Page 4 of How to Play the Player

“Speaking of weddings…” Lyla’s expression turns serious as she swallows a chip. “The opportunity I told you about. I have a client who specifically wants you.”

My heart skips a beat. “What? For real?”

“Remember a Kiera Young?” Lyla watches my face carefully. “Does her name ring any bells?”

At first, nothing comes to mind. But then the image of a sweet brunette on a video call pops into my head. Kiera Young, a sweet woman I’d met her a few years ago during a virtual conference series on women in business. We happened to be in the same breakout rooms three weeks in a row, sharing war stories about being young women in male-dominated industries. Over time, our conversations had continued over social media, but a lot of time has passed since we last talked.

“Yeah, I do,” I reply. “What is she asking me for?”

“She’s getting married!”

“No way, good for her,” I praise.

A gleam in Lyla’s eye tells me there’s more to her story. “She reached out to me last week about wedding planning. And when she saw my previous work with your PR strategies, she practically lit up. Said you two had met in the past, and that you were exactly who she and her fiancé needed.”

The timing almost seems too perfect. Who knew an old conference connection would come back to ask for my services? Especially for her wedding, a moment in someone’s life that’s so personal. I’m beginning to think the universe has an interesting sense of humor.

“Did she…” I swallow hard. “Did she say why me specifically?”

“She said your insights during those virtual sessions really stuck with her. Something about how you handled that influencer crisis last spring.” Lyla’s expression softens. “No matter the reason, Quinn, she specifically asked for you. Saidyou were the only one she trusted to handle this with the right touch. And trust me; this wedding is going to need someone who really knows their way around high-profile events.”

I raise an eyebrow at that cryptic comment, but Lyla’s already moving on, pulling up her calendar. “So are you in?”

Hope and anxiety war in my chest. A year ago, I would have jumped at this chance without hesitation. But that was before Nathan, before I learned how quickly professional trust can shatter personal relationships.

“I’m not saying no,” I begin carefully, “but after everything with Nathan and Bethany…” I trail off, the memory still raw. But at the same time, I can’t deny the fact I need the money.

Lyla reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. “Hey. What happened with both of those people wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?”

Do I? Even now, I’m not sure who leaked those details about Knight Industries’ pending acquisition. I only know I was at my cousin’s wedding at this off-grid retreat in New Mexico—one of those digital detox places where they lock your phone in a box when you arrive.

The venue had one landline for emergencies, but otherwise no connectivity. I’d completely disconnected for the ceremony and reception. When I finally got back to civilization and could check my messages, my world had already imploded. I had so many angry text messages from Nathan about betrayal and trust. By the time I landed in Dallas, he’d blocked my number and flooded social media with photos of himself with other women—at clubs, parties, and always with that calculated look that told me each image was meant for me to see.

“The point is,” Lyla continues, “you can’t let one bad experience stop you from taking chances. Especially not now, not when you’re finally free to build something that’s truly yours.When a potential client asks for you personally, that must mean something.”

She’s right. I’ve spent the past year rebuilding my career one brick at a time, proving to myself by building relationships with smaller clients and careful strategies. Maybe it’s time to step back into the world of bigger opportunities.

“How soon does Kiera want to meet with me?” I ask, my decision officially made.

Lyla’s smile could power the grid. “Next Wednesday at two o’clock. I’ll pick you up since your new office is in the direction of their place.”

“Have I mentioned lately that you’re the most wonderful bestie ever?” I smirk.

“Yes, but I never get tired of hearing it.” She raises her glass. “To new beginnings?”

I clink my glass against hers, letting myself feel hopeful for the first time in weeks. “To new beginnings.”

And to finally putting the past where it belongs—behind me.

Chapter Three

Wednesday afternoon

Quinn

The Mediterranean-style home matches Lyla’s description, its limestone facade and manicured grounds speaking to refined taste. Taking a steadying breath, I gather my materials, reminding myself that Kiera specifically requested me for this. No matter how imposing the setting, I’ve earned my place at this meeting.

Lyla navigates her SUV and glides to a stop in the circular driveway while I double-check the address on my phone. “Yep, we’re at the right house.”

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