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CHAPTER 6

EMBER

That is the question, isn’t it?

The rumble of Parker’s Harley as he fires it up pulls me from my stupor. One minute, we’re talking, and it feels like we’re getting somewhere, and the next, he shuts down. I thought I knew Parker, but apparently, I knew the boy and not the man.

He is definitely all man.

I remain in my seat, replaying the conversation with him in my head. As much as I want to let it go, forget we ever spoke again, I can’t. His mom needs help, and I can give that to her.

Yes, that’s it. If I take the job, it’s for Mrs. West, not Parker.

I dig through my purse for my cell, determined to see this through. When my fingers curl around the device, I pull it out and open my texting app to send a message to him.

Me: I’ll take the job. But I have conditions. I’ll be at the coffee shop for another half hour. Come back and we’ll talk. Or don’t. Up to you.

While I wait to see what he’ll do, I return to the counter and order another coffee and blueberry muffin. Might as well eat. Twenty minutes pass, then another five, and I’m about to leave when Parker slips back into the booth across from me.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” I admit.

“Neither was I.” He tilts his head. “What are your conditions?”

“Um…” I lick my lips. “Well, I can’t do twenty-four-seven. Even live-in nurses need a break.”

“That won’t work. I told you, she ne?—”

“Full-time care,” I snap, holding a hand up. “Yeah, I know. But I bet you can be at the house at least one day a week. Surely, the club can spare you for that long.”

His eye twitches at the corner, a tell that he’s annoyed. “How’d you know about the club?”

Either he’s lost some brain cells over the years or he’s as distracted by me as I am him.

I nod toward him. “Well, that vest is a dead giveaway. And there’s also the fact that I know Addison is married to the Soulless Kings president, and she said it was a brother who needed help.”

Parker glances down at his vest, and when he locks his gaze with mine again, he’s smirking. “Cut.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a cut, not a vest.”

“Oh, well… okay.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t comment on it earlier.”

I shrug. “Wasn’t what we needed to talk about.”

“True.” I fold my hands on top of the table. “So, is that something you can do? Can you give me one day off a week?”

“I think I can manage that, unless club business comes up.”

“Parker, this isn’t a negotiation,” I say, forcing a business-like tone. “Either you agree, or I walk.”

“Call me Ghost,” he says, pointing to the patch on his vest—no, cut. “And everything is a negotiation, Em.”

I shake my head. “No, it?—”

“I can give you at least one day a week, but I need to know that if something comes up, you’ll be flexible about the day. And when I can, I’ll give you a full two days. I don’t expect you to work yourself to death.”

“Okay. I can live with that.”

“Next one,” he prompts.

“Next one what?”

The corner of his mouth tips up. “Condition. Your text suggested there was more than one.”

“Oh, right. I’m guessing that, other than the Alzheimer’s, your mom is healthy.”

“She is,” he confirms.

“Then I’ll likely be living with her for a while. The compensation needs to match what I make through the agency since I won’t be able to take on more patients. They’ll probably have to replace me, depending on the length of this job, so I need to know that you’ll provide me with a good reference once it’s all over.”

“Once Mom dies, you mean?”

Sighing, I nod. “Yeah. I’m sorry, but that’s?—”

“It’s okay, Em. I know that’s the only way this arrangement ends.”

“This isn’t an arrangement . It’s a job, Parker.”

“Ghost,” he reminds me.

“Right, Ghost.”

“As for the pay, I’ll double your current salary, cover your mortgage payments, and provide you with a generous stipend to cover any expenses that are above and beyond what Mom’s medical expenses are.”

“I… wow.” A thought occurs to me, and I narrow my eyes. “How can you afford that? It’s not dirty money, is it?”

His eyes darken, and he scowls. “Do you really think so little of me?”

I have no clue how to answer that, so I settle for the brutal truth. “I don’t know you.”

He rears back as if I slapped him, and pain flashes in his eyes, but he recovers so quickly that I convince myself I imagined it. “Touché.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” I remind him.

“I’m a single man with very little expenses,” he explains. “I’ve got plenty of money that I earned before I even patched in.”

My heart stutters on his admission that he’s single. Why, I don’t know, but there ya have it. “Okay.”

“What about you?” he asks, and when I wrinkle my forehead in confusion, he continues. “Are you single?”

“Does it matter?”

He seems to consider that for a moment before shrugging. “Guess not.”

“Look, I want to help. But this isn’t going to be a walk down memory lane or anything else related to our past, for that matter,” I tell him.

“Didn’t think it would be,” he mutters.

“Good. Now, my last condition.”

“I’m listening,” he replies sarcastically.

“I’ll be living in your mother’s house, but I still have mine. I’m gonna need help with keeping the lawn mowed and anything else that might need done while I’m gone. Can you handle that?”

“Can I handle all the things I should’ve been doing as your husband had you not broken things off?” he bites out. “Yeah, Em, I think I can fuckin’ handle that.” He arches a brow. “The question is, can you?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat.

That is the question, isn’t it?