Denying Mr. Parks (The Parks #1) (2 page)

I held my hand to my heart, humouring her. “Thanks.”

She laughed, throwing a cushion across the room, hoping it would hit me. “Go to bed already.”

“Good night.” I smiled and closed myself in my bedroom.

Chapter Two

It was Monday morning. I cursed my six o’clock alarm to high heaven when it woke me up. Cursed Monday. And cursed my job.

That day I decided to straighten my hair instead of pulling it into a hair tie. I always straightened it on a Monday, wanting to look presentable, but by the time Wednesday came around, I couldn’t give a shit if it was in a messy bun on the top of my head, making me look like a child from
The King and I
. I put some bronzing powder on my light olive skin and brushed mascara over my eyelashes, making my amber eyes look more awake. I chose to wear a black pencil skirt and a long-sleeved blouse and threw my coat over the top. It was late March in London, and the weather was fucking Baltic. I needed the warmth.

As soon as I stepped onto the pavement outside our ground-floor flat, I instantly regretted my shoe choice. I didn’t know why on earth I wore heels when the pavements were like ice, but I did, and I prayed I wouldn’t do a Bambi.

After getting to the London Underground’s overly busy Tube station, I did my morning’s worth of pushing people out of the way to get on the car before the doors closed. Then there was the battle of trying to get a seat, even though I never did. I had to stand next to a man who smelt equally as bad as a rat stuck up a drainpipe almost every time.

It took around twenty minutes to get to work on a good day, and I would head over to the Starbucks that was right across the road from my building before I went in to work. Since starting at the law firm I had made close acquaintances with the girls in the coffee shop, and they would always have a coffee ready for when I rushed in.

“Thanks, girls,” I called over my shoulder whilst running out the doors and across the road.

The automatic doors opened for me as I ran into the glass-skyscraper building where our offices were situated in Central London. I was balancing a black folder under my arm, holding coffee in one hand, and trying to take my phone out of my pocket to see the time. It was just gone nine o’clock. I was on time. Praise the Lord.

Rushing passed Melisa, the receptionist, I wobbled my elbow as a hello as my hands weren’t free, then barged through the office doors and was stopped in my tracks by a small meeting being held. My work colleagues were sitting in chairs that had been arranged in a circle in the middle of the room. All eyes shot towards mine when I skidded to an abrupt stop. The room fell silent as the door closed behind me with a bang. I glanced over to Clarke, who made a “yikes” signal, then shot my gaze towards Carla, who was standing in front of everyone with a clipboard in her hand. She was tapping her pen across the board impatiently.

“Evey, nice of you to join us. Sit down.” She pointed to the empty chair with her pen. I mentally told her and her high-pitched, pretentious voice to get fucked and begrudgingly took the seat next to Clarke.

Carla had only been our boss for a month, and I already hated the bitch. She went around like she had a silver pole constantly wedged up her arse. Thought she was better than us all and at every given opportunity told me where I stood: beneath her. She seemed to instantly take a disliking to me when she started here after the previous boss, Philip Lowry, was fired for gross misconduct.

Clarke hissed at me when I settled down next to him in a flurry, his voice low and reprimanding. “You’re late.”

I glanced at my phone for the second time. I was sure it was right.

“It’s only just gone nine, Clarke,” I hissed back.

“Evey, we were told Friday evening we had to be in this morning at eight thirty to accommodate Mr. Parks’s arrival.”

Shit. Were we?

“You forgot.” He sighed like it was regular occurrence. My memory was terrible and organization skills worse.

“I didn’t forget,” I lied. “I just couldn’t have been listening to Bitch-Features. There is a difference.”

“Evey.” Clarke warned with a voice that belonged on
The Antiques Roadshow
. He was extremely posh, with being born and bred in Chelsea. When I met him, I thought he was going to be a complete snob. He was actually quite the opposite. He was a small man with a round stomach he occasionally rests things on, a bad receding hairline, and wet patches under his armpits from sweat. But most of all he had the warmest personality and kindest eyes. A complete lovable bear.

