Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection)

by Ketley Allison

  I keep my face carefully blank. “Nope.”

  “I’ll ask about that later,” Taryn says pointedly. “Considering the hellfire occurring right now. Mike found the emails between you and me that I kept in a personal folder. He’s saying the boy is Ben Donahue. That famous NFL player. Can you believe it? Don’t you know him? Or your brother? Something like that?”

  “Yes,” I say through my teeth.

  “What kind of protected witness goes into the NFL? What kind of fuckery is this?”

  I ignore her questions. “What’s Yang’s plan? And where’s Mike?”

  “They’ve already left.”

  I stop in my tracks, and Taryn stumbles to a halt a few steps ahead.

  “Come again?” I say.

  “They left to track down Ben Donahue.”

  I hold up a hand. “No. No, that can’t be. That’s not Yang’s style. He’d want a plan of attack, he’d sit down and delegate—”

  “Not this time. There’s too much pressure, and the state put an offer on the table for Garcia and Lopez.”

  “There’s a plea deal?”

  “Looks like. And Yang wants to see what Donahue knows before that prosecutor does, then come to a decision with the defendants.”

  My tote thunks to the floor. I dig my hands into both sides of my head. “Jesus. No. We have to stop them. Do they even know where Ben is right now?”

  Taryn looks away.

  “Taryn? Taryn, talk to me.”

  She nibbles on her lower lip before saying, “Mike knew.”

  “How?”

  For some reason, that one-syllable question is what causes Taryn to break. She hisses, “He’s your fiancé, Astor! How do you not know? Why didn’t you see what Mike was doing behind your back? Or is it me who’s the moron? All the work you and I put in, all the hours, the effort—it’s gone. Turned to nothing, because you went behind my back and teamed up with Mike—”

  “I didn’t tell that asshole anything.”

  The way I seethe the words makes Taryn hitch back a step. “I don’t think just because we’re the only female lawyers we should be friends. But we at least need professionalism. Why should I believe you?”

  “Because Mike and I aren’t together anymore.” I hold my hand up, so she can see my ring finger. The barest indent remains where my ring once was. “We broke up last week.”

  If I were feeling the ocean before, Taryn’s feeling it now. Her mouth opens and shuts, like she’s sucking for air. “And you decide now is the best time to bring it up?”

  “It’s been complicated. And personal,” I add. “I didn’t think it had anything to do with my work—”

  “Apparently it has everything to do with it. I knew Mike was underhanded, but now he’s pissed and underhanded. Willing to make you not exist.”

  “Well, I’m not gonna let it happen. Where did Mike take Yang?”

  “Ben works out every Wednesday. Mike had this information and knows where his gym is.”

  “But that’s not possible. Ben’s not at his gym on Wednesdays. He goes to Brooklyn to work out with my brother…” I trail off as my stomach rises into my throat. “Shit. Oh, motherfucker.”

  I race the rest of the way to my cubicle, with Taryn following close behind. Her voice is nothing but background to my fears as I drop everything onto my chair and dig for my phone. When I tap in my passcode and open it to my calendar, my fears are confirmed. Locke’s routine meet-up with Ben is in my phone, since he and I often trade schedules due to Lily.

  “My calendar’s still synced with his,” I mumble through the thickness in my throat, but Taryn hears.

  “Mike’s out for blood, Astor. And we’re already on the ground. We’re splayed out, bloody victims of Mike’s betrayal.”

  “We’re not,” I say as I shove my phone back in my bag. “We’re going to go there, confront them, and stop this.”

  “Stop it? Why?” But Taryn’s rushing for her coat, thrown over her chair in the cubicle next door. “We want to be a part of it. Yang needs to know how much work we put in. That if we hadn’t, Ben Donahue would never have been found.”

  And that, right there, is what’s making me sick.

  “I’m all too aware of that,” I say, all while attempting to school my expression. “And I’ll make sure Yang knows your part in this. Mike isn’t going to steal the show. Come on.”

