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?
It’s like when Quinton threw all of that garbage in my face, he triggered a part of my brain to become hyperaware of all the things happening around me. Everywhere I look, I swear I see Glenn Chandler. I look on social media? Somebody is sharing the latest offensive thing he said. I turn on the news? It’s a clip of one of his hate-filled rallies. I knew he wasn’t good before, but I didn’t realize he was this terrible. He must’ve gotten more confidence in the last couple of weeks and is getting more reckless. I want to believe Mr. Mahler has no idea what’s happening, so I asked for a meeting today to talk about Chandler’s recent antics.
“Elliot! Come sit,” Mr. Mahler calls me into his office when he sees me approaching. “How’ve you been, dear? How’s the big fundraiser coming?”
My heels tap against the plush rug as I enter the room, but the rush of nerves I used to feel coming in here is nowhere to be found. Maybe it’s because the wooden walls and folded newspapers on his enormous desk have become so familiar that the room has lost its ability to overwhelm and intimidate me. More likely, however, I’m just too tired to care. I’m tired of him calling me “dear.” I’m tired of acting like it doesn’t bother me. I’m tired of letting him take credit for all of my ideas. I’m just tired.
“The vendors have all been fantastic. I talked with the florist, and the arrangements we have planned will be beautiful.” I sit in the seat across from him, the same one I have been using for months now, and take out my iPad with all of my notes and plans on it.
“Very good.” He taps his cigar in the ashtray on his desk. “But I know you asked for this meeting for a reason. Is there a problem?”
The only downside of being alone for two weeks is that I’ve been inside my own head for the majority of it. I’ve been overanalyzing everything that I say, do, or think. Conversations from the last few months, like Vonnie saying she thought I hated my job, repeat in my head like a bad song. And the only way I can think of to get them out is to confront what’s been bothering me and prove to myself that I was right to give my loyalty to the organization that my dad and I both loved.