Page 32 of How to Play the Player

After calling an Uber, I slide into the backseat of the car. Determination replaces frustration.

Fuck around, and find out, sweet pea.

This isn’t just about winning a bet anymore. It’s about proving, once and for all, I’m over her. And once this bet is over, I can finally close this chapter of my life for good.

Chapter Twelve

Saturday, 10 a.m

Knight Industries

Quinn

The Knight Industries building sits in Dallas’s tech corridor—fifteen floors of glass and steel housing the company Nathan had described with such pride during our relationship. I’d drive past it every day on the way to the office I shared with Bethany. Each glimpse, after everything, became a heavy reminder of what I’d lost. Entering the building, however, brings an entirely different feeling.

Despite the fact I’ve never walked in the building before, I stride confidently toward the reception desk, drawing on years of experience visiting client headquarters. The weekend security guard glances up as I approach.

“Good morning. I have a ten o’clock appointment with Jonathan Knight.”

He checks his tablet, nodding. “Yes, Ms. Sanders. Mr. Knight is expecting you. Head up to the fourth floor.” He hands me a visitor badge. “The executive elevator is to your right.”

The ride up the elevator gives me a moment to mentally review my presentation. Through the reflection of the doors, I check my appearance, adjusting my cream silk blouse and smoothing the navy pencil skirt that hugs my curves. The outfit is just enough to be tempting without coming off as provocative.

After yesterday’s close success with the black dress, I’ve decided to switch things up. I’ve chosen softer colors, but with details Nathan wouldn’t miss. The top’s subtle drape accentuates my neckline; the skirt’s high waist emphasizes my figure. Before I can adjust any more of my outfit, the elevator dings, indicating I’m at the fourth floor.

Showtime!

The doors open to Knight Industries’ main floor. An open-concept space similar to many tech companies I’ve worked with. The weekend brings a quieter atmosphere throughout the floor, with only a few employees at their stations.

I barely step out of the elevator when Jonathan appears from around a corner, his face lighting up with recognition.

“Quinn! Thanks for coming,” he says, extending his hand, “especially on a Saturday and on short notice.”

“Not a problem,” I reply, shaking his hand firmly. I do my best to always be available for my clients.

“Follow me,” he says, guiding me through the space toward a corridor to private offices. Everything about the environment screams success—from state-of-the-art technology to modern art adorning the walls. A far cry from the humble beginnings Nathan used to describe in late-night conversations.

Jonathan pushes open a door at the end of the hallway. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

The office is spacious and tastefully appointed. Large windows offer a panoramic view of the city. The sleek furniture is in muted tones. And family photos are artfully arranged on a credenza. It’s polished, but with a personal touch.

I step inside, maintaining my professional smile even as my gaze lands on Nathan.

He sits on one of the chairs closest to the windows. Somehow, he looks even more devastatingly handsome. He remembered I was always a sucker for when he was in a dress shirt and jeans. His bulging muscles are all but on display. The definition of them shows the countless hours at the gym. His expression reveals an unusual sense of confidence, as though I’ve already fallen into some trap of his. My mouth goes dry as his eyes meet mine. A familiar dull ache between my thighs makes its appearance known to me. I do my best to avoid biting my lip.

“Forgive me,” he says, gesturing to his clothes. “Weekend office policy.”

Right. Like he didn’t know exactly what he was doing.

I smile sweetly toward my ex, as if I’m unbothered. “No apology necessary.”

Jonathan motions for me to take a seat at the small conference table just a few steps away from Nathan. As soon as I sit down, I watch him sit adjacent to Jonathan.

Jonathan carries on like nothing is happening. “Coffee?”

“Please. One cream and one sugar,” I say, setting my laptop and portfolio on the table. Like I planned, I bend to retrieve a pen that “accidentally” slips from my fingers. Almost immediately, I feel Nathan’s gaze tracking the movement. I know he can see within my cleavage as I stay in this position. When I do straighten, his eyes snap back to Jonathan, jaw tight.

And that’s another point for me!

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