20. Parker
Parker
“So,” I say, breaking the momentary silence. “Let’s go over everything one more time. Just so we’re perfectly aligned.”
Her head turns slightly, but she doesn’t say anything at first. “You know my mantra, Parker. The best path is always straightforward. Stick to our real story, how we had one night of debauchery as strangers, then ran into each other again in the hospital. And we both saw floating hearts and forever love. Keep it clean and easy.”
“We’ll stick with the truth where we can,” I say, adjusting the cuff of my shirt. “Miami’s real. One night, one hell of a connection, then poof, we go our separate ways. Don’t you think we need some more lovey-dovey details? To nail it home?”
Adair shakes her head slowly. “I don’t. The universe does its thing, drops us both in Palm Beach like a cosmic matchmaking app, and wala. Easy peasy.”
“Hmm. Not sure that easy is the word I’d use, but okay,” I say. “We run into each other at the hospital. I recognize you immediately, because how could I not?”
She smirks. “That’s because I was yelling at you. ”
“Details, details. Let’s say sparks flew and leave out the snarky ER determination.”
“They did,” she says, cocking her head, a little smirk tugging at her mouth. “Mostly from my eyeballs. Directed at your smug face.”
I grin and ignore her especially acidic humor. “And from there, we started seeing each other.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “So, when do we say we reconnected?”
I think for a beat. “Two weeks before Roger passed. That gives us enough time to be believable without needing a year of fake anniversaries and backlogged Instagram posts."
"Smart."
"I think in the world today, a whirlwind romance is possible. It's critical, though, to place it before his death, not afterwards. That would raise more questions about motive.”
“Agree.” She folds her arms, leaning against the counter. “And no Jenna. If anyone checks, she was only in town right before you called me. So maybe I came to the hospital for another reason. Oh, I was trying to sell my juices to the cafeteria.”
“Right. Perfect. Just you and me. Hospital hallway, fate, chemistry. We kept running into each other until we couldn’t ignore it.”
“So basically, a Hallmark movie, but with orgasms.”
I laugh. “Exactly.”
She bites her bottom lip, considering. “Okay, so we reconnected two-ish weeks before Roger died. Started dating right after. It got intense fast. Couldn’t stay away from each other. Decided to make it official.”
“God help us both if they ask who said ‘I love you’ first. ”
She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“That was definitely you, by the way,” I tease, hoping to coax her back into it.
“In your dreams.”
But she goes quiet again. Looks out the window like I’m not even there.
I wait a beat, then another.
“You good?” I ask, softer this time. “Because you’ve been kind of somewhere else tonight. If you’re not dialed in for this, it’s going to show.”
She shifts, arms crossing loosely. “I said I’m fine. I'm thinking. That’s allowed, right?”
“Sure. But if whatever you’re thinking about is going to tank this meeting, I kind of need to know. This isn’t a check-the-box thing. Paul’s job is to sniff out bullshit—and he’s good at it.”
She stiffens a little. “I know what the stakes are, Parker.”
“I’m not sure you do,” I say, tone harder than I meant. “We’ve got a lot riding on this. If we come off even a little off-script, then all of this--”
“Then what?” she snaps, turning to face me fully now. “You lose your inheritance? I ruin your one shot to prove yourself to Daddy Dearest?”
I blink. “Where is this coming from?”
She presses her lips together, like she’s trying to keep something in, and then drops her shoulders. “Sorry, I don't know.”
I turn back to the road, surprised by the edge in her voice. She’s always holding everything in. It's no wonder she's a walking pressure cooker, ready to blow.
“Thinking about what?”
“Life,” she says vaguely, turning her gaze back to me. I see sadness in their depths. This isn’t like her. “The way it’s supposed to work out, but never does. Why some people make it look so easy.”
I frown. “Some people? Like who?”
“Like Bets,” she says, her voice tinged with frustration. “She’s got it all figured out. Perfect business, perfect relationship, baby, life.”
I’m caught off guard. “I thought Bets was your mentor. Can’t you talk to her? Ask for life advice?”
This isn’t the time to be talking about Bets. We need to be talking about us.
“It’s not that simple,” she snaps, her tone sharper than I expected.
“Why not?”
She groans and massages her temples. “Because it’s not, Parker. Bets’s is complicated. She’s not a mentor; she’s an investor. She has expectations. If I go to her for help, it’s like admitting I’ve failed. And I can’t do that.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say, shaking my head. “If she’s invested in your success, wouldn’t she want to help you?”
