Page 26 of The Game Plan (Game On #3)

Fiona

It is a universal truth that women like to talk their problems out. Unfortunately, all the talk in the world won’t make a

problem go away. Mine is waiting for me like a looming black cloud as soon as I get into work and see that Elena has moved

to her own office at the end of the hall.

She waves, grinning broadly, as I walk past. I briefly wonder how a finger-wave back would go over but don’t bother. Instead,

she gets a chin nod as if I’m channeling a bad biker cliché. It feels stupid and ineffectual, and I’m in a piss-poor mood

by the time I get to my desk and find that Felix’s to-do list includes ordering fabrics that I picked out but are now considered

Elena’s design contribution.

She comes to my desk just as I’m turning on my computer. “I thought you’d want to hear it from me. Felix just called me into

his office this morning. He gave me the associate designer job.” She squeezes my hand. “I hope we can still be friends. I’ve

really enjoyed bouncing ideas off each other.”

God, she says it so sincerely. And what can I do? I’m pretty sure punching her in the face won’t help the situation. Though it might feel really fucking good.

I glare down at my hand, my fingers slowly curling into a fist. But for some odd reason, I start to think of Ethan’s hand

wrapping around mine, holding me down as he slides into me.

“You feel so good, Cherry.” Brilliant eyes of green-gold and amber look at me with glazed wonder. “Nothing better on Earth

than this.”

“Fiona? You okay?”

I suck in a breath and glance up at Elena, who hovers. “Yep. All good.” Not entirely true. But I’m calmer. Able to speak,

anyway. “Anything else?”

She frowns a little. “Ah... no.”

“Okay. Well, I’m getting some coffee then.”

I leave her standing there. For now, I’m calm. But every step I take hammers it in: I hate this. I hate this.

It occurs to me that I have to be a little more proactive. Take the bull by the horns. I am woman, hear me roar and all that.

I wait until the end of the day to make my move. Yes, I’m that brave.

“Felix? You have a moment?” I clutch my clammy hands behind the folds of my skirt.

Felix looks up from his laptop. A tiny white espresso cup sits beside it, which means he’s probably reading up on celebrity

gossip. “Sure, sweetie.”

Sweetie? I want to gag. And now that I’ve worked up the nerve to approach him, I actually have to talk. Part of me really

wants to laugh. I have absolutely no trouble talking to people. I don’t think I could go a day without saying something to

someone, even if it’s just to tell a person they have on cute shoes.

But now a golf ball-size lump of panic is lodged in my throat, and it’s all I can do just to get my ass in the chair opposite

Felix.

“Want an espresso?” He gives me an overly friendly smile, the one he uses on clients he fears might be difficult. So I know

he isn’t exactly unaware of why I’m here.

“No. I’m good.” I focus on his eyes. Always look them in the eye. Reminds you that you’re talking to another human. Nothing more. “You... ah... made Elena associate designer?”

Everything inside me wants to scream, maybe throw Felix’s coffee onto his pristine white leather Corbusier lounge chair.

With an expansive sigh, he sits back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Yes, I did, hon.”

“I thought you weren’t going to make that decision until next month.”

“Fiona, I understand that you’re disappointed.” His tone is so patronizing, I dig my nails into my palms to keep from twitching.

“But you and I both know it was coming to this.” He takes a dainty sip of his macchiato. “I simply sped up the process.”

“Is it...” I suck back a sobbing breath. “Is it because I went on vacation?”

His cup clinks on the glass desktop. “God, no.” He regards me for a moment, his dark eyes almost sad. “Elena simply has an

edge that you do not. Namely, contacts.”

This time a sob does escape me, only it sounds kind of like a laugh. “You promoted her because of her mother?”

“No, because of her mother’s friends. She has lots and lots of friends with lots and lots of cash.” He smiles slyly. “Her

designs aren’t bad, either. Fresh and lovely without being too daring. Just what the bored, rich Manhattanite wants.”

I swear to God, my entire body wants to dry heave. Somehow, I manage not to. “Her designs are—”

“Copies of yours?” he supplies. “Yes, I know.”

I think I gape. I don’t know anymore because I’ve gone numb. “You know?”

Felix shrugs, takes another sip of his drink. “You’d have to be blind not to notice, honey. Yours are a bit more risky, however.

You push yourself where she plays it safe.”

Okay, now I know I’m gaping. “I can’t believe this. Mine are more daring, and you’re rewarding her?”

“Honey, safe sells more. And you’ve really got to applaud her ingenuity.” He sighs again, resting his elbows on the desk. “First client I scored was done using José, my lover’s, designs. I lost a good lay but gained a business.”

“That’s horrible.”

“That’s business. Calculated risks, use what you know will work.” He gives me a reproachful look. “You should understand this.”

“Don’t remember taking that course in college,” I snap.

“I’m talking about your dad, sweetie. Sports agents aren’t exactly known for being aboveboard. Frankly, I assumed you’d be

more hardened. More cutthroat.”

“My dad,” I grind out, “never stabbed his colleagues in the back.”