  Taryn keeps up at my side as I punch in coordinates for another car to pick us up. At this point, it’s way too late to beat them there, but there could still be time to—

  To what? Save this?

  Or save face in front of Ben?

  God knows what he’s going to think when Yang and Mike rush him. Shock, betrayal, and outrage will be the least of his emotions. Hatred might be at the top.

  You did this.

  I try calling Ben, but it goes straight to voicemail, so I frantically text:

  * * *

  Ben, whatever you do, don’t talk to Yang. Tell him no comment.

  * * *

  I shake my head at such an emotionless, numb words, then try again.

  * * *

  Ben, a man named Altin Yang is coming to see you. Ignore him. I’m on my way to explain everything. And I’m on your side, I swear. Please, whatever you do—

  * * *

  I hiss at my phone, drop it to my side, then lift it and stare at the screen.

  “You okay?” Taryn asks while we’re in the elevator.

  I nod absently, then type:

  * * *

  Ben, I didn’t mean to do this. I’m so sorry.

  * * *

  Too late. The elevators open to the lobby, and I delete what I typed, rewrite my original text, and pray Ben reads it in time.

  “Hurry,” I say to Taryn as we clear the expansive first floor.

  “I’m doing all I can in these maniacal pumps,” Taryn pants beside me. “They’re not meant for marathon sprints with you.”

  I can’t feel my toes anymore. Or my cheeks, or my heart.

  I rush out of the building much faster than I went in.

  Twenty minutes later—record time for getting from Midtown to Williamsburg—I’m pulling up in front of Locke’s gym.

  Ben hasn’t answered any of my texts or calls, and, in a desperate attempt to make some kind of contact, I called Mike, but he didn’t pick up, either.

  I open the door before the driver pulls to a complete stop, who sends expletives my way, but I’m past caring as I stumble out of the vehicle.

  Sensing Taryn behind me, I push through the gym entrance, ignore the person at the reception desk, and frantically scan the work-out room for Ben or my brother.

  “Do you see them?” I ask Taryn.

  Taryn peruses each and every male that’s lifting weights or pounding their feet on the treadmill, as if she knows who to look for.

  She has no idea what Locke looks like, and probably has only a vague image of Ben in her head. Then again, I guess the man in a suit we work for would be easy to spot.

  “I don’t recognize anyone,” she says.

  We make our way past the equipment and a man in a neon green polo shirt telling us to stop immediately, and approach the men’s locker room.

  “Are we really—” Taryn starts, but I’ve already thrown open the door.

  We almost plow into the back of Yang’s back, but I’m not noticing that. What I’ve picked up on is Ben’s face as he’s studying Yang, colorless and flabbergasted.

  “Ben—” I say behind Yang’s broad back. I’m even harder to spot with Mike flanking him.

  Whether it’s my height, my proximity, or my relation to the men who’ve had ample time to nuke his carefully crafted world, Ben’s eyes go to me.

  And they ignite.

  Yang turns. “Miss Hayes. I was unaware you were going to make it.”

  “Um,” I say, catching my breath, shockingly at a loss for words. But the way Ben’s looking at me…

  “We hit bridge traffic,” Taryn pipes up beside me, re
membering what I said to her earlier. “But we wanted to be here, too. Mike hasn’t been altogether honest with you about—”

  “What ever do you mean, Taryn?” Mike’s soft voice cuts her off.

  “Astor?” Ben’s voice, the best of them all, comes through. “What the fuck’s going on?”

  “The…” Christ, I still haven’t found my voice. Speak up. “There’s been a mix-up…”

  “We were just in the middle of explaining to Mr. Donahue, here, about his options,” Yang says, and it’s in a tone that warns against further unprofessionalism. “Perhaps you’d like a little privacy, Mr. Donahue?”

  Ben blinks at being spoken to.

  “Privacy?” he repeats slowly. “I’m pretty sure I’ve lost that. After you’ve brought three other people along with you.”

  “Everything you say to us is completely confidential,” Yang lies.