“See, this is why you don’t get it,” she says, turning to face me fully now. “You think everything’s black and white. But it’s not. There’s nuance. And pride. And relationships that aren’t as straightforward as they seem.”
“Or maybe you’re making it more complicated than it has to be,” I counter, keeping my voice calm but firm.
Her jaw tightens, and her eyes flash with irritation. “You think I don’t know my own life?”
“I think,” I say carefully. “I think you’re drowning and pretending you’re on a yacht.”
Her face hardens. “I’m not living in Lala land, Parker. And for the record, I don’t need you micromanaging my feelings right now.”
Micromanaging? The word stings more than it should. “ I’m trying to help you,” I say, my voice rising slightly. “You’re the one shutting me out.”
“Maybe because you’re so damn controlling,” she fires back.
My breathing becomes erratic as I try to will myself to remain calm. “Controlling?”
“Yes!” she says, throwing her hands up. “You don’t even realize you’re doing it, but you are.”
Her words hit a nerve, and my frustration boils over. “Fine,” I say tersely, “if you want me to back off, consider it done.”
She glares at me, her lips pressed into a thin line, and we drive the rest of the way in tense silence.
By the time we pull into the club’s entrance, the polished white building gleaming in the sunlight, my mood has soured completely. I glance at Adair as we park, and she’s busy smoothing down her dress. Her face is a mask of calm composure.
I wish I could turn it on and off as well as she does. My entire body is buzzing with negative vibes, and she's over there as cool as a cucumber.
“Ready?” I ask, my tone clipped.
“Always,” she says, her voice cool and detached. “So glad we decided to go there on the way here, when you could have left things alone until after this.”
I bite back a retort, reminding myself that we need to appear like the picture-perfect couple for this meeting. Whatever’s going on between us will have to wait.
We step out of the car and head toward the entrance, side by side but miles apart. The valet opens the door for us, and I force a smile, placing a hand on Adair’s lower back as we walk in. She doesn’t react, but at least she doesn’t flinch away.
Paul, the estate management attorney Anders sent, is waiting for us in the lounge. I thought we were getting dinner, but it seems he wanted the more intimate and quiet lounge setting. He rises to greet us, his handshake firm and professional.
“Parker, Adair,” he says warmly. “Thank you for meeting me here. I trust the drive wasn’t too arduous?”
“Not at all,” I say, channeling every ounce of charm I can muster. “The weather’s perfect tonight.”
My fake wife, not so much.
Adair nods and offers a polite smile, but even though she's a pro at compartmentalizing her feelings, I can see the tension in her posture.
We settle into a cozy corner of the lounge, the low hum of conversation around us providing a comfortable backdrop. Paul orders a round of coffee for the table and opens his leather portfolio, glancing over his notes.
“Before we get into the specifics,” he says, “I want to say how refreshing it is to see a couple like you. Genuine connections are rare these days. I enjoyed seeing the two of you working together yesterday at the carnival.”
I almost choke on my red wine. Genuine? We argued about how I’m a micromanager and her emotional repression in the car.
Adair and I exchange a glance, and I can see the faintest flicker of amusement in her eyes.
“Thank you,” she says, her voice soft but steady.
“Now,” Paul continues, “Anders has been very impressed with your history, Parker. Your work ethic, your community involvement, it all speaks to your character.”
“Well, thanks, I guess,” I say, not sure how else to respond .
“And Adair, he’s noted your entrepreneurial spirit as well. Citrine sounds like a great business idea.”
“It is,” Adair says, her smile faltering for a moment.
I jump in, sensing her hesitation. “Adair’s passion for her wellness journey is one of the things I admire most about her. She’s incredibly dedicated and always exploring new ways to bring innovative ideas to the market.”
Holy hell, am I a marketing consultant or her husband? Where did that come from?
Paul nods, jotting something down. “That’s wonderful to hear. I’m curious about how the two of you met. A good love story always tells you a lot about a couple.”
Adair flashes him a smile, hands folded neatly in her lap like she’s done this a hundred times. “We met in Miami. A little over a year ago.”
Paul, the estate attorney, looks up from his notes. “Ah. Work trip for both of you, right?”
He’s done his homework.
“Yep,” I say. “We were both there for different things. Total chance encounter. I was living in New Orleans at the time, and you hadn’t officially moved here, yet, either, had you?” I ask Adair.
She nods, picking it up smoothly.