Page 40 of Claimed By A Blue Eyed Menace

I chuckled. “I mean, it makes sense. You do dress your ass off.”

She lifted a brow. “Did you just give me a compliment?”

I shrugged. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

She smirked before sighing, swirling the wine in her glass. “I put my degree on the back burner for years,” she admitted. “Wasn’t in the right headspace for it. And honestly? What was the point? I knew my father was gonna marry me off eventually. Figured there was no use dreaming about a future I had no control over.”

I leaned back, nodding. Made sense. She’d been raised to be a trophy. A chess piece in a game of power and wealth. But that wasn’t her. Parker was too sharp. Too wild. Too strong-willed. I fucked with that about her. “Whatever you wanna do,” I told her. “I’ll help you with that shit.” Her eyes flicked up to mine. “All you gotta do is ask nicely, baby,” I added with a smirk.

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Of course I do.”

I shook my head, watching her. She was really getting to me. This woman, the one I was supposed to see as just a business arrangement and something to keep, was creeping into places she shouldn’t. And my father’s warning echoed in the back of my mind.Don’t get too attached. Don’t fall hard for her.But looking at her now? I knew it was too late for that shit.

Parker snapped me out of my thoughts with a soft, drawn-out moan. My eyes cut to her immediately. She was eating a piece of cheesecake like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted, eyes fluttering closed, lips slightly parted, savoring every bite. The fork slid between her lips, and she let out another quiet little moan that made my dick twitch.

I clenched my jaw. This woman. “Keep moanin’ like that,” I muttered, my voice low and rough, “and I’mma fuck you right here on this table.”

Her eyes popped open, amusement flickering across her face as she chewed slowly. She swallowed, then smirked, tapping her fork against the plate. “Yeah, right,” she teased. “So people can die in here looking at all this ass?”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Glad you finally caught on to how I don’t play about you.”

Parker licked a bit of whipped cream off her finger, her eyes locked on mine, completely unbothered. “Took me long enough.”

I leaned back in my chair, watching her. And fuck if I didn’t like that shit. “Hurry up and finish that shit,” I told her, voice low and full of lust.

She arched a brow. “Why?”

I smirked. “So I can eat my dessert at home.”

Her lips parted slightly as my words sank in. Then she rolled her eyes, feigning annoyance, but I didn’t miss the way her thighs pressed together. I grinned, signaling the waiter for the check. Her pussy was calling me.

Parker

Three (More) Months Later

S o m e h o w, a l i t t l eover six months had passed since my life got flipped upside down. And despite my smart-ass mouth and his ruthless, controlling, demanding ways, we’d found a strange rhythm. A dangerous chemistry.

I still talked my shit, still pushed his buttons, but he had a way of shutting me up when he wanted to. And I hated how much I was starting to enjoy that. I’d been spending more time with my girls, and I finally started working on something that was just for me. Something I’d put off for too long. My brand—Parkmore Clothing Co.—was officially in the works. I’d started small, sketching original designs, focusing on high-quality streetwear, with my first drop being a line of graphic tees. Shooter had backed me immediately.

“You really wanna do this shit? Bet. Make it happen,” he’d said. “I’ll invest whatever you need, get you connected with manufacturers, help you push that shit, whatever. I gotchu.”

I’d rolled my eyes at him, even though my heart did something stupid at how quickly he backed me. “You know I don’t need your money, Shooter,” I’d said.

“I know that.” He smirked. “But I like spoilin’ and supportin’ my wife.” And he did. Shooter spoiled me like he was trying to ruin me for any other man in this world. Not that there would be another man. And not that I was thinking about shit like that. Because I wasn’t… right?

But despite Shooter’s support, my father wasn’t happy about it. When I brought up my brand over dinner one night, his response was short, clipped. “You don’t need to work, Parker. Your job is to be a wife.”

The words sat heavy on my chest long after we parted ways. My job. Like I was an employee of this damn marriage and not a grown woman with dreams, with goals. I’d let it go—on the surface, at least. But deep down, it made me even more determined to make Parkmore successful. To make something that was mine.

It wasn’t just my clothing line that had changed in these three months. I’d changed too. I was at Shooter’s side more now. When the situation called for it, I happily rolled with him to business meetings, brunches, and dinners. I learned how to move in his world, and I learned quickly.

I learned to sit beside him and keep my chin high while he handled business. I learned not to ask questions I didn’t really want the answers to. I learned that sometimes his deals were sealed with words, other times with bullets, and it wasn’t my place to question which way it went.

And surprisingly… things had been good. When we weren’t clashing, we were vibing. Shooter took me out, spoiled me, and made sure I had everything I wanted. We fucked like we hated each other, then laid in bed afterward smoking and watching movies like we didn’t. We were building something, whether I wanted to admit it or not. But the one thing that never sat right with me?

Seth Mosley.

Every time Shooter’s father came around, something about him put me on edge. He had this way of looking at me that made my skin crawl—like I was a piece on a chessboard he was still trying to move into place. And I could tell Shooter noticed. The last time Seth had dropped by the penthouse, he’d barely acknowledged me, instead pulling Shooter aside for a hushed conversation in the study. When Shooter came out, his jaw was tight, his whole body stiff with whatever was said.

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