Chapters (48)
- Cover
- PRAISE FOR ALEXA MARTIN’S PLAYBOOK SERIES
- Titles by Alexa Martin
- Dedication
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Epilogue
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
That glimpse of relief, hope that we’d work everything out, crumbles to dust, floating down the street with the stubborn leaves that are still falling.
“I didn’t know it was Glenn Chandler’s event. When Mr. Mahler asked me to plan it, he didn’t tell me who it was for.” Desperation filters my words, making what was supposed to sound like my defense a plea. “I didn’t even find out who it was for until the day after Halloween.”
“The day after Halloween?” Quinton looks as if I punched him as he repeats my words back to me. “You’ve known since Halloween? You’ve been coming to my house, forging into this relationship, all while going behind my back to plan an event for the guy who has done nothing but slam me in the press? You’re supposed to try and help me! And you’ve been fighting for the guy who’s done more damage to me than anyone else!”
Even when Quinton has been angry before, he’s kept it contained. He’d shut down and get quiet. Having him standing in front of me, yelling in my face isn’t just unexpected, it’s scary. I know he’d never lay a hand on me. But the fact that he doesn’t even care to restrain his anger? It tells me he doesn’t think I’m worth the effort that the restraint would take. And that’s fucking terrifying.
“I signed a nondisclosure, you know I couldn’t tell you.” Between the tears openly falling down my face and the snow starting to fall, my face is wet and freezing as I beg him to understand.
“I told you not to trust Mahler! From the very beginning, you didn’t like what I had to say, but I told you. And you just refused to believe me!” he bellows, his words bouncing off the car-lined street. “And now you’re working with Glenn fucking Chandler on top of everything? Two old, racist bastards that are determined to bring me down. And I’m supposed to trust you?”
“It’s my job!” I snap back. I want to apologize for lying, but he, out of everyone in this world, should understand working for a person you don’t like. He knows! It’s fine for him, but I’m expected to give up everything and hold some moral high ground that I literally can’t afford? He just wants to be mad at me. “What did you want me to do? Throw away my entire fucking career because you carved a fucking pumpkin with me?”
I hate myself the moment the words leave my mouth.
“Wow.” Quinton rubs his hands through his hair and a humorless laugh falls out his mouth. “That’s how you want to spin this? That’s what the PR genius inside your head is doing now? Alright.”