Felix gives me a disbelieving look. I ignore it and stand. I want to quit, to tell him he can go fuck himself with one of

his precious Ferragamo slippers. I want that so badly I can taste it. But just the mention of my dad has me holding my tongue.

He thinks I quit at everything. Flighty Fi, always running at the first sign of trouble.

And maybe Felix will fire me now. But I’m not going to stomp off in a dramatic rage first. Straightening my skirt, I manage

to collect my temper.

“I’ll be in late tomorrow. I’m picking up those fabric samples on my way,” I tell him.

“All right.” He turns his attention back to his online gossip mag. “Take your time. Oh, that lovely little sandwich shop is

next door to them. See if anyone wants sandwiches. Not me. I’m skipping lunch this week.”

The faint hum of the city seeps in through the windows. Somewhere down the hall, a telephone rings. It’s nothing compared

to the ringing in my ears.

Sandwiches? I’m expected to go to Elena and ask if she wants a fucking sandwich for lunch tomorrow?

“Yeah,” I croak. “Sure.”

Except I’m not asking anyone a damn thing. My hands shake by the time I’ve pulled my purse from my desk drawer and grabbed

my coat off the hook.

It’s a struggle not to cry. With every step I take, the spike of my heel connects with the raw-wood floorboard and thuds in

my heart. My throat is closing, a lump rising.

Get it together, Mackenzie. Deep breaths.

I want to scream so badly my stomach clenches. I swear to all that’s holy, if I see Elena’s fuckity-fuck face I will fucking

lose my shit.

Keeping my head down so I don’t accidentally make eye contact with anyone, I move toward the lobby.

The elevator dings before I’m close enough. I lift my head, ready to run for it, because I need out . But my steps stutter to a halt, shock buzzing along my skin.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

Dex stands ten feet away, his big hands stuffed into his jeans pockets, his broad shoulders covered by a dark blue Henley.

That steady, powerful gaze of his meets mine.

My lip wobbles, emotion pushing up past the lump in my throat. He must see my distress—the smile that’d been blooming drops.

My chest heaves as I struggle to keep my breathing normal. If I can just get to Dex, everything will be okay.

I walk straight to him, not stopping until I wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face against his solid chest. The scent

of cloves and oranges is stronger now that I haven’t been near him in a while. He’s warm, strong, safe. His arms surround

me, hold me secure. I sag into his embrace.

“Hey,” I say to his chest.

Dex presses his lips to my crown. “Cherry. You all right?”

No. Not at all. My eyes burn and prickle. I hug him tighter, breathe him in. “I’m just... really glad to see you, Ethan.”

His chest lifts and falls on a breath, and his husky voice rumbles over me. “I missed you too, Fiona.”

Dex

Despite the fact that I play professional football for a living, I’m not a violent man. I solve problems with my mind, not

my fists. I tell myself this as I tuck Fi against my side while we take a cab to her apartment. She’s trembling, her delicate

hand roaming over my torso as if she needs to pet me to keep herself grounded.

It slays me. The need to pound into someone, something, anything , surges through me in waves that I tap down by burrowing my nose in Fi’s fragrant hair and breathing in deep.

Women have nice-smelling hair; that’s a given. But something about Fi’s scent just does it for me. Pheromones. A basic biological

lure that hooks one person to another. One whiff of Fi, and I’m both hard and utterly content.

“You’re here,” she whispers. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

I take another deep breath before I speak in a low voice, trying to coax her out. “What happened, Cherry?”

She stiffens against me, and I grind my teeth. If someone hurt her... Yeah, I’ll be resorting to violence. But then she

sighs and her fingers drift over my chest, finding my nipple and stroking it over the thin fabric of my shirt. I try to ignore

that touch as she tells me the whole tale.

The heartbreak in her voice tears at my own heart. She bleeds, I bleed. That’s just how it is now. Worse, I can’t fight this

for her. I can’t go and pummel her shallow boss or her conniving coworker. I can only hold her tight, press my lips against

her head and let her talk.

“I just feel so...” She waves a hand as she struggles to find a word. “Angry. Hurt. Dejected. Yeah, that’s the prevalent

emotion right now.”

With a sigh, she presses her nose against my chest. Her warm breath seeps through my shirt. Still, she plays with my nipple, twisting the little barbell I wear just enough to make me feel it in my balls.

My hips shift in reaction, but my mind is on trying to make this right. “Baby, I—”

She silences me with a look, her big green eyes luminous with unshed tears.

“Ethan, I know you want to fix this.” She gives me a watery smile. “Don’t look so shocked. I know you better than you think.”

“I’m not shocked.” I kind of love how easily she reads me. “I admit it. I want to take your pain and make it better.”

Stretching up, Fi kisses my jaw. My beard makes it impossible for me to feel more than the pressure of her lips. I want more.

I want to imprint her on my skin. I turn toward her and lower my head.

I kiss her softly, tenderly, wanting her to know how precious she is.

Fi smiles against my lips. “You want to make it better, Big Guy? When we get upstairs, make me forget the world for a little

while.”

The cab pulls up in front of her apartment. I thread my fingers through her hair, holding it secure. “Cherry, that was always

part of the plan.”