Page 53 of How to Play the Player

Her professionalism in this moment is almost worse than if she’d screamed or cried. I nod stiffly and head for the door, pausing only when she speaks again.

“Nathan.”

I turn slightly, not quite looking at her.

“Whatever you believe about me, I will fix this,” she says firmly. “Because it’s my job and because Jonathan and Kiera deserve better than having their story twisted like this.”

I don’t acknowledge her words. I can’t. Instead, I walk out, closing the door behind me in silence.

In the hallway, I slam my fist against the wall, welcoming the sharp pain that shoots through my knuckles. The ghost of Quinn’s taste still lingers on my lips, her scent embedded in my skin like a cruel reminder of my weakness. I’m disgusted with myself for falling into her trap again, for letting my desire for her override my better judgment.

The thought that I almost—almost—believed her innocence stings. She’s good; I’ll give her that. Playing the victim while systematically ruining the happiness of my family and potentially everything they’ve built.

I straighten, pushing away from the wall. Jonathan needs me now. I’ll focus on that, on something I know how to fix.

I dial my brother’s number as I walk to the elevator. He answers immediately.

“About fucking time you answered.” Jonathan’s voice is thunderous with tension on the phone. “Are you done with the meeting with Quinn?”

I’m done with her, period.

“Yeah,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral. “We discussed the situation.”

There’s a pause. “And?”

“I’m on my way to you,” I say, sidestepping the question. “Twenty minutes, tops.”

“Meet me in my office. Bring coffee—the strong kind. We have a long day ahead of us.”

The line goes dead, and I step into the elevator, grateful for the momentary solitude. I check the article again, scanning for details. The story paints Jonathan and Kiera’s relationship as scandalous—the powerful CEO seducing his secretary. It’s a twisted version of what actually happened, designed to get clicks and maximize damage to Jonathan’s reputation and, by extension, Knight Industries.

I scroll to the reporter’s byline: Carmen Steinfeld. The name doesn’t ring any bells, but a quick search shows she’s written several similar exposés, mostly centered around corporate scandals. What catches my attention, though, is a photo of her at a charity gala from last year—standing beside a woman I recognize from Quinn’s social media.

Another connection pointing to Quinn.

By the time I reach Jonathan’s office, I’ve run through all the evidence in my head. It almost all points to one person. Almost. Still, something about this whole situation doesn’t quite feel right. Why now? Why like this? The timing feels too convenient. But I can’t afford to be distracted by doubts. Not with my family’s reputation on the line.

When I get to Knight Industries, the place is absolute chaos. Employees running in one direction, some typing on their computer like their asses were on fire. This is not good.

I find Jonathan in his office, pacing like a caged animal, phone pressed to his ear. Kiera sits on the sofa, her face pale, one hand protectively over her slightly rounded belly. She looks up when I enter, relief evident in her expression.

“I understand your concern,” Jonathan is saying, his CEO voice firmly in place despite the strain around his eyes. “But I assure you, Knight Industries’ leadership remains steady. Thisis a personal matter that has no bearing on our business operations.”

He catches sight of me and nods, some of the tension visibly leaving his shoulders.

At least my brother still trusts me.

Unlike Quinn, whose desperate pleas still echo in my mind no matter how hard I try to silence them.

“I’ll have my office send over the updated projections this afternoon,” Jonathan continues. “Yes, thank you for understanding.” He ends the call with a weary sigh.

“The board?” I ask, dropping into the chair across from Kiera.

“Two more investors and no doubt more to come,” Jonathan confirms, loosening his tie with a sharp tug. “They’re concerned about ‘stability’ and ‘judgment,’ as if falling in love somehow makes me less fucking competent at my job.”

“How bad is it?” I ask, yet I already know the answer from the article.

“Bad enough,” Kiera answers, her voice steady despite the circumstances. “The article has everything—how I came to work at Knight Industries, details about our relationship that only a few people knew.” Her gaze meets mine, direct and searching. “They’ve even involved my pregnancy in all of it.”

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