Page 15 of How to Play the Player

“No, we should have enough…for the first few weeks,” Lyla assures.

I laugh. “Am I going to work or going to war?”

“Those words might as well mean the same thing.”

“I think that depends on the amount of time I have to see his face or hear his voice. All broody and rude.”

She hesitates. “I’ll make another trip if we start running low.”

In a perfect world, I’d love for Nathan and me to have some closure. I know the possibility of us going back to the way things were is slim to none, so I’d settle with making sure this wedding goes off without a hitch and then quietly leaving him for good. Quietly proving to him that I could be around him and not betray him like he’s convinced I could.

However, a small voice in my mind whispers that maybe—just maybe—this forced proximity might be an opportunity. Not to rekindle what we had but to clear my name. But like getting closure, that’s just wishful thinking.

If Nathan thinks his little power play today is going to scare me, he clearly doesn’t remember who he’s dealing with. If I can survive Bethany, I can survive Nathan Knight.

I straighten my shoulders as we load the grocery bags into the trunk of Lyla’s car.

Later that day, I come up with a plan. I’ll approach this like any other PR challenge: assess the situation, identify theobjectives, develop a strategy, and execute flawlessly. Usually, that works out for me. The only difference? This time, my own heart could be on the line.

Chapter Eight

Nathan

The front door slams with enough force to rattle the hall mirror. I stand frozen in place, unsure whether to scream or hit something. Her scent, lilies and something uniquely Quinn, still lingers in the air around me, taunting me. Making the dining room feel too empty and too crowded with memories at the same time.

“What the hell was that?” I growl, turning to face Jonathan as he emerges from the kitchen.

My brother’s expression is infuriatingly calm, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me. “You nearly drove our PR consultant away on her first day. What did you think I was going to do?”

“She shouldn’t be here!” I slam my palm against the dining room wall, welcoming the sting of pain that momentarily distracts from the hollow ache spreading through my chest. “After what she did?—”

“Again, that’s what youthinkshe did,” Jonathan corrects, leaning against the doorframe with practiced patience.

I pace across the room, unable to stand still with Quinn’s voice still echoing in my head.I loved you, Nathan. You had my heart.The tremor in her words had caught me off guard. And for a second, I hesitated. How can she still put on such a convincing act, even after all this time?

“This is a mistake,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. Unwanted memories come to the surface. The bitter ones, not the good. The shock of seeing those confidential details leaked online. The sickening realization that only Quinn could’ve been the source. The way my heart shattered into a million pieces when I realized she was the only one that could’ve done this.

“You’re inviting the fox into the henhouse,” I say, my voice rougher than intended.

“Or I’m hiring the best person for a complex PR situation,” Jonathan counters. He studies me with the uncomfortable scrutiny that only older brothers can master. “I’ve done thorough research. She’s good at what she does, Nathan.”

Jake appears in the doorway, his expression more diplomatic than Jonathan’s. “Look, man, I get your concerns. But the wedding’s six months away, your theories as to why it’s her are circumstantial at best, and we need someone who understands high-profile damage control.”

I turn away from both of them, staring out the window as the car that Lyla and Quinn climbed into disappears down the street. My reflection in the glass looks haggard, eyes hollow with an emotion I refuse to name.

“You don’t understand what you’re doing.”

“Don’t I?” Jonathan’s voice hardens slightly. “What I understand is that you’ve let mere speculation justify your actions and words against that woman. And the partying, theendless string of women? We’ve done our fair share of that ourselves, but not to this extent. We did it because we enjoyed it. You do it like you have to. Like you’re trying to erase her from your memory. That’s not you, Nathan.”

His words snap something inside me. He has no idea what he’s talking about. I’m doing what any other man in his thirties would do: blowing off steam. It has nothing to do with Quinn. Nothing.

“You don’t know what I’m?—”

“I know my kid brother.” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “And I know when he’s running from something that matters.”

His words hit too close to home, and I lash out. “She betrayed us! How many times do I have to say that for you to get what I’m saying?”

“And what if she didn’t?” Jonathan asks quietly. His same questions again are driving me insane. There is no what-if like he thinks there is. That question doesn’t even deserve consideration. The evidence is clear; the timeline matches perfectly. My certainty hasn’t wavered in a year, and it’s not going to start now just because she’s back with her rehearsed denials and wounded expressions.

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