Page 1 of Play the Game
PROLOGUE
COOPER
SEPTEMBER
“Cooper, wake the fuck up!”
I jerk awake at the sound of an irritated female voice and the sharp bite of something just heavy enough to sting connecting with my shoulder. My head slips off my fist and crashes down onto whatever surface my elbow was resting on, landing with an unceremonious thud.
“What the fuck?” I mumble, peeling my eyes open but leaving my head right where it is. Sitting up takes effort. Laying down feels good. My shoulder hurts. My head throbs. Why am I so exhausted? And where the hell am I?
Sliding my eyes around the room, I take stock. Heavy stone table covered in papers, laptops, coffee cups, and empty takeout containers. Bankers Boxes stacked three deep along one wall. Floor to ceiling windows looking out onto downtown Boston, the city lights twinkling under the night sky. And the source of my rude awakening, a five-foot four-inch devil woman disguisedas a lawyer wearing a tight black pencil skirt, snug white button-down shirt, sky-high red heels, and a scowl aimed straight at me. Her blonde hair tumbles down her back in waves, her clothes skim curves for days, and her piercing blue eyes shoot me a fiery glare.
It’s a shame she is the absolute bane of my existence, she walks around with a stick lodged permanently up her ass, and I hate her with the fire of a thousand suns because there is no denying that Evan Rhodes is hot as fuck.
Not that I’ve ever noticed.
“Did you just throw a fidget spinner at me, Rhodes?” I ask, lifting my head up and glaring right back at her, my eyes falling briefly to the offending black object now spinning lazily on the floor at my feet.
She shrugs, lips curving into a smirk. “Kevin left it here when he went home. It was the closest thing I could reach when you fell asleep on those phone logs you’re supposed to be reviewing.”
“Why did Kevin go home?” I ask, my words practically a snarl when I ask about the third-year associate assigned to this case with us. The one who always has a fidget spinner in his hand and has the exact sort of work ethic you would expect for someone with a famous, movie star father and a trust fund the size of Texas. Meaning, no work ethic at all.
Evan rolls her eyes. “Something about his pores not cooperating unless he has a full night’s sleep.”
“Pores? What the fuck?” I mutter. If Kevin went home, Evan and I are here alone, which means that not only will I not have a buffer to keep me from killing her and hiding her body when she tells me for the millionth time how I’m doing document review wrong, but my night just got a lot longer because I’ll have to do at least half of his remaining work along with my own. I glance at the clock on the wall and see it’s close to two in the morning. The partners need this round of document review done by nine.
I like my job.I like my job.I like my job.
Maybe if I say it enough times, I’ll actually start to believe it.
Uncrossing her arms, Evan plants her hands on her hips. “If you’re finished with your nap, maybe you could, you know, actually do some work? I already had to cover for you for three days last week when you decided to take a vacation in the middle of the biggest litigation either of us has been assigned to in our careers, leaving an unfinished brief and partners who kept asking where you were. I’m tired of picking up your slack.”
“Picking up my…” I trail off, shooting to my feet, stalking over to her so we’re practically standing toe to toe—because I think the fuck not. If this was anyone but Evan Rhodes and I wasn’t seeing red right now, I would appreciate that she holds her ground as I get right in her face, even though I have at least six inches on her. I would also appreciate the fact that she smells like cherries from the Jolly Ranchers she keeps eating and her eyes glitter under the soft conference room lighting.
But this is Evan Rhodes, and my irritation has fangs.
“Let’s get one thing straight here. I have never, in my entire career, left slack for anyone topick up. I left for three days last week so I could be at my oldest brother’s wedding. It’s the kind of thing family does, not that someone who is mostly robot would know anything about family.”
Evan sucks in a breath, a storm of emotion crossing her face when I mention family. I almost stop myself from going any further because she looks…sad, maybe? But I’m on a roll, so my brain keeps making words that come right out of my mouth in a flood of righteous indignation.
“I had a plan to get the brief done right on time, and you know that because you may irritate the ever-loving shit out of me, but no part of you is stupid. And every partner in the group knew exactly where I was, because I told them weeks ago that my brother was getting married and I would be out, and I put it on the group’s shared calendar. They knew I was in Pittsburgh, knew how long I would be there, and knew they could reach me if they needed to. And, by the way, so did you. So, miss me with theI had to pick up your slack. You chose the extra work to makeme look bad and yourself look good, just like you always do. Your choices, Evan. Not my problem.”
I exhale slowly, already regretting the harsh words. This isn’t me. I’m the intuitive one. The sensitive one. The gentle one who keeps his cool and always knows how to handle a situation. But somehow, this woman turns me into an entirely different person. One I kind of hate.
“My choices?” Evan spits. “How about you—” She stabs a red manicured finger into my chest. “Miss me with your condescending attitude. It’s not like you didn’t know what the workload would be like when you came to BigLaw. It’s not like you didn’t know you would have to give shit up in your personal life if you wanted to succeed here. All bent out of shape because I finished your brief so I could keep the case timeline on track? Tired from all the late nights? Well tough shit, Cooper. This is what it takes. Maybe you just can’t hack it.”
At some point during our matching tirades, we stepped closer to each other, so our chests are practically touching as they rise and fall in tandem, the air around us thick with exasperation and something else my tired brain can’t quite parse. Evan’s eyes are flashing with a frustrated sort of anger, and her hands are still on her hips as she glares at me.
We’re locked in a stare-off, like we’re waiting to see who speaks first, our eyes glued together, the only sounds in the otherwise silent conference room the hum of the air conditioner and our ragged, frustration-laced breaths.
And then it happens. It’s only a split second. A blink and you’ll miss it sort of thing. Evan’s gaze drops to my lips and then snaps back to meet my eyes, face flushing just enough to make me think she didn’t mean to do what she did and she’s hoping I didn’t notice.
I definitely noticed.
And she knows I noticed because the flush disappears, replaced by a narrow-eyed stare. A challenge of sorts, that I meet with one of my own.
Some kind of beast inside of me roars. One born of my tired brain and hours of late-night document review with no sleep in sight and the discontent that’s been simmering under my skin for months. Or maybe it’s none of those things. I don’t know. All I do know is one second Evan and I are sizing each other up like we’re trying to decide who’s going to shoot first, and the next second, I’m wrapping a hand around the back of her neck and crashing my mouth to hers.
