Page 18 of Parker
After what felt like a professional but pointless conversation, I looked at the handful of officers present and recognized at least half from our client list. They know damn well what goes on in the club. They enjoy it. They pulled me from my bed in the middle of the night for a ruse, a PR stunt, to make it looklike they were doing their job. In the end, they shook my hand, thanked me for our cooperation, and left empty-handed.
Boyd breathed a sigh of relief as we watched them go.
“Good job,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “You’re better at this than you think.”
Boyd is not only head of security, but also my father’s right-hand man. He looks like a business executive with his sharp suit and clean-cut appearance, but his role in Parker Industries is diverse. He knows everything that happens and every secret. Because he’s irreplaceable, my father treats him as such.
I didn’t reply to his compliment. Being able to navigate police raids isn’t something I strive for as an ability; it is just a necessary skill to have.
Now back home, returning to the situation I created for myself last night, it strikes me just how complex my life is, and how bringing someone into that isn’t the best course of action, but I can’t help but hope Nicky is still here.
My feet crunch over the gravel as I make my way toward the house. I find the door locked, so I pull the key from my pocket and insert it into the keyhole. It clicks as the latch gives way, and then I open the door to my home.
I find Nicky where I left her, wrapped in my black silk sheets, fast asleep. She’s curled into a cocoon and looks incredibly peaceful. Unable to resist the temptation, I slip out of my clothes and slide in behind her, wrapping myself around her warmth, then clinging on for dear life. If she wakes, she doesn’t tell me, and I drift off to join her in unconscious bliss.
The kettle’s whistle signals the boiling water. In my kitchen, I’m pulling together what I can for a romantic breakfast with no notice. The bacon sizzles in the pan as I toast slices of bread. When I look up, Nicky is standing by the counter watching me, a cheeky smile on her lips.
“Do all your house guests get special treatment?” she asks, padding over, drowned by one of my shirts, her dark curls spilling in all directions.
“I don’t have many house guests.” I wrap my arms around her, pulling her to me. My cock hardens in an instant. “Only exceptional ones that are worth treating well.” Our lips connect, and the sparks I tried to convince myself I imagined reignite. This woman speaks to me in ways I’ve never felt before.
She wriggles from my arms, then sidles over and climbs up on a stool at the counter. Her face splits into the most breathtaking grin as she watches me finish the breakfast preparations. Once done, I place the finished product in front of her.
“I hope you’re hungry,” I whisper in her ear.
“Always.”
As I move to collect my sandwich, I glance at the girl in my kitchen. The entire scene is so fucking domestic—I almost laugh.
We appear like a normal couple sitting down to breakfast after an intense night. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of, but something I know I’ll never have. That balance of home life and business is unachievable in my world, and I shouldn’t be pretending it could be. But even if this is just for today, I’ll savor it. And the taste will last me a lifetime.
“Where did you go?” Nicky asks innocently as I’m taking my first bite.
“You realized I was gone?” She nods, then flashes me a small smile.
“I found your note.”
“It was a work thing.”
“I didn’t realize fashion was a twenty-four-seven business.” Her eyes run over my face as if searching for the truth. I say nothing. “I’m glad you were home for breakfast.”
“Me too,” I agree. “And next time, I’ll make you pancakes.”
Chapter eight
Nicky's Mother's Apartment, Inner-City Glasgow
Nicky
I skip into my mother’s home, high on life, the previous night with Joel orgasmic in my memory.
“Where were you last night?” she barks. “I thought you went to a meeting?”
“I did.” A huge smile spreads across my face. “And I met this most amazing man.”
My mother balks. Her mouth opens and closes, but no sound materializes. She looks like a child’s toy waiting for its puppet master to control it. Giving her no further explanation, I sweep past her to my room. “Don’t be stupid, Nicky,” she snaps, finding her voice again. “You don’t know this man. You don’t know what a man like that wants from a girl like you.”
I pause in the doorway, hand on the frame.
