Page 35 of Biggest Player (Not Yours #2)

By fun does he mean ... me? I’m so confused but try to stay occupied, keeping one ear on the conversation.

“I’m not interested in the Goldie Awards with Tamryn.” He pauses. “Look, Trent, let’s drop this. Now is not a good time.”

There’s a brief silence, and I can almost feel the tension in the room. His agent seems to pick up on it too.

“Ahh, I get it now. You’re in the room with her.”

Dex says nothing—only stares into the phone, eyes hard.

“Noted.” His agent laughs. “We’ll talk later. Keep me posted, will ya, buddy?”

“Will do,” Dex replies curtly before ending the call.

Then.

He sits for a moment staring down at his phone, a mix of frustration and exhaustion on his face. Like he’s afraid to lift his gaze and meet mine; like he has no idea what to do besides clear his throat.

I step out of the bathroom, toner in my hand, not sure what to say to him. “Everything okay?”

He looks up. “Yeah, just ... football stuff.”

It did not sound like football stuff. “Tamryn Clarke is work related?”

He gives a jerky nod. “Yes.” Shakes his head. “No, she’s not. I meant that was my agent.”

“I know that was your agent. I could hear him rather clearly.” Unfortunately. I lean on the doorjamb, watching him curiously, waiting for him to say more. “Explain to me what he was talking about. Please.”

“Sorry you had to hear that.”

“Sorry I had to hear what ? Which part?”

He inhales, then sighs, running a hand through his hair. It sticks up this way and that, looking utterly freaking adorable. He is so cute ...

“I know we had a rough afternoon—and the last thing I want to do is make it worse.”

“My ex was here posturing, remember? You won’t ruin our day.” Not if you’re honest with me.

Dex’s laugh is rueful. “Don’t be so sure—you haven’t heard what I have to say yet.”

“Does this have to do with your agent?”

“Yes. It’s about a conversation we had a few weeks ago.”

“Oh?” I know nothing about agents, other than contract negotiations. I have a feeling I’m about to get a crash course in the intricacies of agents’ involvement in their clients’ personal lives.

“One of the things most people don’t understand is PR relationships.” When I look confused, he goes on. “A PR relationship is when a couple is set up by their public relations people because it’s good for their career to be seen together—not because they’re in an actual relationship.”

“Ah.” I nod. “Makes sense.” Sort of.

“I’ve had a bunch of those, mostly ’cause I’m lazy,” Dex explains.

“And I figured if I met someone in the industry or someone in the spotlight, it would make it hella easier ’cause they already know how this shit works.

” He scratches his pants with the nail of his index finger.

“Turns out, it doesn’t—it mostly makes it worse. ”

I don’t ask him to expand on what he means by that.

“And as you know, when we met on Kissmet, I hadn’t wanted ...” He hesitates, breezily waving a hand through the air. “To date someone with a kid.”

“Uh-huh.” I cross my arms, not sure where this discussion is headed.

He blows out a puff of air. “So a few weeks ago, I mentioned you on a call with Trent, and he had a bunch of questions about you—and when he found out you were a mom, instead of telling me to block you, he thought it might be a good idea if we started dating.”

For a moment, I was sure I hadn’t heard him right.

A good idea? His agent told him it might be a good idea if we started dating because I’m a mom?

“But . . . we’re already dating.”

Dex crosses his arms and gets comfortable. “What I should say is—he and I had a conversation before you and I started dating, and he thought it would be a good idea.”

I tilt my head.

Brain tries to make sense of his words.

Thought it would be a good idea ... thought it would be a good idea ... thought it would be a good idea ...

“Huh?” I’m lost.

“Part of Trent’s job is to guide me through shit,” Dex rushes to explain as if he’s already regretting telling me this information.

“What kind of shit?”

“I already told you. Relationships. Investing. Appearances. He’s basically my agent and the guy who puts out fires.” Dex leans back on my bed casually, settling into the explanation as if it makes perfect sense. “I don’t know if you know this, but I haven’t always had the best reputation.”

“No. I didn’t know that.”

Never mind the earlier implication he made about being labeled a womanizer. But that was only gossip created for attention, right? Unless I understood him wrong.

“It’s not a big deal to never have a steady relationship, is it? You haven’t had one in a long time, and it’s been the same for me.” He pauses. “If you don’t count the occasional actress or whatever.”

The occasional actress or whatever ...

At least he didn’t say “the occasional supermodel.”

“I thought you were going to say you haven’t had the best reputation because you get into fights or do drugs.” I muster a laugh, but when I catch my reflection in my bathroom mirror, that laugh doesn’t even come close to reaching my eyes.

He holds his hands up. “Ha ha—it’s nothing like that.”

“Say more, please,” I encourage him from the doorway of my bathroom, stuck in my spot.

