Page 63 of How to Play the Player

The implication hangs in the air between us. Other possibilities. Like the one where I’m not a villain. Where I’ve been telling the truth all along.

“It doesn’t matter. Managing this situation for you and Kiera is more important.”

“It matters,” Jonathan counters gently. “It matters to him, even if he’s too stubborn to admit it fully. And I think it matters to you too.”

Before I can respond, the elevator arrives. The conversation is over, but Jonathan’s words echo in my mind as we descend to the lobby.

Whatever Nathan wants to show me, whatever he has to say, I need to prepare myself. Whether I’m walking into accusations or apologies, evidence or explanations, I have to be ready for whatever comes next.

And the not knowing what I’m walking into is what’s killing me.

Chapter Twenty-One

Quinn’s office

Early evening

Quinn

As I approach my office, keys in hand, heart hammering against my ribs, I spot a familiar figure pacing outside my door—Nathan, already here, waiting for me. He hasn’t noticed me yet, his body taut with tension as he checks his watch. His other hand clutches a bag.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself after the emotional rollercoaster of today. First the accusations in this very office, then the lifeline of theDallas Lifestyleinterview, and now…this mysterious meeting Nathan insisted on.

Jonathan’s words still reverberate in my mind. He’s starting to consider other possibilities.

What possibilities? I’m highly suspicious of what I will hear. Will it be what I’ve already heard, and I’m just wasting my time,or something different entirely? Could it be the very thing I’d thought of, but never allowed myself to hope for?

I tighten my fingers around my keys, the metal edges digging into my palm. I’ve spent hours helping his brother and future sister-in-law navigate their PR crisis—proving my loyalty, my professionalism—while nursing the fresh wound of Nathan’s blame and rejection. And now he wants to talk?

I shouldn’t have come. I’m tired of being the only one fighting to prove myself.

But I’d be no better than him if I chose not to come. Unlike him, I’m deciding to be an adult and listen to what he has to say. That’s more than he could’ve ever done for me a year ago. That has to mean something. At least then, when all is said and done, I can walk away having no regrets.

Nathan looks up at the sound of my approaching footsteps, his expression a complicated mix of anxiety and determination. His usual cocky demeanor is nowhere to be found. His tie is loosened, collar open, and dark circles consume the bags under his eyes. He looks worse than the last time I saw him.

“Quinn,” he says, my name sounding hard in his throat. He even sounds tired. He straightens immediately, his posture stiffening as if bracing for impact. “Thank you for meeting me.”

“Nathan.” I keep my tone neutral, professional, as I move to unlock my office door. I don’t like not knowing what’s about to happen. Then again, I’ve never liked surprises. “How did it go with the board?”

Small talk. Safe ground. Anything to delay the real conversation. At least for now.

“Productive. Jonathan handled it well. The board isn’t as anxious now.” He follows me inside, waiting until I flip on the lights. “After this morning, I wouldn’t have blamed you for telling me to fuck off.”

“I considered it,” I admit, setting my purse down and keeping a deliberate distance between us as he begins pulling several files from his bag and setting it all on my desk. A laptop, several folders, and what looks like printed photos of security footage. “You said you had something to show me.” I gesture to his so-called evidence. “Here I am. So begin.”

The memory of what happened just this morning hangs heavy in the air—his mouth on my skin, my body responding to his touch, followed by his cold blaming when the story broke. The reminder sends another pang to my heart.

“That interview your brother and Kiera did went well,” I continue, filling the awkward silence. “Sarah was receptive. The piece should shift the narrative significantly and do a lot of the leg work in terms of damage control when it runs tomorrow.”

“Quinn—” Nathan starts.

“Begin,” I reiterate. I don’t want to hear what he has to say. Not until he’s shown me what he wanted me to see.

“Can we sit? Please?”

Something in his tone makes me pause. He seems…different. Less certain, more vulnerable than I’m used to seeing him. I haven’t seen this side of him since…

Cautiously, I do as he asks and move toward my desk, taking the chair opposite his.

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