Only Work, No Play (Tough Games Book 1)

by Cora Reilly

  Copyright ©2019 Cora Reilly

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, businesses, events and places are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Subscribe to Cora’s newsletter to find out about her next books, bonus content and giveaways! ( http://corareillyauthor.blogspot.de/p/newsletter.html )

  Cover design by Mayhem Cover Creations

  E-book design by Inkstain Design Studio

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Xavier’s team the Sydney Tigers is born in my imagination. There doesn’t exist a team with that name. I hope you’ll forgive me that artistic freedom.

  Fiona’s perfectly styled blonde head popped up on the screen. “So how’s Dad doing?”

  A wave of bitterness washed over me. Fiona had left Dad and me right after high school, and not just to go to college. She’d rounded half the globe to start a new life in Australia. She’d run from us, from her responsibility. From Dad’s grief, from mine, perhaps even from her own, only a few months after our mother had died. We’d never been as inseparable as other twins but I’d thought we’d always stay close to each other.

  “He’s seeing someone.”

  Fiona’s green eyes grew wide. “He’s dating?”

  I gave a shrug. I’d felt the same incredulity as Fiona when he’d told me. Mom was dead for a little less than three years and Dad had found a replacement. “He is. It’s a good thing. He’s doing so much better because of it.” Part of me knew these words were true, yet the other part childishly held on to the idea that Dad would continue living with only the memory of Mom. It was unfair. He deserved to be happy again. Mom would have wanted him to move on.

  Fiona bit her lip, probably not noticing she was ruining her lipstick. “I suppose. He’s been so broken up after Mom’s death, it’s good that he’s happy again.”

  Fiona fell silent. My eyes stung, and I could see hers glistening with unshed tears as well.

  “So,” she said in a more cheerful voice. “Does that mean you are finally free to live your own life?”

  “I’ve lived my own life these last few years,” I objected, but it wasn’t true. I’d taken care of Dad since Fiona had fled the States, had chosen a nearby college so I could stay close to him and find time to watch out for him, even if his workaholic tendencies didn’t make it easy.

  Her nose wrinkled. “You haven’t, and we both know it. When was the last time you went out? Got drunk? Partied all night?”

  I made a mock thoughtful face. “That would be three nevers.”

  Fiona pointed her finger at me. She must have practically been poking the camera for it to be this large on my screen. “We need to change that.” She paused. “You got your bachelor’s in marketing, right?”

  I frowned. “Yeah. I just finished.” I didn’t mention today’s dismal job interview, or the many measly paid internships I’d had since I’d finished. Getting your foot into the marketing job scene was tough as nails.

  Her smile became wicked, an expression I knew from our childhood days that made me wary. “Fiona,” I said in warning.

  “I have a job for you.”

  “A job? Where?”

  “Here. In Sydney. In marketing people only care about your work experiences, so you need to get your foot in. I have a job for you that will open every door for you. It’s hot.”

  “Sydney,” I said slowly. “You want me to come to Sydney?”

  “You always wanted to spend a year abroad. This is your chance. Dad is busy dating, and knowing him, even busier with his job, so it’s your turn to do something for yourself. You can live with Connor and me. Our house is big enough.”

  My mouth hung open in a very undignified way. “You want me to live with you.”

  Fiona’s face became softer, hesitant. It was a look I’d seldom seen in the past. She hated to appear weak in front of others, even me. “We haven’t seen each other in more than two years, Evie. I miss you. This could be our chance to spend time together, and your chance to have some fun and gain work experience.”

  I missed Fiona too, but I wasn’t the one who’d left and never returned. I’d always known Fiona was meant for the big city, but I’d hoped she’d choose a city a bit closer to me, not on a different continent. “Who am I supposed to work for?”

  “Xavier Stevens.” Her lips twitched in a way that made me suspicious. It was a face she’d made when Mom forced her to eat Brussel sprouts.

  “You’ll have to give me a bit more than that. I don’t know who the dude is.”

  Fiona flashed me a grin. “That’s exactly why you are perfect for the job, Evie. Xavier needs someone who doesn’t want to kiss the ground he walks on, trust me.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I still don’t know who he is. Do I need to Google him?”

  Fiona rolled her eyes. “He’s a rugby player, of course.”

  “Of course,” I said. Fiona was dating a rugby player of the Sydney Tigers, she was a cheerleader for the same team, and an Instagram star.

  “He’s a fly-half. Absolute superstar. Everyone knows him, every woman wants to be in his bed, every man wants to be him. He’s gone through more assistants than underwear.”

  A couple of years ago, I wouldn’t have had a clue what fly-half meant, but Fiona had been dating Connor for almost two years now and had tried to explain the rules of the game to me on occasion. I still didn’t understand them, but I remembered a few terms. “So he’s like a quarterback.”

  “Yeah,” Fiona said.

  I wasn’t into sports. I didn’t even grasp football. Why would I bother understanding rugby? “What am I supposed to do for him? I have no clue about sports.”

