Page 12 of How to Play the Player

He makes me sound like I’m a prisoner who could escape their cell at any time. “So I’m not allowed to do my job because you don’t trust me?” I argue, raising an eyebrow.

He grimaces at my calling him out. “I know you’re capable, Quinn. That was never in question. It’s your motives I don’t trust.”

I expected him to acknowledge how little he thinks of me, but to hear his begrudging acknowledgment of my professional competence is something I didn’t see coming. The fact it seems so easy for him to just dismiss everything we were to each other is almost baffling.

Despite my anger and frustration, I can’t help but notice his eyes are dark—like the color of whiskey in the late afternoonlight—when he’s angry, another tell I’d once found endearing. How can I prove my innocence to this man when he’s already decided I’m guilty?

Would proving my innocence at this point be worth it? I could have the best PI in Dallas investigate, and he’d still not believe me.

“Your attitude right now isn’t about protecting your family. This is about your ego.” I meet his gaze steadily. “And your inability to consider that maybe, just maybe, you’re wrong about me.”

He shakes his head. “I know I’m right. You’re the only person I ever opened up to. Not once did I tell anyone else what I told you. Ever. And the one time I say a name, I say it to you. And when I did, the whole world found out. Where do you think my mind went when that happened?”

How could something I had no control over ruin my life? Something I wasn’t even around for when it happened? His argument may be valid, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t wrong.

“Don’t you see?” He pulls me from my thoughts. “All the evidence points to you.”

I’ve tried giving him logic. I’ve tried making him see reason. He has such an airtight perspective, it’s hard for me to plead my case. The only argument I haven’t given him, however, is an emotional one.

“And rather than believe me, the woman you said you were in love with, you choose to blame me instead. Did our relationship mean that little to you? Was it so easy to throw away everything we built together?”

“You made your choices, so I made mine.”

I keep going, my voice softening despite my anger. “Why would I sacrifice my relationship with you for money? I loved you, Nathan. You had my heart.” I realize we’re both tense with emotion. I take a deep breath before I finish. “And mostimportantly…why would I lie to you about it to this day, when I have nothing to gain?”

A brief silence falls between us. Nathan’s jaw works as he stares at me; a complex array of emotions flashes in his eyes until he finally responds. “I stand by what I know.” Despite his seemingly strong statement, there’s the slightest hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Did I actually get through to him? Or am I just seeing what I want to see?

Even if I was, we’d still be talking in circles, getting nowhere and wasting time I don’t have. We’ve been stuck in this perpetual state of argument for a year. And now Jonathan has bound us together like two cats in a sack, forced to either make peace or scratch each other to pieces. I know which one Nathan would prefer.

“Look, the point of who did what is moot now.” I shift the conversation to practical ground. “What matters now is the position we’ve been put in. You want to protect your brother’s wedding; I get that. I need this contract to keep my new business afloat. So like I said before, we establish clear boundaries, define our respective responsibilities, and minimize our direct interaction.”

Nathan raises an eyebrow at first, clearly surprised by my ability to change the subject on him so fast.

I continue. “Twice weekly meetings, as Jonathan suggested. Email for everything else. You handle family approvals while I’ll manage media relations. We present a united front to your brother and Kiera, regardless of our personal feelings. Can you meet me at my office tomorrow at ten a.m.?” I hand him my business card with my phone number and new office address listed. “Do we have a deal?” I hold out my hand, a professional gesture that costs me more than he knows.

He stares at my outstretched hand, conflict visible in his expression.

“The sooner you let me do my job, the quicker I can finish this project and get out of your life for good.” The words taste bitter, but they’re true. And they’re no doubt exactly what he wants to hear.

If only he truly knew what his actions against me cost me professionally. To add on top of walking away from a toxic business partner, I lost clients, speaking engagements, and I spent a year rebuilding what his assumptions destroyed in a day. So no, I won’t be walking away from this opportunity. Not when I’ve fought this hard to get back to where I was.

Letting out a deep sigh, he accepts my outstretched hand. “You have a deal, but you’re on very thin ice.”

“Fine. Now get out of my way.” I push past him, collecting my laptop and shoving it into my bag. “Lyla,” I call out. “We’re leaving.”

Lyla appears quickly, a plate of pizza in hand. Seeing me packing up, she follows suit and, a moment later, meets me at the front door.

“I’ll go start the car,” she tells me, escaping the tension that crackles between Nathan and me.

“Tell your brother I said thanks for having us. I’ll email him more details tomorrow, and I expect to see you Thursday morning.” I head for the door, but Nathan’s grip on my forearm stops me, gentle but firm.

“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.” Another warning in his tone.

For a brief moment, I see a different emotion past the anger. Pain, maybe? Regret? But it’s likely I could just be seeing things. There was once a time we could read each other so well, knew what the other was thinking or feeling. Now he’s like a stranger to me, speaking a language I don’t remember him learning.

“Oh, I do.” I meet his gaze one last time. “So don’t be late.” I open the door and step into the afternoon sunlight, refusing to look back.

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