Playing Dirty by Tiffany Snow
This book is dedicated to Jill, for digitally
holding my hand as we
slogged through together, one day at a
time. You’re awesome, Babe.
PROLOGUE
Parker watched as Ryker’s truck rolled to a stop in front of the building. Sage emerged from the entry, scurrying across the sidewalk barefoot before climbing into the passenger seat. The truck pulled away from the curb, lost to sight in moments down the avenue.
He’d heard the door close when she’d gone, leaving him alone in his bed without so much as a word of farewell.
Not that he could blame her.
She’d nearly died tonight. Had been moments away. Viktor hadn’t cared if he killed her or not. He’d put a fucking plastic bag over her head and slowly suffocated her.
Parker’s hands balled into fists just remembering how she’d looked when he’d pulled her out of that car. Deathly pale, her mouth bleeding from where Viktor had hit her, mascara smeared by the tears soaking her cheeks …
Sage deserved better. Far better. But Parker needed her in his life … in his job. No matter how tempting it was to want to slip into a more personal relationship with her, he knew he couldn’t. Relationships never lasted, and just when you thought you’d found the forever kind of love—it would end. And when it was over … she’d be gone. Permanently.
Better to let her go with Ryker, a man who’d wanted a wife and kids—a family—for as long as Parker had known him, which had been a helluva long time. Ryker had fascinated Parker when they were young. So unlike the wealthy, cookie-cutter kids that had gone to the private school, the poor kid from the south side of town had been a welcome breath of fresh air.
Nearly two decades had passed since they’d first met, but some things never changed. Maybe it had been because he’d been raised by a single mom, but Ryker had talked of nothing else but wanting to fall in love and get married. Especially when they’d been deployed and the future sometimes looked grim. Why he wasn’t married already, Parker had no idea.
Unless he still wasn’t over Natalie.
Natalie. The woman who’d torn the two of them apart. Obviously, Ryker still blamed Parker for her suicide, his anger and loathing as fresh now as the day they’d found out she’d driven her car into the river.
Maybe he’d marry Sage.
That thought was like a kick in the gut.
Unable to stand the bedroom anymore and unwilling to climb beneath sheets still warm from Sage’s body, Parker walked into the living room. A faint glow from a dim light under the kitchen cabinets filtered in through the space, providing enough illumination for him to pour a healthy shot of scotch.
Memories assailed him as he stood in the silent apartment, staring blindly out the window. Memories of Sage and the day they’d first met.
“How many applicants do we have?” he asked the HR rep in charge of helping him find a new secretary.
She set half a dozen files on his desk. “These were the ones I thought were the most qualified.”
He glanced through the stack, flipping one open at random, then frowned. “An art history degree qualifies someone to be a secretary?”
“Executive Administrative Assistant,” she corrected him. “And that’s the least qualified candidate, but she had a solid 3.8 GPA and her application was very well done. I thought an interview couldn’t hurt. I can cancel it, if you’d rather. She’s scheduled last so—”
“No, it’s fine,” Parker interrupted, tossing aside the files. “Just send them in when they get here.” Surely one of them would work out. And could start immediately. He was drowning under the pile of work and the incessant phone calls.
“Yes, sir.” She left the office, but Parker barely noticed, already plowing through his inbox, currently cluttered with over two hundred unread e-mails.
The first applicant was Joanne, a no-nonsense woman who’d spent the last twenty years as assistant to some Wall Street hedge fund manager. He’d retired and she’d moved to Chicago to be closer to her grandchildren. Parker was bored before she’d even gotten to the name of the third one.
The second applicant chewed gum. In an interview. Nope.
The third wore a blouse two sizes too small and a skirt so short he had to look away when she crossed her legs or it would go all Basic Instinct on him. She had a predatory look in her eye and Parker would swear she eyed his crotch when he stood to shake her hand.