Page 18 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
“What?”
“Feeding impoverished children? Giving millions to fight muscular dystrophy? Saving the life of an elderly man while injured, and then acting as nursemaid for said elderly man for another year?” I shake my head. “He’s too perfect. That bio is obviously fake.”
I hear an amused laugh. I turn to find Tabby grinning at me, her head cocked so her bangs fall to the side and her bright green eyes, for once, are clearly visible.
“So you two have something in common.”
I glare at her. “I didn’t hire you for your sense of humor, Tabitha.”
“No, you hired me because I’m a highly talented hacker who specializes in making inconvenient personal information disappear, because I’m an incredible girl Friday, and because I can keep my mouth shut tighter than a nun’s snatch.” She smiles. “Also probably because of my superior fashion sense.”
I snort. “Oh, definitely that.”
Tabby’s fashion style can best be described as Harajuku girl meets Harlem hooker. Today she’s sporting thigh-high electric pink stockings paired with black gladiator platform boots, a miniscule plaid schoolgirl’s skirt, and a tight, sleeveless Philadelphia Eagles T-shirt that bares her midriff and does nothing to conceal the fact that she isn’t wearing a bra.
And let’s not forget the black leather fingerless gloves.
She has multiple tattoos, piercings in unmentionable places, and a highly questionable fondness for Hello Kitty accessories, and is also the smartest human being I’ve ever met. She dropped out of MIT because it was too easy and she got bored.
She’s the other capital B noun I most admire: Badass.
“Shall I go on?”
Sighing, I return to my chair. “Skip to the juicy parts. Any dirt? Arrests? Felony convictions?”
Her level green gaze bores into mine. “Don’t you want to know about his wife?”
I blanch. “He’s married?”
A satisfied smile spreads over Tabby’s face. “Nope. But now I know for sure this isn’t about you possibly investing in Xengu like you told me last night. There’s something else about this guy you’re interested in. This is personal, isn’t it?”
Excited at the prospect, she leans forward, her eyes bright and inquisitive.
I stare back at her without blinking. “How long have I employed you, Tabitha?”
“Five years, six months, fourteen days,” comes the immediate answer. She checks her watch, a pink plastic affair with the Hello Kitty logo splashed all over it. “And three hours.”
“Five years,” I repeat coolly. “And in all that time, have you ever known me to take a personal interest in a man?”
She hesitates, her smile fading. “Well…no.”
“There’s your answer.”
She turns the iPad to face me. Displayed above the list of facts she’s compiled in her research are two pictures. One shows Parker in a formal business pose, in suit and tie, standing with his arms folded over his chest and his legs spread as he stares unsmiling into the camera. A team of uniformed chefs stands in a line behind him. It’s obviously a publicity shot. He looks handsome but distant, the epitome of a focused, successful entrepreneur.
The other picture is a close-up of his face. Casual and unposed, it was taken outdoors; the sun gleams in his hair. His eyes are half-closed against the light. His head is tilted back a little, and he’s wearing a boyish, unselfconscious grin, looking at whoever took the picture with a dreamy glint in his eyes.
His gorgeous, come-hither bedroom eyes.
Hazel. Such a lackluster word for the glory of gold, brown and emerald mixed together in one ever-shifting canvas, like dappled sunlight on leaves.
Tabby says, “You’re telling me this face does nothing for you? Holy mother of all vibrators! This face could make even the icicles in your vagina melt!”
I have to press my lips together so I don’t smile. She knows many of my secrets, but the effect Parker Maxwell has on my vagina is one she’ll never be privy to.
“Tabitha. Please. Continue before I reconsider that last raise I gave you.”
She lifts one shoulder and says casually, “OK. The icicles remain icy.”
