Page 26 of How to Play the Player

Friday, 6 p.m

Quinn

Sunlight glints off luxury vehicles as Lyla weaves her car through the upscale Riviera neighborhood, leaving the city’s hustle behind us. Beautiful homes with manicured lawns pass by in a blur while I mentally rehearse my strategy for today. Yesterday’s impulsive bet with Nathan plays on repeat in my mind, a constant reminder of just how much is at stake.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Lyla says from the driver’s seat. Her lips quirk into a teasing smile. Her keen hazel eyes missing nothing as they move back and forth between the road and my face.

“What thing?” I ask, pretending indifference.

“That thing where you bite your lip whenever you have a trick up your sleeve that you’re excited about.” She signals for a turn onto a tree-lined boulevard. “Your poor lip has been through enough trauma. Save some for Nathan.”

I swat her arm playfully. “I am not saving anything for him except maybe a well-timed reality check.”

“Mmhmm. That’s why you spent three hours this morning getting ready for a venue tour that will last, what, ninety minutes tops?” She glances at me, eyebrows raised. “That black dress is lethal, by the way. Remind me again how this isn’t about making him drool?”

Heat rises to my cheeks as I smooth down the front of my outfit—a fitted dress that hugs my curves in all the right places while still looking professional enough for client meetings. “It’s called strategy. Looking good is part of the job.”

“Strategy. Right.” Lyla snorts. “And I suppose the fact black was his favorite color on you is just a happy coincidence?”

“Was it?” I ask innocently. I remember every compliment Nathan ever gave me. No matter how hard you try, there are just some things you can’t scrub from your memory.

“You’re terrible.” Lyla laughs, her voice warm with affection rather than judgment. “But I’m here for it.”

I can’t help but smile, grateful for her support. “It’s not just about winning the bet, you know. It’s about?—”

“Vindication. Justice. Clearing your name. Making him cry uncle.” She verbally ticks off each item on her fingers.” And maybe, just maybe, getting to see that vein in his forehead pop when he realizes he can look but can’t touch.”

“That vein.” I sigh dramatically, remembering how it would appear whenever Nathan was particularly frustrated. Usually, right before he’d channel that frustration in bed. My girl parts flutter at the memory. No, that’s not part of the plan. So I quickly redirect my thoughts.

Focus, Quinn.

Lyla turns onto a winding, private road that cuts through acres of rolling hills. As we drive deeper into the property, she fills me in on the details.

“So, Solana Vineyard belongs to Marco Alvarez—Jonathan’s roommate from college. Apparently, he inherited this place from his grandfather two years ago and has been transforming it into an event venue,” Lyla explains, navigating a curve in the road. “The main villa is already stunning, but they’re still renovating the old wine barn into a reception hall and redoing the landscaping around the ceremony site.”

“How did I not know about this place?” I ask, taking in the breathtaking views as the Tuscan-inspired villa comes into view. Rows upon rows of meticulously maintained grapevines stretch across the landscape, leading up to a stone structure with a bell tower and terracotta roof.

“It’s not officially open to the public yet,” Lyla says. “Marco’s only hosted a handful of events for friends and family while construction is ongoing. Currently, they’re doing a soft launch in about eight months, so Jonathan and Kiera’s wedding will be one of the first major events here.”

“That explains the timeline,” I muse. “Having the wedding in September gives them plenty of time to finish the renovations.”

“Exactly. And it gives Marco time to get all the proper permits and licenses squared away.” Lyla slows as we approach the main building. “Jonathan got really lucky with the timing. In another year, this place will probably be booked solid with a waitlist a mile long. There would’ve been no way to have a wedding in six months otherwise.”

“This is holy Insta heaven,” I murmur, my PR brain already cataloging perfect photo opportunities.

“Game face on,” Lyla murmurs as she parks. “They’re already here.”

“How do I look?” I ask, suddenly nervous despite my preparation.

Lyla gives me an exaggerated once-over. “Like a woman who’s about to make her ex-boyfriend question every life choice he’s made in the past year.”

“Excellent!” I apply a fresh coat of lip gloss, the vanilla-scented one that was Nathan’s favorite. “If his eyes happen to glaze over when I walk by, I won’t complain.”

“That’s my girl.” Lyla grins, giving my hand a squeeze. “Now let’s go make some magic happen. For the wedding,” she clarifies with a wink, “but also for your revenge tour.”

I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in days. With Lyla in my corner, maybe I can pull this off after all.

We make our way up the flagstone path to the main entrance where a man with sun-bronzed skin and an easy smile greets us.

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