  “You don’t have to. Xavier needs an assistant. A babysitter, really. You know how to take care of people, and you won’t let him boss you around or blow candy up his ass. Those are perfect qualifications.”

  I wasn’t sure how my bachelor’s in marketing would come in handy for that, but I supposed a guy like that needed someone for public relations as well. “Did you talk to him about me?”

  “Connor is his best friend, and we told him we might know someone who could take over from his last assistant. But you need to come over as soon as possible. Next week. Xavier can’t go without an assistant for long.”

  The guy sounded like a major pain in the ass, but after today’s miserable job interview, I actually didn’t loathe the idea of trying my hand at being someone’s personal assistant. It was less hassle than working in a marketing firm or a company. I’d only have to make sure one person looked good in public. That could be a good start for my career.

  “Come on, Evie. Do it for me. You’ll love it here. Australia is amazing.” She gave me the duck face that had made her get her way in the past. “Or are you worried about
Dad?”

  Surprisingly, I wasn’t. He’d been trying to get me to move out and get my own life for months now. Perhaps out of guilt, or perhaps because he felt uncomfortable taking his date home as long as I lived under the same roof. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how to stay busy. Fiona was right. He worked from eight till eight as a litigator and now spent most of his free time with his new girlfriend.

  “He doesn’t need me anymore.” I’d only leave for a year. That wasn’t long. And if I was being honest, I wanted a change of scenery, wanted to leave behind the memories that haunted every inch of this house where Mom’s ghost still seemed to breathe down each corner.

  Fiona smiled. “So you’re really coming?”

  “I am,” I said slowly.

  “Do you need me to send you money for the flight?”

  “No,” I said quickly. I still had some savings in my account, not much, but it should buy me a ticket to Sydney.

  When we ended our Skype call, I really let reality sink in. I was leaving for Australia. To become an assistant to a rugby star I had never heard of and didn’t know anything about.

  That would change now, I supposed.

  I left my room and went downstairs, following the noise of dishes clanking. Dad stood in the kitchen holding a plate in his hand while he looked down at his phone. Work or his new girlfriend. His frown deepened. Work.

  “Hey Dad,” I said, as I walked in and took the plate from him. Then filled it with the lasagna I’d prepared yesterday and popped it into the microwave.

  Dad gave me a distracted smile, his gray hair all over the place from running his hand through it. “Evie,” he said. He didn’t ask how my job interview had gone, but I hadn’t expected him to. He’d always been too immersed in his job to pay much attention. That had been Mom’s job. She had been a stay-at-home mom and taken care of Fiona and me while Dad built his career. Even in the beginning of her cancer it had still been that way, but later Dad had stopped working almost altogether to be at her side.

  “Hard day?” I asked him as I leaned beside the counter and put a bite of cold lasagna into my mouth while I waited for Dad’s piece to get warm in the microwave.

  “This new case is giving me a headache. Large-scale investor who peculated hundreds of millions. It’ll take weeks to read all the folders piling on my desk.” The microwave binged and I handed Dad the plate. He didn’t sit down; instead he started eating, leaning against the counter and reading whatever important email popped up on his screen. If it wasn’t for me, he’d probably eat and sleep in his office. When Mom had still been around, he’d tried to spend more time at home.

  Eventually, he noticed my gaze. “When do you leave?”

  I blinked. “Leave?” Then it dawned on me. “Fiona already talked to you, didn’t she?” She had always been a meddler and had acted like a pushy older sister, which was ridiculous, considering we were twins, and I was eight minutes older than her.

  He nodded. “She called me in my office this afternoon. I think the idea is great.”

  “You sure you’re okay with me leaving you alone?”

  Dad set the plate down and came toward me, touching my shoulders. “I’m fine. I’ve been feeling guilty for the way you’ve been taking care of me. That’s not your job. I’m capable of taking care of myself. There’s takeout and I have Marianne for company.”

  It was the first time he’d really mentioned her, and he sounded happy. I smiled. “That’s good. I’m glad you found someone.”

  Dad looked away, sighing. “I’ll always love your mother, you know that.”

  “I know,” I said, and kissed his cheek. “She’d want you to be happy.”

  “And I want the same for you, Evie. So go to Sydney and enjoy yourself. Spend some time with Fiona. Go surfing.”

  I laughed. He had never seen me attempt any kind of sports, or he wouldn’t suggest that kind of thing. “I’m going there to work, not to enjoy myself.”

  Dad chuckled. “You sound like me.” He took out his wallet and pulled out several hundred dollars. “Here. For your ticket.”

  “Dad—” I knew Dad earned enough money, but from an early age he and Mom had taught us to work for our money.

  “Take it.”

  I did. “Thanks.”

  “And promise me you’ll have fun. Work isn’t all there is to life.”

  “I think you should listen to your own advice,” I teased.

