Page 17 of How to Play the Player

By the time I reach my apartment, I’ve reconstructed my defenses and reinforced the walls around the dangerous doubts Jonathan’s words inspired.

I pour myself two fingers of vodka and down it in one burning gulp, welcoming the distraction of physical sensation.

One thing is certain—working alongside Quinn day after day, fighting not just her arguments but my own unwanted response to her presence, is going to be hell. I pour myself another drink.

Jonathan is wrong about this. It’s not about fear or feelings. It’s about principles, consequences, and making sure Quinn Sanders can’t hurt my family again. I’ll keep her at arm’s length, watch her every move, and be ready to step in at a moment’s notice when she eventually shows her true colors.

My phone buzzes with a text from Scott:

Initial background check on Sanders underway. Prelim report by morning.

Good. Facts and data—that’s what I need. Not emotions, memories, or the treacherous hope that flared when Quinn looked up at me with those eyes.

I set an early alarm. Tomorrow, I’ll face her with professional distance and all the evidence I need to keep my defenses intact. Soon, she’ll realize I can see her coming from a mile away.

Knight Industries

Thursday, eight A.M.

Nathan

“Mornin’, boss.” Kami Hernandez comes into my office with all smiles—a tall cup of coffee in hand. As my senior manager in the social media division, she knows exactly how to bribe me. Yet I can’t help but recall the last time she pulled this stunt she wasbribing me to get out of her own personal shit. And this time, like before, the answer is going to be the same.

“No,” I say bluntly.

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, c’mon, it’s just coffee.”

“Nothing is ‘just coffee’ with you. Your fiancé will back me up on that one.”

“Ian will do nothing of the sort. Besides, he likes what I have to say and vice versa.”

“Oh, so you liked it when he told your mother behind your back you were in a relationship with him when you weren’t and then forced you to bring him to your childhood home last Thanksgiving?”

“Okay, that was—Wait, you’re getting me sidetracked.”

“Really? How did you guess?” I say sarcastically.

“I’m trying to talk with you about?—”

I glare at the spreadsheets on my screen, trying to focus on anything except the conversation Kami seems desperate to start. “Whatever you want, the answer is no.”

“Now, is that any way to treat your favorite almost-sister-in-law?” She settles into the chair across from my desk, crossing her legs. I have a pretty good idea what she wants, but I have zero interest in letting the woman try to psychoanalyze me right now. “Especially one bearing your favorite brew from Carlo’s?”

I take the coffee but maintain my scowl. The rich aroma fills my nostrils, the familiar warmth of the cup against my palm momentarily grounding me. The first sip has me slightly more awake, but I don’t dare admit that to her. “First of all,Kierais my almost-sister-in-law, not you. Second, don’t you have wedding details to help coordinate or a fiancé to annoy?”

“I’m going to be on a call with Lyla after work, Ian doesn’t make it easy, and you are much more interesting.” She leans forward, eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint I’ve learned to dread.

“Believe me, I’m not.”

“Our friend group, and Jonathan’s dining room, would disagree. So…Quinn Sanders.”

I close my eyes at the name, a pulse of tension radiating from my temples.

Not this. Not now.

“We’re not talking about this.”

Not today, sweetheart. Not today.

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