Page 19 of How to Play the Player

Quinn

For the last twelve months, I believed Nathan Knight was permanently in my rearview mirror. Until a few days back, that comforting illusion had remained intact.

When I agreed to take on Jonathan Knight’s wedding, I thought I was prepared for anything. The gig seemed straightforward enough: a high-profile wedding, lots of media attention, and a newsworthy backstory that needed careful handling. I’ve managed messier situations without breaking a sweat.

But the second Nathan walked in, everything changed. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Jonathan casually ordered us to work together like he was asking us to share a taxi. As though forcing exes with unresolved issues to collaborate is perfectly reasonable.

I expected, and maybe hoped, Nathan to tell his brother no, and for Jonathan to tell me personally he changed his mind about me working for him. But I never received that call.

So now here I am, sitting in my glass-walled, one-story office that I’d frantically transformed over the last few hours. The cream furniture and vibrant plants cost money I couldn’t really spare, but appearing successful is crucial, especially with Nathan Knight sitting across from me. The last thing I need is for him to see how precarious my new business really is.

His presence fills the room right on time, bringing with it all the memories I’ve tried so hard to bury. Those amber eyes that once looked at me with such tenderness now regard me with cold suspicion. I hate how my body still responds to him, that unwelcome flutter in my chest whenever he shifts in his chair.

I try not to show it, but it’s there. That familiar pull, the dangerous combination of attraction and resentment that we never managed to resolve. And to be honest, I don’t think there’s any chance of that happening.

“Let’s get this over with.” Nathan’s voice cuts through the silence, deep and controlled.

“Gladly.” I pull out my phone, professionalism my only shield. “Let’s be clear—my loyalty is to your brother, not you. He called to have these meetings, and my job is making sure his wedding runs perfectly.”

“Not without padding your bank account in the process.” The disdain in his voice is unmistakable.

I resist the urge to show him any hint of a response to his jab. I am not in a mood to let him pick a fight with me. “Neither of us wants this arrangement, but here we are.”

“You could always walk away.” He leans back, watching me with calculated indifference.

“We both know that’s not happening.” I meet his gaze without flinching, though everything inside me wants to retreat.

He grinds his back teeth, seemingly fighting to maintain composure. Nathan has always been a force of nature—commanding every room, bending situations to his will. This forced collaboration is clearly testing his control.

“I don’t trust you,” he says finally, the words landing like stones between us.

“You’ve made that abundantly clear.” I don’t bother rehashing my innocence. We’ve been down that road, and he’s made his choice. “But your brother does, which is why we’re stuck with each other.”

He chooses to stay quiet, so I continue. “You think I want your help? I don’t. But this contract matters to me, and Jonathan wants us working together, so…shit out of luck.”

He studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “Fine, but we do this?—”

“Your way?” I interrupt, scoffing and already anticipating his next words. “That’s not how this works. PR ismyterritory. Your job is representing your brother’s interests—nothing more.”

“I’m not your subordinate, Quinn.” The way he says my name still affects me, despite everything. “Jonathan made us partners, whether you like it or not. And if he finds out you’re sidelining me…” He leaves the threat hanging.

The implication is clear. My contract depends on playing by Jonathan’s rules, which by extension now includes working with Nathan. Once again, I’m reminded my recently bought office and fledgling business hang in the balance.

Fucking bastard.

“Then let’s establish some ground rules,” I say, forcing practicality over emotion. “We focus on the work. No rehashing the past. No wasting time.”

“As long as you don’t compromise my brother’s wedding, we’ll get along just fine.”

“For the last time, I have no interest in sabotaging my clients. It’s literally the opposite of my job.”

He gives me a skeptical look that makes my blood boil. “We’ll see.”

“If you’re so concerned about your brother’s wedding, maybe you should look in the mirror.” I push my phone toward him, displaying this morning’s headline: “Head of Social Media & CIO at rising tech giant Knight Industries scores again: Spotted leaving with Victoria’s Secret model.”

He barely glances at it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means your tabloid presence is becoming the story instead of your brother’s wedding. The media is already speculating which bridesmaid you’ll sleep with first.”

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