Suddenly, Carla’s monotonous voice became louder. I only caught the end part when I turned from Clarke to look at her: “…
and to arrive at work on time.
” Her stare lingered on mine whilst she made that point relevant. Okay, I had been late three times in the month since she had taken over and she’d never let me live it down. I found it hard to get up in the morning and hard to sleep at night. How does that combination even make sense?

“As you are aware, Mr. Parks is fond of regularly meeting with you all individually, so you all know this routine well. He is waiting upstairs in the conference room, so I think we will start with the best. Clarke, if you will.”

Clarke dabbed at the sweat that had formed on his forehead with an old tissue he kept tucked up his sleeve and got to his feet. Why in the hell was he so nervous?

Clarke was my only friend at work because the women in the office were all super close and would often go on their lunch breaks together and share a natter over morning coffee. I wasn’t one of those women. Neither was I one who liked to be around other women twenty-four-seven, talking about what they caught their husbands doing the night before. Number one, because I didn’t have a husband, and number two, I simply couldn’t be bothered talking about myself at work, or anywhere for that matter. When I started at the firm, there was an excitable buzz around me as everyone tried to get me to fit into their office gang. However, it soon wore off when they got bored of my hard, introverted ways. Luckily I was Clarke’s assistant secretary and we both surprising got on like a house on fire. Before I came along he had a huge workload as a solicitor, and after his assistant left, I was employed by our previous boss Lowry to help him out. Lowry had shown me the ropes of the job before he left, and I was grateful for the opportunity he had given me. Then Carla came along and was nothing more than a big pain in my arse.

I was also an assistant for Posh Patricia—that’s what I called her—but only when she needed me. Pat was in her mid-fifties and always had high afternoon tea with ladies who worked at Buckingham Palace. She told me at least three times a day about it, just in case I forgot. Her office-girl clique consisted of Moaning Margaret, so-called because she was a moaning bitch, and Nudging Nancy, who couldn’t talk to me without nudging me in the forearm with her elbow
at least ten times. Then we had Billy Bullshit. Everything he possessed was bigger and better than yours, and he loved the sound of his own voice. There were also the two closeted Johns who were undeniably in a sexual relationship they wouldn’t admit to. I did often wonder if they had a name for me at the office, and they probably did behind my back. After all, I was only an assistant secretary and a loudmouth one at that.

“The rest of you, get back to work,” Carla demanded, leading the way out of the office with Clarke. I caught her looking at her reflection in the glass door as she passed to pat her mahogany bob into place. Why was she preening for an arsehole?

Around ten minus later, Clarke emerged, pulling nervously at his collar. I quickly fetched him some water from the dispenser because he looked like he needed a cool down.

“Clarke?” I chuckled at his odd behaviour. “Are you all right?”

He pulled out his swivel chair and sank into his seat after taking the plastic cup from my hands. “Good Lord, Evey, that man sure knows how to put me on tenterhooks. I know he visits London every six months to look over his companies, but gee whiz.” He patted his forehead again with a tissue, and I was about to ask him about this
Mr. Parks
but was interrupted.

“Evey. You next.” I got to my feet when Carla bellowed across the room, looking at me like I was shit on the bottom of her shoe. “Now, on your best behaviour, please,” she warned.

“Oh, Mum, I always behave.” I fluttered my eyelashes to piss her off and waved a floppy hand. She hated it when I called her Mum, but that’s what she got for insisting on treating me like a child. I was twenty-five and she was thirty-one, and I knew my being younger riled her endlessly. I was only aware of her age because her passport fell out of her bag one time. I’d “accidentally” opened it to have a peek before handing it back to her.

“Give him a few moments until you go up, Evey. And get rid of any unorthodox thoughts you may have.” She walked briskly out of the room and into the lift that had opened. I had to swallow a very fucking large submission pill when she spoke to me that way. Yes, I was erratic, big-mouthed, and never cared what people thought, but if I wanted to keep my job, I had to do as I was told. Unfortunately for me, I had one of those bosses you wanted to punch in the face on a daily basis.

A few minutes later I rode the second lift to the top floor and walked into the upstairs conference room. The building was huge, sleek, modern, and classy, and all its décor was designer—black, white, and stunning. It was owned by Parks Enterprises and didn’t just hold law firms.

