Page 53 of Parker

It was all he gave before turning around and walking out of the kitchen, heading straight for the home’s front entrance. Too busy racing around the end of the large island to catch up to him to notice his perfect ass, Quinn padded barefoot across the tiled floor.

“Parker wait!” The balls of her feet took the brunt of her rushed steps. “You can’t just say something like that and leave.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Uh…it surelookedlike he was leaving.

He grabbed the knobs on both of his solid wood, double-doors and pulled.

It was still early, which meant the home’s wide front steps were shaded. As was the small group of men and women standing on the first few.

“Where would you like us, Mr. Collins?” one of the gentlemen asked.

Parker smiled with a polite, “The Great Room will be fine, Harold.”

Still standing a bit too closely, Quinn reminded Parker, “You said I was going to do something?”

He turned that lust-triggering smile her way. “You, sweetheart, are about to have a day you’ll never forget.”

Quinn opened her mouth to ask what he meant by that, but he was already stepping aside so the trove of people could enter.

The scent of fresh fruit, pastries, and an assortment of hot breakfast items filled her nostrils as they were carried past. A handful of women sped by holding what looked to be some sort of fancy tool cases.

Still unable to comprehend what was happening, Quinn stood wide-eyed as the remaining six—three men, three women—entered Parker’s home. Perfectly poised and dressed for success, they rolled a wheeled clothing rack filled to the max with a colorful array of designer garments.

Several shoe boxes were stacked neatly on the racks’ flat, carpeted bottom.

“Parker, what is all that stuff for?”

He shut the doors and faced her once more. “You, Quinn.” Those eyes locked onto hers like magnets. “It’s all for you.”

And he wasn’t exaggerating.

Almost instantly, she became the subject of focus for every man and woman there—minus Parker. While he once again disappeared behind that office door, she was transported into a world she’d never known.

First, she was whisked away to the kitchen where a custom brunch buffet filled with a selection of sweet and savory goodness awaited. Champagne, included.

Once she finished eating, Quinn was taken to the Great Room, where one corner had been transformed into her personal nail salon. Not one to worry about such things, she tried her best to object, but the ladies weren’t having it.

Before she really knew what was happening, Quinn found herself sitting in a portable mani-pedi chair, her feet promptly submerged in a well of soothing warm water. With one woman at her feet and the other sitting to her right, Quinn spent the next forty-five minutes getting her fingernails professionally trimmed, filed, buffed, and painted.

While her hands were otherwise occupied, she was introduced to her very first pedicure experience. It was relaxing. Moan-inducing, even. And…man oh, man, did it tickle.

Between the sudden bursts of giggles and occasional jerks of her feet, it was a wonder the poor girl taking care of her hadn’t given up and walked away. Lucky for Quinn, the other woman had the patience of a saint.

Feeling more relaxed than she could ever remember, she was transferred to the next station. And the next.

Facial treatment, hair, makeup… Quinn was treated with the best by the best. Or at least that’s what Jaque—the man who’d washed, trimmed, and styled her hair—had told her.

Everyone was kind, professional, and overly accomodating, and the whole experience was surprisingly enjoyable. But by the time lunch came, everything seemed to change.

Treated to a light meal of gourmet crackers, an assortment of cheeses and grapes, and strawberries as big as her fist, Quinn was halfway through her first bite of strawberry when the first tendrils of doubt began to sink in.

You don’t belong here.

The thought struck without warning but was nevertheless true. This was Parker’s world. Not hers.

She didn’t do spa days or fancy champagne brunches. Quinn never worried about the condition of her cuticles or which shade of red went best with her skin tone. Only that her nails were kept clean and short, so she could easily type.

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