Page 29 of How to Play the Player

His eyes drop to my lips briefly before returning to mine. “We’ll see.”

“If I managed a year without you,” I reply with confidence that comes from a place of genuine indifference rather than forced bravado, “two weeks to make you eat your words will be a cakewalk.”

“Sure, but there’s a big difference between then and now.”

“Like what?”

He caresses the inside of my upper arm. “We weren’t working together”—his voice drops lower—“and you weren’t wearing dresses like that one.”

So he’s noticed…

Before I can formulate a response, Lyla’s voice calls from across the room. “Quinn? Jonathan wants your input on something.”

Nathan steps back, a subtle smile playing at his lips. “Duty calls.”

I walk away with my chin high, refusing to let him see how much he’s right, that he’s affected me as much as he has. I’ve spent the past year building immunity to Nathan Knight’sparticular brand of charm. What I feel is purely residual physical attraction, a biological familiarity, nothing more.

I won’t let him have emotional power over me.

Nathan

I rip my tie off the second I get back to my car, tossing it onto the passenger seat. The venue tour, Quinn’s appearance, has left me wound up tighter than I’d care to admit. Knowing the image of Quinn in that goddamn black dress is seared into my brain, I know I can’t go back to my empty apartment. I have to be around other people, preferably where there’s enough alcohol to drown out this growing image that I can’t help but wonder what’s underneath her clothing.

Twenty-minutes later, I push through the heavy wooden doors of the bar, the Brick. The familiar scent of polished wood, quality bourbon, and comfort food wraps around me like an old friend. Friday nights are usually packed, but it’s early enough that I can still spot an open stool at the far end of the bar.

“Nate!” Ian Brown’s voice carries over the growing crowd as I make my way across the room. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

I slide onto the stool, nodding at Ian as he approaches. “Needed a change of scenery.”

“Rough day?” he asks, already reaching for a glass and the bottle of whiskey he keeps for regulars.

“You could say that,” I mutter, watching as he pours.

Ian slides the drink across the polished bar top to me. His eyes, sharp as always, study me for a moment longer thannecessary. “This have anything to do with the venue tour? Kami filled me in.”

Of course, information delivered from her seems to travel at the speed of light.

“Has she ever considered a career with the CIA?” I deflect, taking a slow sip of the drink. “Her intelligence-gathering skills are wasted in social media.”

Ian laughs. “I’ve suggested it, but she’d rather take corporate life than people shooting at her.” He wipes down the bar, his movements efficient and practiced. “So, the PR consultant huh?”

I groan. “Seriously? Not you too.”

He shrugs. “Kami likes her. Says she knows her shit.”

“Yeah well, Kami doesn’t know her like I do.” I take another sip.

“Hey, I’m just the bartender. But for what it’s worth, as far as what the others have said, she seems like a nice person.”

Great. Even my favorite bar has been infiltrated by the blond bombshell’s aura.

“I’d rather not talk about her, if you don’t mind.” I finish the rest of my drink in one go.

Ian studies me for a moment, then nods. “Fair enough. You eaten yet? Kitchen just rolled out a new menu and I can’t in good conscience be having you drink on an empty stomach.”

The mention of food reminds me I haven’t eaten since my hasty lunch before the tour. Approximately six hours ago. “What’s good?”

“Everything,” he says with the confidence of a man who takes pride in his establishment. “But the cheeseburger with fries will change your life.”

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