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I’m the one who waited. She should be with me.
Patras was a spoiled, rich prick much like those Parker had once called “friend.” Their lives only felt the tremors of the stock market. Real human emotions never broke the surface. How could Scout fall for such shallowness?
She needed a man who could relate to her plight. Respect the journey she’d made thus far in her life and see her for the accomplished person she was. Lucian would never be able to grasp what her life had been, but Parker had been there beside her for almost a decade. Waiting.
It wasn’t fair to have someone step in before he had the chance. Parker had waited because Scout was innocent. He didn’t feel the need to rush her. He hated acknowledging he’d missed an opportunity. But he would have another, and there was no way he was letting a man like Lucian Patras walk away with Scout’s heart.
However, when he caught a glimpse of the uncontrolled, savage rage in the other man’s eyes, Parker wondered if he had made a deal with the devil himself.
He knew how Patras saw her. She was a beautiful bauble, a possession. Something must have severed whatever fucked-up arrangement they had. She wasn’t meant to be a rich man’s mistress. She was meant to be cherished and respected. She was meant to be loved.
Lucian admitted to loving her last winter when he was so desperate to find her. Well, Parker had strong emotions regarding Scout too. Patras didn’t deserve her. She was too trusting, too good, and too naïve to know better. Patras was a disease to humanity. Such men believed only in advancement and would climb over anyone to reach the top, including innocents like Scout.
Parker had a plan. He needed money, because Scout saw money as freedom. Parker saw money as a noose around the neck, tightening and choking his peripheral, cutting away all humanistic qualities until nothing but greedy breaths for more sneaked by. It was a challenge not to fall under its spell the way his father had. However, if money was what she needed in order to see him as a man, then so be it.
He’d intended on working his ass off. Not as a bellhop like Patras would’ve enjoyed. That was only a small stepping-stone. He had plans of finding a better job as soon as he found the means. Running into Slade had been nothing short of a miracle.
Slade Bishop was a shrewd man. It was no wonder he and Patras hung in the same circles. And, for whatever reason, Slade was out to get his partner. Parker didn’t care. He was smart enough to let the other man’s vindictive nature work in his favor. They’d quickly formed an understanding—fuck Patras and get him away from Scout.
Parker didn’t know what the other man’s issue with the couple was. He didn’t care, so long as no one hurt Scout. All he cared about was getting her safely away from all of them.
He could support her. He could give her a life off of the streets and under a roof. He’d do whatever he had to in order to put food on their table and shelter over their heads. He’d keep her clothed and warm throughout the colder months and he knew—he just knew—he could win her heart.
Once he secured a good-paying job, he quickly fell into step with the rest of the rats in the race and forged a fast route to the top. It wasn’t easy. In everything, Parker liked to keep a strong hold on his dignity. He had to be smart and cunning in order to find success in a swift and honorable manner. But all was fair in love and war.
He found an apartment he could afford in one of the safer sections of Folsom and rapidly came up with a deposit. His furniture was functional and simple. His bed was the warmest thing he’d slept in in ages and it was a blessing to once again have a stove to heat his food.
It was easy to get wrapped up in the game of it all. He was his father’s son and as such, he saw numerous opportunities to make money.
Slade claimed Parker was a prodigy when it came to the market. Parker didn’t see this at first, but soon realized others who’d been watching capitals and trends for years simply couldn’t read the stocks the way he could. It was something he’d learned to do as a young boy when his father would hand him the business section at the breakfast table and quiz him over their morning meal.
He felt the fiscal heartbeat of the world as though it pounded from his very own chest. It was a pulse, once identified, impossible to turn off. The rhythms were easy to track. Simple tremors led to ripples and he had a gift for forecasting exactly how the chips would fall.