  It’s that untruth and Yang’s complete ability to smooth out any impropriety, whether it be to extend a motion deadline or tell a man his life is about to be put back in danger, that finally releases my vocal cords.

  “Don’t say another word,” I say to Ben.

  Yang guffaws. “Excuse me, Miss Hayes?”

  “Not. One. Word,” I repeat. “Get out of here.”

  Ben looks between me and the crowd of people in suits—and one neon green guy behind us, frowning.

  “Do it,” I repeat. “Ben, you have no obligation to speak to anyone here. Whatever you say to us will not be privileged—”

  “Now wait just a minute—” Yang shouts.

  “—and, in fact, can be made part of the court record for our defendants. So get out, Ben. Leave.”

  “It’s too late, Astor,” Ben says. “Your boss has already made clear what he knows.”

  Ben enunciates Yang’s title like it tastes bitter and sour.

  No, oh no. I suspected, but suspicion always contains some hope that you could be wrong. On the drive, I thought maybe I could get here in time. Maybe I could stop this before it starts…

  Except, I’m the one who lit the match.

  “You can still walk away,” I plead to Ben. “You don’t have to say anything more.”

  “Yeah, because it turns out, you said it all for me.”

  When he says it, Ben’s words hit me like bullets. I recover enough to respond, “I didn’t say a word—”

  “Without Astor’s elbow grease,” Mike says to Ben, “we’d never have figured out who you were. Hell, who knows how this trial could’ve gone. But thanks to her, we get to ask you some questions, see what you remember about that terrible, tragic night. Honestly, we all have Astor and Taryn to thank, who worked tirelessly to bring you forward as a witness.” Mike cocks his head at Taryn. “See? I told you I didn’t leave you two out.”

  Mike’s attention then slides to me. “I’d never take credit for such detailed, thorough work that’s clearly the result of Astor’s sharp mind.”

  My lips peel back from my teeth before I can stop them, and I hurl myself at Mike. “I hate you!”

  Neon Green catches me by the arm. “Whoa, there, miss—”

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” Yang says to me, eyes wide. His hands are up like I’m about to pounce on him, and Mike hovers behind Yang’s form like Yang’s a protective father figure.

  “Mike here is giving you due credit,” Yang continues, “and you’re snarling like a lioness and frankly, ruining what was an entirely professional and polite meeting of minds.”

  I’ve lost all decorum. “Ben, listen to me. What Mike’s done—he accessed my private files. He brought forward information that was never meant to come to light.”

  “So you had files on me, huh?” Ben says.

  With each second that ticks by, I witness the trust in his eyes flicker out.

  “I didn’t know it was you when I was working on it!” I say. And I’m going to keep saying, keep trying, to bring my Ben back. “And by the time I did, I asked Taryn to delete what we found out. But it all happened so fast, and it’s not easy to convince your coworker to trash our discovery when she can’t know the truth about why.”

  “Pardon me?” Yang raises a brow. “Not only were you withholding pertinent facts of the case, you deleted them?”

  “Coworker?” Taryn glances at me, and if Ben’s eyes are a void, hers are filled with hurt. “I thought we were a team.”

  “No, I—” This is all going so wrong. No one is listening, not one person understands. “Ben, I would’ve done anything to protect you. You’ve got to know that.”

  “This is a clusterfuck,” Neon Green says beside me. He’s still hanging on my arm.

  “Seconded,” Yang says. “This has gone well past any plan of attack. Mr. Donahue, you have my card. I strongly suggest you call me. And you, Miss Hayes. I want to see you in my office in an hour. No arguments,” he snaps as I open my mouth. “Mike, Miss Maddox, with me.”

  Yang spins on his heel and says to Neon Green, “Move, young man,” as he exits the change room. Mike and Taryn follow, but Mike ensures he has my attention when he grins.

  “A pleasure, Miss Hayes,” he says as he passes. “And a ‘Miss’ you will stay.”

  I snarl at him, but Taryn jumps in front of me, holding onto my arms.

  “I’m only restraining you to save your job,” Taryn whispers in my ear. “Not that asswipe’s face.”

