Page 5 of How to Play the Player

A familiar flutter of anxiety rises in my chest. “God, I’m so nervous.” I’ve never done a presentation by myself before.

“Don’t be. You’re good at what you do. Just believe in yourself,” Lyla says, but her reassurance barely touches my nerves.

We make our way up the steps to imposing double iron doors. Lyla touches my arm before reaching for the doorbell. “Let me do the introductions first, okay?”

A few moments after she rings the doorbell, one of the doors swing open to reveal a tall man in jeans and a bright red tee.

“Hi, Mr. Knight!” Lyla’s greeting stops my heart.

The surname hits me. Knight Industries. Nathan Knight. My heartbeat stutters, then races as memories flood back with nauseating speed. My mouth goes dry, palms instantly clammy. Memories of late nights discussing my ex’s family’s company, his pride when talking about his brother’s leadership, his dreams of expanding their tech empire. During our year together, Nathan had mentioned his brother Jonathan ran Knight Industries, but we’d never met. I’d been so focused on my career after our breakup that I hadn’t connected Jonathan Knight the CEO with Jonathan Knight the brother.

Bile rises in my throat, but I force it down. One year of carefully rebuilding my career can’t fall apart because of a name.

I draw in a slow breath through my nose, channeling every ounce of professionalism I’ve earned. This meeting is too important to let old wounds derail it. If I land this job, there’s no doubt I’ll run into Nathan. And if that happens… Well, I’ll just have to be an adult and deal. I mean, what else can I do?

“Ms. Clark,” he greets us with a warm smile. “I’m Jonathan. Come on in.”

He leads us into a formal dining room where, to my surprise, the entire wedding party awaits. The rich scent of fresh flowers mingles with warm cinnamon from something baking nearby. My legs somehow carry me across the polished threshold, the soft murmur of conversation pausing as Lyla makes introductions.

The first person I see, and the first who rises from her chair, is Kiera. She looks stunning in an off-white halter dress witha bow at her waist that floats around her as she moves. Her familiar face grounds me in the present rather than a past I’m desperately trying not to dwell on.

“Lyla! So good to see you.” Both women hug before the bride-to-be turns her gaze to me. “Quinn! I’m so happy we get to see each other in person. When I told Lyla I’d like to hire you, I was so excited to learn you two were close. If this isn’t fate, I don’t know what is.” Kiera pulls me into a hug. “I hope you don’t mind; I’m a hugger.”

“It’s good to see you again, especially in person.” I hug her back. “Congratulations on your engagement!”

The warmth of her welcome makes my day. Most clients maintain a careful distance, so this feels like a breath of fresh air.

“I’ve been trying to plan this wedding on my own for a few weeks,” Kiera admits with a slight grimace. “But it quickly became overwhelming with all the details and my work schedule. That’s when I found Lyla, thank goodness. With six months to go until the big day, I needed the help.”

“And now you’ve got both of us,” Lyla adds with a reassuring smile.

“Lyla’s already met everyone, so let me introduce you to the gang.” She indicates a woman with glorious natural curls, wearing a purple tank top and black capri pants, who offers a friendly wave. “This is my maid of honor, Kami Hernandez.” She then points to a dark-haired woman in denim shorts and a blush-pink tee. Her hair is styled in an elegant ponytail, showing off the length of her hair. “This is my bridesmaid and sister of the groom, Mia.” Next to her sits a tall man with espresso-colored hair who stands as well. He’s wearing a blue tee and khakis. “And this is the best man, Jake Hall.”

“It’s nice to meet everyone!” I say as Jonathan gestures for us to take seats at the large oak table. They move with the practiced ease of a close-knit group, comfortable with each other in a waythat speaks of years of shared history. I settle into the chair across from Nathan’s sister—the same Mia he used to call every Sunday without fail. Jake, his brother’s best friend, featured in half the crazy stories Nathan would tell. I’m more nervous the longer the time passes. Do they know me? They wouldn’t have let me in if they did, right? The longer I contemplate, the more nervous I become.

“Can I get you two ladies something to drink?” Jonathan offers.

“Water would be perfect,” Lyla replies.

“Yes, water would be great,” I respond, grateful for the chance to wet my suddenly dry throat.

“You got it! I’ll be right back, and then we can get started.” He gestures to the group before walking through a door that presumably leads to the kitchen, disappearing from our view.

Every professional instinct I have screams to excuse myself, to protect both them and me from the inevitable fallout once Nathan finds out about my possible involvement. Yet there’s a small part of me more insistent that I’ve earned this opportunity. My reputation, my skills, my dedication to rebuilding my business from the ground up—they’re all real, all mine. Neither the Knight family name nor Nathan has the power to take that away.

When Jonathan returns, I force my attention to his words about their PR needs, even as my mind catalogs every familiar gesture he shares with his brother.

“And I imagine you want to keep your wedding as private as possible?” I ask, my mind already keeping potential media containment strategies in mind despite my inner turmoil. I mentally map out which influential bloggers to cultivate, which publications might need exclusive content to prevent them from digging deeper.

“We know people are going to say what they want to say, but we don’t want this to catch fire, if you know what I mean,” Jonathan explains, leaning forward slightly. “More importantly, we need discretion on two fronts: our…relationship history and the actual wedding events themselves.” He straightens. “Someone in my position attracts constant media attention. So the last thing we need is paparazzi scaling fences or reporters posing as caterers on our wedding day.”

“Privacy, overall, is our top priority,” Kiera adds. “We want to share our wedding with friends and family, not the entire internet. And I know not a lot of people can say they fell in love with their secretary who accidentally propositioned them for sex via email, much less who’s pregnant with his baby.” She laughs awkwardly.

I blink but then quickly hide my surprise. “I completely understand.” As romantic as their love story is, and as much as it sounds like something out of a bestselling novel, it makes perfect sense why they’d want to hire a PR consultant. Many businesses would love to exploit this kind of gossip.

“If it helps, I can have everyone in the office sign an NDA,” Jonathan suggests.

“It wouldn’t be a terrible idea but not a necessary one,” I tell him. “Since your top priority is discretion, however, you can absolutely do that if you choose to.”

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