Page 42 of Trick Play (Playing the Field #4)

Micah

Now

I used to hate Mondays—used to treat myself to a spa evening with Frankie after work just to make the day worthwhile—but these last few weeks, that has changed. These days, I wake happily in Zeke’s arms, kiss him goodbye, float to work with a dreamy smile, and then meet up with him and Frankie after work for pampering. Zeke, unashamed to be seen participating in a “feminine” activity, has joined our pedicures and massages. He pouted when it came time to change from lavender to another hair color but perked right back up when presented with the color wheel to pick my next look, going with a bold magenta that I’ll surely have to bleach out a lot sooner than my stylist would prefer. Oh, well. Zeke’s awe at the fresh color was enough to make it worth it.

I’ve loved being Zeke’s official boyfriend, attending events and being featured in all of his social media posts. He proudly tells anyone and everyone we meet that we’re together, which is a major confidence boost for me. He’s come to Mischief to watch me dance. Trying to get Dream to back off has been a hassle, though. I told Zeke I didn’t mind if he got dances from other dancers, but he assured me he much prefers watching me. I don’t mind that either.

And, God, the sex . Official boyfriend sex is amazing .

The best part about dating a pro athlete is that he takes midday naps, too. Whereas mine stem from having a day job and a night job, his are caused by a rigorous workout schedule. It’s not a hardship when it means we get to take naps together while he maintains his Adonis-like physique.

So, as I float on my cloud nine into work on Monday morning, on time and with coffees to go around, it feels like nothing can touch me. I’d kissed a sleepy Zeke before leaving for work, and even though I forgot to bring my charger to Zeke’s last night and my phone is a dead weight in my purse, I’m ready to have another fantastic day. David has backed off since the banquet fiasco, the bruise having finally faded from his cheek last week, so I’m showing off a new ruffled skirt that I know will give Cierra the best kind of surprise.

Except when I sidle up to her, plop her favorite coffee onto her desk, and give a fun twirl, the wide-eyed look she gives me is not the one I’m expecting. Her usual cheerfulness is gone, face pale as she stares at me. “Oh, Micah. You’re . . . here.”

I check my clearly watch-free wrist. “I know. I’m on time for once, and I have coffee and this new skirt Zeke bought for me.” I swish the ruffles. “Surprise!”

Cierra’s expression doesn’t change. “I texted you earlier. I didn’t think you’d show up today after . . .” She trails off.

I wait for her to finish, but when she doesn’t, I dig in my clutch for my useless phone, waving the black screen at her. “Dead. Forgot my charger at home, and Zeke uses Android. Anyway, I’m here now. What’s up? You look like someone kicked your puppy.”

“No, but I think someone kicked yours .”

Taken aback, I’m speechless for a moment, and by the time I get my bearings enough to open my mouth, I’m cut off by David’s voice calling my name from his office. I look over, finding him standing in the doorway with squinted eyes and pursed lips. I glance from him to Cierra. “I?—”

“Micah. My office. Now ,” David cuts me off. I reluctantly abandon my conversation with a now lip-gnawing Cierra and make my way to my boss’ office.

The heavy weight of my coworkers’ stares lingers on my back as I go.

When I get to David’s office, he stumbles backward and around his desk as if I have the plague. I guess Zeke’s punch really did a number on him.

“Close the door,” he instructs.

I move to do just that when he hastily interrupts.

“Wait! Uh—” His gaze darts out the office window, mine following just in time to see the eyes of all my coworkers dart away. “Leave it open a crack.”

I do, then walk toward the chair facing his desk, intending to sit.

“Um, how about we stand? It’s a good morning for standing.” David is clearly nervous, and the way he’s squinting at me doesn’t put me at ease.

Dread fills my gut. I take a cautious step forward but freeze when David stumbles back once more. He puts his office chair in front of his body, using it and the desk as physical shields, and gulps nervously. “David,” I begin slowly, hesitant so as not to spook him further. “What’s this about? Why don’t you want me to sit?”

“Unfortunately, um—” He clears his throat and tugs at his collar, all obvious signs that this is not a good conversation we’re about to have. “It has come to the company’s attention that your values do not align with those of Neverending Designs.” This sounds suspiciously scripted. “So, we believe it is in our best interest to part ways, which will allow you to pursue your personal endeavors without restriction from Neverending Designs’ preferred code of conduct for our employees. We wish you the best?—”

“What the duck, David? You’re firing me? For what?”

“Language . . .”

“I said ‘duck,’ perfectly within the ‘code of conduct.’” I do two-finger quotes for emphasis. “Cut the crap. What is this about?”

He winces, tugging at his collar again. “Your . . . uh, extracurriculars don’t reflect well on the company. Having a—” He looks to the cracked door before whispering, “ man of the night representing us just isn’t?—”

“A what ? What did you just call me?”

“Is there a more preferred term? Um, sex worker? Seems kind of?—”

My jaw drops in shock. “ Excuse me ? Are you suggesting I’m a prostitute? What the hell, David?”

“What do you want me to say?” he hisses harshly under his breath, knuckles going white on the back of the chair as he grips it tight. “Escort. Hooker. Whatever you are. You’ve gotten yourself a famous sugar daddy, and now your proclivities have come to light. You can’t honestly expect us to keep you at the company with this kind of negative press!”

Frustrated, I slam my hand on the chair in front of me, mirroring his position. “What are you talking about?”

The door swings open, and Cierra marches in with a scowl aimed at David. “God, you’re the worst.” She passes me a printed article, expression sympathetic. “I’ve been to Mischief for a bachelorette party before. I know it’s all above board. I’m sorry whoever wrote this article is a total d-bag—kind of like our boss.”

David gasps.

“Obviously, David, I quit,” she tells him, then turns to me. “My day just cleared up if you need me, Micah. Wanna go get brunch and mimosas, hold the orange juice?”

I stare at the article basically slut-shaming me and painting Gael as being led on by Zeke before being “ditched” for a “man of the night.” Fuck! Zeke! This is like taking twelve steps back and starting over with even less for his reputation. I don’t care that the article is full of lies about my promiscuity, but no one fucks with Zeke’s image.

“Yeah,” I breathe brokenly to Cierra. “I think I need something stronger, though.”

***