Page 56 of How to Play the Player

I still love him

Despite all the things Nathan has done to me, I never stopped loving him. Maybe that’s why this cuts so deeply, why I can’t just brush it off as a professional setback or wounded pride. Why seeing him again has been both heaven and hell.

All those nights I spent convincing myself I was over him, all the dates I went on to get over him but never could… It was love, stubbornly persisting when it should’ve died like a normal breakup. And being with him again only made it stronger. And now I’ve let him back in, trusted him foolishly with my body if not my heart.

My phone buzzes again, and I glance at it, half expecting, hoping despite myself, that it’s Nathan. That he’s changed his mind or he’s sorry. Instead, the screen shows Lyla’s photo.

Have you seen the news? Are you okay?

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. This isn’t just about me and Nathan anymore. Jonathan and Kiera are in the midst of a PR nightmare, and I have a job to do. The personal heartbreak is going to have to wait.

I text back.

In my office. Need you ASAP. Bring coffee and snacks.

While waiting for Lyla, I force myself to read the article again, this time with a critical eye. Every detail I read feels like a knife twist, but I keep reading. Information about the couple I’d been entrusted with is now displayed across the internet for clickbait. Whoever wrote this makes Jonathan’s relationship with Kiera seem sordid, painting Jonathan as some predatory boss and Kiera as an opportunist.

I can’t imagine what they must be feeling. The violation. The public scrutiny. I feel physically ill from the déjà vu of it all.

My laptop chooses at that moment to die again, the screen going black mid-sentence. I sigh and close it, the frustration just one more thing to deal with today.

The door opens fifteen minutes later, and Lyla rushes in, a cardboard tray of coffee in one hand and a paper bag filled with snacks in the other.

“Hey, girl,” she says, her voice soft and compassionate when she sees me. She must see my tear-stained cheeks despite my best efforts to hide them because she quickly sets everything down on the chair across from my desk and pulls me into a tight hug. “Oh, honey. What happened?”

I sniffle. “Nathan and I…” I begin, my voice cracking. “We were…together when the story broke. And he immediately blamed me for the leak.”

Lyla’s eyes widen as she processes my words, letting me rest my head on her shoulder for a moment. “Stupid, stubborn, pompous, egotistical, prideful bastard of an asshat. After you gave him so many reasons to believe you, he still refuses to give you the benefit of the doubt?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I wipe my eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath. My voice wavers but grows stronger with each word. “We have bigger problems. Jonathan and Kiera are being crucified in the press, and regardless of what Nathan thinks of me, I have a job to do.”

Lyla studies me, a mixture of admiration and concern in her eyes. “You’re going to help them anyway? Even after what Nathan just did?”

“My clients are not an extension of what Nathan says or does to me. This is professional, not emotional. And I gave my word.” Most of that is true; I am a person of my word. But mostly, I care too much about Nathan’s family to just walk away. On top of that, if there was any other way to convince Nathan to at least reconsider his theories about me, this would probably be it. I open the crisis binder, flipping to the scenarios section. My hands tremble slightly as I blink rapidly to clear the remnants of tears from my vision. “And contrary to what Nathan believes, my word actually means something.”

Lyla sits across from me, pushing one of the coffee cups in my direction. She reaches out to squeeze my hand. “You are so brave and loyal, and I love you for that.” She wipes away a small tear from her own eyes. “Okay, boss. What can I do to help? This may not be my area of expertise, but I’m here for you. You point, I’ll follow.”

I get Nathan is angry, but I have a job to do, so he’s just going to have to get over it.

The familiar rhythm of crisis management helps ground me, gives me something to focus on besides the hollow ache in my chest and the occasional hiccup that still escapes my throat. This is what I’m good at. This is what I know. Focus on the immediate problem, assess the damage, identify key messages, implement containment strategies. The personal pain and dilemma can wait.

“First, I need to speak with the lifestyle editor atDallas Lifestyle,” I say, already pulling up my contacts list on my phone. “We prepared for this contingency—an exclusive interview with Jonathan and Kiera to control the narrative.”

“Who do you need to call? Want me to dial while you drink your coffee?” Lyla asks, already reaching for my phone. “You look like you need the caffeine more than the phone right now.”

I give her Sarah’s name from my contacts, grateful for Lyla’s practical support. While she dials, I take a long sip of coffee, feeling the warmth spread through me.

“So what’s a lifestyle editor going to do that helps this situation?” Lyla asks, genuinely curious as she waits for the call to connect. “Is that like a special kind of journalist?”

“Sarah’s perfect for this because she handles softer news stories with more nuance than the tabloids,” I explain, appreciating Lyla’s interest even as she’s learning the PR strategy. “She’ll let Jonathan and Kiera tell their story on their terms, which is exactly what we need right now.”

Lyla nods, her expression showing she’s doing her best to follow along. “So it’s like fighting fire with…nicer fire?” The call connects before I can answer. “Oh, hi! This is Lyla calling on behalf of Quinn Sanders…” She hands me the phone quickly.

After speaking with Sarah, arranging the exclusive interview, I quickly shoot a message to Nathan telling him I’m meetingwith the magazine in an hour. If I’m going to start the damage control process, Nathan needs to be kept in the know. My message is professional, but transparent.

Lyla busies herself organizing the office, laying out the snacks she brought, and making sure I have everything I need within reach. When I hang up, she’s already got a notepad ready for me.

“What’s the plan?” she asks, pen poised to take notes.

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