  Excitement bubbled up in me. I was really doing this.

  My excitement, however, diminished somewhat when I searched for information about Xavier on the internet and found photos of his former assistants. An onslaught of images hit me. Wow, he was going through assistants fast. Fiona had mentioned that none had stayed very long, but judging by the sheer number of assistants I found on the internet, he couldn’t have kept any of them for more than a few months. What was wrong with this guy?

  And these women, and all of his assistants were women, looked absolutely nothing like me. They were Instagram influencer material. The million-dollar smile, every strand of hair perfectly arranged. All of them had been the fitness model type. Lean, trained, not a gram of fat. I looked down at myself. I was curvy.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if that was exactly why I had been chosen. I was the safe, less gossip-risky option.

  Something clung tightly to my back and a too-hot breath hit my shoulder blades. Here we go again. Why did they all have to be clingy? If I wasn’t too lazy to throw them out right after sex, I’d never let them spend the night at all.

  I unfastened the arm from my waist and swung my legs out of bed, blinking against the bright sunshine filtering in through the panorama windows. What time was it?

  I got up, stretched, then turned to find last night’s conquest sprawled out on her back with a flirty smile. In bright daylight she looked less tasty than she had last night. Her makeup was smeared under her eyes, and her hair was the fake blonde I absolutely loathed.

  “Xavier,” she purred. “Why don’t you stay in bed?”

  Because I’d rather run a grater over my balls than have you touch them again. “I have training.” I looked around for a way to find out the current time.

  Damn it. I stalked down the winding staircase into the lower part of my loft, looking for my mobile. Where had I left it when I’d stumbled in here with Fake-Blonde glued to my cock?

  Something black on the wood floor next to the entrance caught my eyes, and I retrieved my phone from where I must have dropped it when Fake-Blonde had scratched my balls with her fake red nails.

  “Fuck,” I groaned when I saw that I was already one minute late to training. That made every day since my last assistant had smacked my cheek with a few Russian curses and never returned. One of these days the coach would act on his threats and put me on the bench.

  No time for breakfast or coffee. I jogged up the staircase where Fake-Blonde was still lolling about on my bed like a cat in heat. “Hurry!” I snarled as I walked past her, through my bathroom and into the walk-in closet. I slipped on my gym shorts, no time to look for underwear. My teammates had seen my meat countless times, and so had half of the cheerleaders and a considerable number of Sydney’s female population aged between eighteen and sixty-two (a regrettable incident Connor would never let me forget). Grabbing a shirt, I returned to the bedroom, only to find Fake-Blonde still in my sheets, but now she was playing with herself.

  I was moments from seriously losing my shit. Did she really think she could convince me to have another go at her only because she fingered herself when I’d already shoved my dick into every opening of her body last night? Usually, I handled situations like this with charm and lies, or rather let my assistants handle them, but I was out of time and patience. “Take your greedy fingers somewhere else, and get out of my bed and apartment. I’m done with you.”

  Her eyes widened and she sat up, her finger still pushed up her vagina.

  Stifling my annoyance, I turned and stalked toward the stairs. “You’v
e got exactly one minute to get dressed and leave, or I’ll throw you out naked.”

  Fifty-eight seconds later, she charged down the staircase and toward me where I waited next to the front door. Her blouse was half open where I’d ripped a few buttons off last night and she was barefoot, pumps dangling from her hand. She stopped in front of me and slapped me hard, pelting me with a string of curses in a foreign language, maybe Polish?

  “You ruined my blouse, you bastard! Just so you know, you are the worst lay I’ve ever had.”

  I smiled cruelly. “You creamed the sheets you came so hard when I fucked you.” I took two hundred dollars from my wallet and put them into the front pocket of her jeans. “And that’s for your blouse. Consider the rest my tip.”

  Her face turned red. I opened the door, nudged her outside and stepped into the corridor as well, then locked the door.

  I left her standing there, stewing in her anger and shock. Stepping into the elevator, I hit the button for the ground floor.

  I reached the lobby and waved at the desk clerk. The elevator moved back up. “Good morning, Teniel. How’s the family?” I asked.

  “Good, good. Wife’s pregnant with our fourth child.” He handed me the keys to my car. “I parked it in front of the entrance for you forty minutes ago.”

  That’s when I should have left for training. “Congratulations,” I called as I reached the glass doors. The elevator binged. I threw a glance over my shoulder, seeing a furious Fake-Blonde storming through the lobby. Teniel shook his head with a small frown, but he was used to these kinds of scenes by now.

  I stepped off the plane, feeling like a train had run me over. Over twenty hours of traveling had completely knocked me out. My mouth tasted as if something had crawled inside it and died.

  I pulled my luggage behind myself, my eyes scanning the waiting crowd. I hadn’t seen Fiona in more than two years, since she’d run off to Australia on a whim. We’d talked almost every day on the phone, but it just wasn’t the same as having her with me. Would I even recognize her in real life?