LinkedIn for brunch.”
“Dad,” I warn, my voice low.
“It’s fine,” Adair says quickly, glancing at me before turning her attention back to my dad. “You’ve done your homework. That’s commendable.”
“It’s my job to know who’s tied to my son,” Leeland says. “Regardless of the terms of that arrangement.”
“Even if it’s pretend?”
Adair’s smile is sweet, but her tone could cut glass. She said it out loud .
Until now, we hadn’t named it. Leeland and I danced around the truth, both knowing but never confirming. I never gave him the satisfaction.
He chuckles, leaning back like he’s already won. “Even in that context, yes. The estate attorney is as thorough. They’ll be evaluating whether this marriage is genuine—or a convenient shortcut to Parker’s inheritance.”
“Uh-huh,” she says. Her expression doesn’t change, but I know her well enough now to recognize the restraint it takes for her not to go scorched earth. “We’re fully aware of that.”
“They won’t stop at paperwork,” Leeland adds, folding his hands. “They’ll look at everything. Socials, address history—hell, probably your Amazon orders.”
Adair’s quiet for a beat, eyes locked on his. I can practically hear the gears turning.
Then she leans forward slightly. “Well,” she says, calm and cool, “I’m glad to hear everyone’s doing their due diligence. That money must mean a lot to you. Would be a real shame if it all went to charity because someone decided Parker and I weren’t convincing enough.”
Leeland’s jaw ticks slightly.
A crack. Barely there, but I see it. And holy shit, it’s beautiful.
Fuck, yeah. That’s my wife!
Adair isn’t done. “But for the record, Mr. Matthews, sorry, Leeland, my business and the product line I'm developing and marketing don’t depend on anyone’s inheritance. I have several options for saving and growing my business. So, you don’t need to worry about me being here for the wrong reasons.”
Her voice is even. Measured. But there’s steel in it, too.
"So no," she adds, “you don’t need to worry about me being here for the wrong reasons. ”
Her words hang there like a challenge.
Leeland nods slowly, but his face gives nothing away. “Okay.”
She presses on. “That said, when Parker pitched the idea, I didn’t run—I listened. He needed a partner. I saw an opportunity. But don’t mistake that for some manipulative angle. Neither of us cooked this up. The situation landed in our laps, and we rose to meet it.”
Leeland studies her, silent for a beat too long. Then he says, “Fair enough. I hope you’ll forgive my skepticism. It’s not every day someone in your position crosses paths with someone in Parker’s.”
Her smile doesn’t flinch. “Guess that makes me special.”
By the time the waiter brings our entrees, the tension has eased slightly, but it still simmers beneath the surface. Adair and my dad exchange a few more verbal jabs, but she holds her own every time, meeting him word for word.
I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified.
“You’re not what I expected,” Leeland says finally, setting down his fork and fixing Adair with a piercing look.
“I get that a lot,” she replies with a smile. Her tone is light, but her eyes are steady. She doesn’t take the bait, whatever he’s trying to do here.
He nods, almost like he’s conceding a point. “You’re sharp. And stubborn. Parker could do worse.”
“I guess I'll take that as a compliment,” Adair says dryly.
“It is,” Leeland says, and for the first time, I think he might mean it.
“So, don’t mess this up. For either of you.”
Adair tilts her head, humor evident in her eyes.
“You know, of all the people sitting at this table, you are the only one worried about the money. The way I see it, if anyone here is going to mess up and reveal something they shouldn’t to the estate representative, it’s the person who cares about the money the most.”
I gape at her. But my dad doesn’t even flinch. A hint of a smile crosses his face, and he relaxes.
He looks at me, wipes his mouth with his white cloth napkin, and places it in his lap.
“She’s sharp, Parker. I see why you married her. Just remember, sharp things tend to break when you lean on them too hard.”