  She lets go after my heavy exhale, then follows the men out, but not without glancing between Ben and me with a cruise ship’s worth of weight in her expression.

  “Good luck,” she whispers before she walks away.

  I don’t watch them leave. I’m going to have hell to pay later, but right now, all that matters is—

  “Get out.”

  I stare at Ben, more than willing to beg and plead. “I had no idea Mike accessed my files—”

  “You already said. Now get the fuck out.”

  “Ben, you have to let me—”

  “Get. OUT.”

  I straighten my shoulders, though they feel as crooked and warped as a water-logged tree branch. “No. Not until you understand. I told you about the paper trail, Ben, to your inheritance. You knew I had that information.”

  “What I didn’t know was that you kept it. You sent it to your boss.”

  “No. I had every intention of deleting it, but then—last night happened, and this morning I was going to talk to Locke, and by the time Taryn called me saying Mike got into the folders, I … there wasn’t time.”

  I went tremulous at the end, which I never do, but I’ve never been so scared to lose anything, not since my mother.

  “Except,” Ben says, “Mike told me you forwarded the files to Yang yesterday, after you and I spoke.”

  I inhaled to deny—

  “He showed me the email, Astor,” Ben says. “Your email, your time stamp, to everybody on the case.”

  I shake my head. “That’s not possible.”

  “Oh, no?”

  I say with a raised voice, “How could I do that, Ben, when I was with you most of the night?”

  Ben throws his hands up, but it’s with much more force than exasperation. “I dunno, Astor, when you went to the bathroom? When you scrolled through your phone and tapped a few buttons? I know how keen you are. How vicious you can be when you want something badly enough. And a rise up the totem pole was your goal all along.”

  “That is not fair,” I grind out. “Did you see what just happened? I torpedoed my career just now—”

  “And that’s what it comes down to, doesn’t it? Your career.”

  “Ben, you are not listening,” I say, and this time, I don’t hold back the frustrated tears brimming against my vision. “I wouldn’t have done this to you. I wouldn’t.”

  “Like I didn’t fuck you on a dare, right? You totally believed me back then.”

  My mouth snaps shut.

  “Do you know what it’s like to know the truth and not have the person who matters most believe you?” Ben
continues. “That’s how it was. Regardless of the evidence, fuck the facts, Astor was in the right and that’s that. It’s fucking infuriating, isn’t it?”

  “What, so if I say I believe you about six years ago, you’ll believe me now?” I say slowly. “This isn’t a game, Ben.”

  “Oh, it’s not? Thanks for telling me! I had no fucking idea!”

  Ben’s never scared me before. But I skip back a step.

  “My life,” Ben snarls at me, “is done. This life, this career, this fuckship we had, is fucking done.”

  It snaps me in two to see Ben grab his bag, toss it over his shoulder, and say to me, “I’m out of this town. Ben Donahue is finished.”

  “Ben, stop—”

  He flicks me off like I’m a fly as he storms past, but I can’t give up. “There has to be a way, we can get a court order, we can redact your name, there’s a way to keep everything a secret.”

  Ben whirls and comes up to me so we’re nose-to-nose. But I’m not frightened.

  I’m heartbroken.

  “You can spout all the lawyer shit at me you want,” he says. “But what matters now is my family. My friends, including your brother. I’d die before I let anything happen to them.”

  “So would I, Ben. It’s why I want to figure this out with you.”

  Ben’s so close, I can see flints of gray in his sky-blue eyes. “It was a mistake to ever let you in. And my fault. You don’t love. You set out to hurt. And you hurt me where it matters most. To think, I was imagining a future with you, when all the while you were figuring out how to skewer mine.”

  “Stop.” I grab his arm, as if that alone will prevent him from walking away. “I know you’re angry. You have every right. But you don’t get to stand here and accuse me of doing something so horrible, so disgusting, like I’m capable of it.”

  “You are,” he says, without hesitation.

  Ben pulls out of my slackened hold and storms off, but as his form grows smaller, it also becomes blurrier. I find I can’t move.