“My agent, Trent, suggested that if we were seen together”—he points between the two of us, his finger going back and forth—“it could generate some buzz. You know, the whole ‘celebrity romance’ thing.”

Dex uses air quotes when he says the words celebrity romance and confuses me further.

“I’m not a celebrity.”

“I know that, babe.” He smiles sweetly. “But I am.”

I stare at him, trying to school my expression so it’s not one of complete horror and shock as I process the absurdity of what I’m hearing.

“Are you saying Trent wanted you to pretend date me for publicity?”

Dex shakes his head quickly. “Not pretend . Actually date. And I did.”

“Dex,” I say slowly, trying to keep my voice steady. “Are you telling me that you’re only dating me because your agent thinks it will help your career?”

“I mean—he might have suggested it, but after giving it some thought, I really did want to work things out.”

My mouth falls open. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

This is the perfect occasion for cursing, don’t you think?

Dex, for his part, barely flinches at my harsh tone or my harsh words.

“I’m just telling you what he said! Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Oh. I want to do so much more than shoot him right now—is he fucking kidding me? I narrow my eyes in his direction, steam practically pouring out my ears and nose.

“You know I am looking for a long-term relationship,” I say. “Someone who wants to have a family , who wants to spend time not only with me but with my daughter. I have a kid, Dex—this isn’t a joke to me.”

I feel my nostrils flaring in the most unflattering way.

His hands smack his knees, and he blows out a puff of air. “I can’t help it if this is my reality.”

Yes. Yes he can.

“Are you listening to yourself?” I practically shout.

“Relationships are supposed to be about feelings—not strategic career moves.” I pause only for a second.

“The one and only reason you met my daughter the first time is because it was an accident . I never in a million years would have allowed her to meet you this soon.” Ever.

Dickhead.

Dex stares, looking perplexed. “Why? I’m a decent dude.”

“Decent dude?!” My voice has risen a billion octaves. “Oh my God, you’re fake dating to make yourself look good! They write romance novels about this, it’s not real!”

And yet.

It is.

It’s happening and it’s happening to me.

It cannot be normal to be sitting around, thinking about your personal life as a potential career move, but this is why he’s him and I’m me and it was never going to work.

My heart races, anger and disbelief forming a boiling rage in my chest. I cannot freaking believe I let myself get caught up in this charade!

Dex’s eyes soften, but I refuse to be swayed by this asshole who pulled the wool over my damn eyes.

I’m too furious to be drawn in by his good looks and unrelenting charm.

“This was supposed to be different.” My voice is cracking. “I thought you were different. I thought you gave a shit. Yes, you’re a big kid, but I’m the idiot who thought our differences would be a good thing.”

Dex moves from the bed so he’s standing, hands immediately reaching for me. “I never meant for it to get this complicated—I didn’t think this would be a big deal. I really do care about you, Margot. I care about Wyatt.”

“Oh my God, stop talking,” I snap, shaking my head. “You care? Ha! You’ve allowed your agent to manipulate you for your own gain, and the only thing he cares about is making money off you.”

How can he be this naive?

I turn on my heel, storming out of the room, my mind racing with the implications of what just happened. How could I have been so blind? So stupid. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks: I need to protect my daughter from this mess.

“Why am I the one leaving?” He’s the one who needs to get out of my house!

I stalk back to my bedroom. Dex is standing in the same spot I left him in.

“You can’t just decide to date me because it might be good for your image,” I spit out. “It’s not fair to any of us, and I cannot for the life of me believe you thought this would end well. Or didn’t you care about that?”

“Margot, I’m just telling you what Trent and I discussed, that’s all. I’m not saying he meddles in my business, but he likes to meddle in my business.” He attempts to make a joke, the cheeky grin never making it to his eyes.

“ Is it his job?” Why am I allowing him to keep talking?

Dex nods. “Kind of, yes. The more money I make, the more money he makes. The more popular I am in the news, the more my stock goes up for the team I play for, the more money I make.”

“Wow. That’s ... sad.” I pat him on the arm sympathetically. Sarcastically. “Listen. I’m so sorry you’re in this position, but there is not a chance in hell I’m going to pretend to date anyone. It’s insulting.”

I don’t want to see him again. Not to go to the movies, not to go for ice cream, not for a free afternoon or a free dinner.

“I think we’re done here,” I breathe out. “You need to figure out your shit. What you really want. If it’s not me, and you’re only after some calculated move, then we have nothing left to say to each other.”

“Margot, come on.”

“Margot, come on,” I repeat. “That’s all you have to say?”

He nods. “I’m scared to keep talking because I don’t want to get yelled at.”

Oh my God.

I almost laugh—almost.

At least he’s honest.

“Please just get out of my house.” I stand aside so he’s able to walk out of my room without touching me. The last thing I want are his lying, traitorous hands on me.

He stops in the foyer, turning to face me, and from the looks of him, he’s going to plead his case one more time. “Margot ...”

“I said get out .”