I got myself ready to meet Mr. Bigwig behind the fogged glass doors and heard his voice before I could see him. It was a surprisingly smooth and confident American accent, which I wasn’t expecting to hear.

“—I have been away, Miss Hammond. For business, mainly.”

“So that’s where you gained that gorgeous tan of yours. Anywhere exotic?” And Carla was off, flirting and giggling like a hyena. I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d walked in to see her tongue shoved up his arse. I stayed outside to listen in on the conversation, and when he spoke again, I figured he was also younger than I had predicted.

“Marrakesh. Three weeks.” He was clipped and impatient and obviously didn’t want to talk to Carla. I chuckled at her embarrassing attempt to woo him and walked into the room confidently. When she saw me, Carla jumped off the edge of the table where she was perched and smoothed down her navy pencil skirt. She narrowed her eyes at me in warning and spoke bitterly as she introduced me. “Mr. Parks, this is our newest member of the team, Clarke Muriel’s assistant secretary.”

My gaze travelled away from Carla’s unpalatable introduction and down towards Mr. Parks’s outstretched arm as he offered a handshake.

“Welcome.”

The same time I held out my hand, my gaze drifted upwards and my eyes widened when they got to his face. No, he was not small, bald, fat, or wearing a brown suit. He was…stunning, actually. I was never usually lost for words, so this had to be a first. He annoyingly took my breath away, robbing me of precious air. My gaze roamed from his unruly, almost-black hair, down to his intense, vivid green eyes—and blimey were they vivid—to his clean-shaven, sculpted, face—tanned from Marrakesh—and strong, square jaw. His lips where perfectly curved, and he wore a red tie and black designer suit like nobody’s business. Damn.

“Name?” he asked with a one-sided smirk, his tone a little steely.

“Evelyn Banks. Mr. Parks, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” I don’t know why I used my full name. I hated it. And it wasn’t a pleasure to meet him. I was lying.

I then noticed my hand still in midair whilst he waited for me to take his. “Sorry,” I murmured, almost feeling light-headed. He took my hand in a firm grasp, and I almost immediately wanted to let go when my heart tremored unusually. I tried to ignore it. Probably indigestion.

Parks held on to my hand as I tried to pull it free. Strangely he didn’t want to let me go. He gave me no choice but to yank it away forcefully. Maybe it was just my imagination. His remarkable eyes didn’t blink as he watched me. Jesus, he owned my gaze by engaging it and keeping it locked.

“Evelyn.” He said my name slowly, toying with it as he rolled it off his tongue. He was a man who knew full well that women who gazed at his face would stagger back with their mouths hanging open.

My mouth was firmly shut. Only just.

I looked away in fear of getting sucked in and automatically decided he was as a narcissistic, egocentric, arrogant arse. Yes. That summed him up quite nicely.

Carla, however, was spitting feathers. “Okay, Evey.” She impolitely shooed me away like I was a dog. “You can go now. I am simply introducing my employees. Nothing more.” If I
was
a dog, I’d wrap my leash right around her scrawny little neck. I went to turn on my heel, but Parks’s commanding tone halted me.

“I would like Evelyn to stay a moment. Would you please, Miss Hammond?” With his hand, he gracefully gestured for Carla to leave.

“Oh?” Thoroughly confounded, she tried to frown, but too much Botox wouldn’t allow it. “I mean, of course.” Carla was devastated and didn’t hide it. She kept looking at me like I was deranged before shutting the door in quite a daze. I began to panic a little, thinking he was going to fire me on the spot.

“Excuse me one moment.” He turned and causally took a glass to his lips and drank down what looked like watermelon juice. I crossed my arms unconsciously whilst I waited, only to be reminded of how buxom my breasts were when I caught Parks staring at them almost carnally. I uncrossed my arms quickly, and an amused, salacious smirk tugged at the corners of his delicious mouth as his lips pressed against the rim of the glass. Even if he did look like he was put on earth by God and was the founder of the company, I was not going to hold my tongue. He was staring at my breasts, for Christ’s sake.