Page 29 of Forbidden Game

Second, I am not his girlfriend.

“My girlfriend doesn’t drink.”

Butterflies swarm my stomach.

I take a mental flamethrower and burn them to death.

“I’m not his girlfriend.” I give the waitress a tight smile. “Just a water for me, please.”

“Oh, come on, love. No need to be shy.” Parker pats my hand, and I scowl.

“I’ll be right back with water, a champagne glass, and your menus.” The woman dips her head before disappearing behind a hidden door.

“It’s not funny, Parker,” I reprimand him.

“Whatever do you mean?” His look is one of feigned innocence.

He knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“You can’t go around saying to random people that I’m your girlfriend. It takes just one person to mention the rumor to a media outlet, and they’ll turn it into a circus. The last thing I need is you boys turning me into my own PR nightmare.”

“Sounds more like a dream than a nightmare.”

He looks directly at me as he says the words, his accent drawing them out. My neck begins to burn, and my palms turn clammy.

Did they turn up the heat in here? I should just take off my coat.

“Regardless, this is a work trip.” I contort my arms to get them out of the sleeves and brush his statement off. “Please try to remember that. The public eye cared who you were when you were just Parker Covington; now they know you’re EnglishCoffee as well. That’s double the fame than you’re used to.”

“I’ve never been just Parker Covington, love.”

My eye twitches.

When he says things like that, I remember how insufferable he is. It helps dim the shine.

His ego really shouldn’t be endearing. It should be a turn off. Today, that doesn’t seem to be the case.

The waitress finally returns with my glass of water, and I practically pounce for it. I drain the cool liquid like I’ve been lost in the desert for days.

I immediately feel better. The waitress, however, looks at me with mild concern as she pops the champagne. I make a point of keeping eye contact with her while I crunch on the remaining ice cubes.

She swallows before switching her attention back to Parker, her face lighting up as she pours him a glass.

“Mr. Hill also left some suggestions for food; would you like us to follow that, or would you like to pick something off the menu yourself?”

“Let’s go with whatever Weston has cooked up. Just make sure there is a vegan alternative for my,” he slides his gaze to me and grins, “companion.”

The last ice cube in my mouth crunches between my molars as I clench my jaw.

I can feel the edges of a headache begin to fester.

“I’ll be right back,” I clip.

I don’t give Parker a chance to respond as I stand up, grab my handbag, and power walk out of the secluded dining area.

My head feels like it is full of clouds, and it takes me a moment to reorient myself.

There’s a low buzz of chatter around the lounge; more people have filled the previously unoccupied chairs. I straighten my shoulders, pulling some sense into myself, before donning my mask of cool professionalism.

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