Page 57 of How to Play the Player

“We need to draft a statement for Knight Industries’ social media accounts,” I say. Lyla starts scribbling notes on the legal pad. “Nothing that directly mentions the article—that just draws more attention to it. Instead, we’ll emphasize Jonathan’s leadership and the family values of the company.”

“Got it. So like…pretend the bad article doesn’t exist and just say nice things instead?” Lyla summarizes, trying to grasp the concept. “That seems so simple but I guess that’s why you’re the pro.”

I smile despite myself. “It’s a bit more complex than that, but you have the right idea. We’re not pretending it doesn’t exist but rather redirecting the conversation away from the article itself.”

“Smart,” she says, nodding appreciatively. “And what about Jonathan and Keira themselves? Do they need to post something too?”

“Not yet,” I explain, appreciating her question that helps me think through the strategy. “They shouldn’t say anything until after the interview. We need to meet with them first, gauge their emotional state.” I pause, thinking of Kiera’s pregnancy and the added stress this must be putting on her. “Eventually, they’ll need to post something simple. A photo of them together, maybe from their engagement shoot. Something that shows unity and normalcy.”

Lyla watches me work with obvious concern. “Quinn,” she says carefully, “at what point do you want to talk about?—”

“Not now,” I interrupt her, taking a steadying breath and pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes to stop the fresh wave of tears. “I can’t…I can’t think about that right now. If I let myself feel it, I’ll fall apart completely. I’m not useful to Jonathan and Kiera if I’m emotionally breaking down. They and this story are my top priorities.”

She nods, understanding in her expression. “You got it.” She silently passes me another tissue. “Tell me to do whatever needs to be done while you get this done. Need me to reschedule anything? Cancel appointments? Order lunch? Tell the world to fuck off? I’m your girl.”

I appreciate her willingness to follow my lead, to help me stay functional when I’m barely holding it together. Despite the fact we work in different spheres of business, she gets me.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “Could you put together a folder with the positive press coverage Jonathan and Kiera have gotten so far? It might help in crafting our response.”

“On it,” Lyla says, reaching for my laptop before realizing it’s dead. She looks up, helplessly. “Wait, how do I?—?”

“Use my iPad instead.” Her eagerness to help helps to put me at ease. “Search their names and save any positive articles you can find from the past six months.”

We work side by side for the next hour, me drafting statements and preparing talking points, while Lyla handles the practical tasks that keep my workspace functional—ordering food, organizing files, making sure I eat. Her support is exactly what I need to stay focused.

My phone buzzes with a text from Jonathan.

We’re in the middle of an emergency board meeting, but let me know when you have a plan.

I wonder briefly what exactly Nathan “filled him in” about. Did he mention what we were doing when the news broke? Did he share his suspicions that I was behind the leak? I push the thoughts away.

Right, not productive.

It doesn’t matter. All that does is doing my job.

I text back.

Meeting with Dallas Lifestyle in twenty. Will call with update after. How are you both holding up?

His response comes quickly.

Handling it. Kiera’s upset but strong. Board members are the bigger headache right now. Thanks for asking.

His message reinforces the urgency of the situation. This isn’t just a personal issue—it’s affecting Knight Industries at the corporate level, with board members already expressing concern.

My resolve hardens further. Whether Nathan believes me or not, whether he ever trusts me again, I will fix this. For Jonathan and Kiera, for their future.

And maybe, in some small, foolish corner of my heart, for Nathan, too. Because that’s what loving someone means, doesn’t it? You help them even when they don’t believe they need it. Even when they push you away. Even when it breaks your heart to do so.

I grab my purse and stand, quickly checking my appearance in the small mirror on my office wall. My eyes are red and puffy, my cheeks blotchy. I dab at my face with a tissue, trying to repair what damage I can, and apply a minimal layer of makeup.

“Here,” Lyla says gently, stepping up behind me with a small bag I hadn’t noticed before. “I brought your emergency makeup kit from your apartment, too. Figured you might need it.”

The thoughtfulness of her gesture makes me smile. “Thanks, girl.”

“Just the important stuff,” she says, helping me fix my face. “Now, let’s get you looking like the badass bitch you are.”

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. I still look like someone who’s been crying, but it’s an improvement. It’s enough at least to face Sarah.

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