Hate the Game

by Holly Hall

  So that’s what we did for much of the night—we made out on my couch. Hands wandered, tongues tangled, and my imagination ran rampant, but it was . . . nice. Virtually harmless, aside from the X-rated dreams it was sure to inspire. I couldn’t remember when I’d last had a night like that.

  And, after Theo left, I wondered when I’d have another.

  Chapter 15

  Ava

  “This is gold, Ava.” Mona scrolled through the email I’d sent her, detailing this weekend’s paddle-boarding excursion. “Kudos to you! That pic with the skyline is fab.”

  “I wasn’t sure what exactly you were looking for regarding the write-up, so if you need anything else, just let me know.”

  “No, this is perfect. We’ll probably end up snagging a few tidbits from each person’s submission, but this is all great material. Makes my job easier, anyway.”

  I bit back a grin on the way back to my workspace. I’d wanted to create content for a lifestyle mogul, and I’d been able to do just that through this segment.

  Eddie dropped into his chair, and when I glanced up at him, ready to harass him for being so late, I did a double-take. Most of the real estate on his forehead was covered by a square bandage.

  “Did you go to that cabaret bar and drink too many martinis again?” I asked.

  He dropped his messenger bag to the ground and reclined dramatically in his seat. “I wish. Maybe then I’d have a better story. But no. This bitch”—he pointed to his forehead—“is courtesy of my first pole-dancing class.”

  “You fell on your head?”

  “I literally ate shit. Okay, maybe not literally, but I faceplanted.”

  I folded my arms across my planner. “They get that advanced in the first class?”

  “Hell no. But I’ve seen enough YouTube videos, I thought I could handle an ankle hang. Have you seen these legs? No problem.”

  “Famous last words.”

  He scoffed. “Something like that. But I can tell you one thing, I left an impression.”

  “An impression on the floor, anyway.”

  He shot me a glare. “Anyway.” He pretended to flip his hair, although his pompadour was shaped and sprayed with enough product that it wouldn’t budge. I would know—he’d let me touch it, once, and it hadn’t moved a millimeter. “Did you hear about the new addition to the social committee?”

  “No, but I’m sure you’ll fill me in.”

  “You’re looking at him. I’m gunning for a Candy-Land themed holiday party this year.”

  “Really?” I tap-danced beneath the table. “That sounds awesome!” Although the annual holiday party was used as an excuse by the entire staff to either get wasted on Leigh’s dime or take advantage of the cheer to get on her good side, I meant it. The festive vibes in the air and all the teams mingling and tossing aside their professional personas, if only for a few hours, was always a good time.

  Eddie straightened in his chair, swelling with pride. “With me on the social committee, it’s going to be more than just awesome, I can guarantee that. Now take advantage and bring a fun date this year. Not like that last guy who made you leave when the fun was just getting started.”

  Not even the mentioning of Liam could bring me down. Images of Theo were so vivid in my mind, I was practically blind to the past.

  “Wha— What was that?”

  “What was what?” I asked, blinking.

  “That grin. Have someone in mind already? Dang, girl.”

  Shoot. My mind had jumped to Theo, but bringing him to the party was probably not the best idea. He was supposed to be my “trainer,” and I was pretty sure dating someone on the office’s payroll would be frowned upon. I didn’t want anything to create a rift between Leigh and me. “No, I was just thinking about this weekend.”

  “This weekend? By the looks of it, you didn’t fall face first off a pole.” He leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing me. “Did you fall face first into a pole? Whose pole?”

  I shielded my face. “I did not fall face first into, or off of, someone’s pole. No. I just kinda went on a date.”

  “Now I’m wondering what you mean by ‘kinda.’ You either went on a date or you didn’t, now which was it?”

  I glanced around, ensuring we weren’t overheard. But everyone was either buried in their own work or still stuck in the Monday-daze. “A guy came over Saturday night, and we hung out on my couch for a little while. It was nice.”

  “So it was a booty call.” Eddie looked unimpressed.

  “No. We’d spent the whole morning together, then he stopped by later that evening.”

  “Oh, you did a whole day thing?” He gasped. “That’s something serious—if someone chooses to chill with you after already chilling with you. Where did this guy come from and why haven’t you ever mentioned him?”

  It was too late to backpedal; Eddie was already onto me, and anything I said now would either incriminate myself further or sound like an excuse. “He came from across the hall. He’s my neighbor.”

  “Uh-uh.” Eddie shook his head. “Bad idea. Do not pass go.” As if the head-shaking and rapid-fire statements weren’t enough to put me off, Eddie made an X with his forearms.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your neighbor, Ava? That’s too close to home. Literally. I’m guessing you don’t know him very well—he could be a stalker.”

  “A stalker? Come on. This is my life, not true-crime television.”

  This time when Eddie shook his head, it was in disbelief. “Sweet, naïve child. Maybe he is a good guy, but if it goes south, there will be no escaping him.”

  I hadn’t thought about it like that, but then I’d been too wrapped up in everything else. Theo was so far from my usual type that I hadn’t bothered to consider what would happen if we became more. Much less the aftermath.

  I massaged my forehead. “I’m so not equipped to handle that right now.”

  “Well, you better get equipped. The way your face was looking, you’d think you were already in love.”

  “Okay, now you are officially being dramatic.”

  “Have I ever been anything else?”

  “No.” I looked down at my watch. Was that really the time? “And now I’m running late for my consult.” I shot up from my chair and raked my things into my bag.

  “Don’t think I’m letting you off that easy,” Eddie called as I rounded the table. “I expect a full update on Stalker Neighbor Man.”

  I gave a noncommittal wave in response.

  “I’m sorry, you want me to do what now?” I uncrossed my legs, sure I’d misheard her. My client, Rebecca, wanted me to meet her prospect in person. Not only meet him in person, but meet him as a friend, not as Rebecca’s RC.

  Another covert operation, which I’d sworn was a one-time thing after Janelle and Pierce.

  “It’s just a little party. No big deal.”

  The “little party” she was referring to? Yeah, it was a huge charity gala dinner thing that cost thousands of dollars per plate to get into. I was pretty sure John Legend or someone equivalent was performing; in other words, not my scene. Add in that Leigh would shit a brick if she knew about this, and the situation had trouble written all over it.

  Leigh was adamant that the lines of work-life and personal-life not get crossed. It’d be hard to convince her that rubbing elbows and having a drink with people several tax brackets above me qualified as work. But I had to wipe the stricken look off my face because at the minimum, I was supposed to be professional, and I was expected to be able to adapt on the fly.

  “I’m concerned about what that would mean for our consultant-client relationship,” I said.

  “It means you’re dedicated to your clients and will strive to get the results they’re paying top dollar for.”

  Ahh, the whole “dedicated to your clients” line. Because what kind of professional could argue with that?

  “And you’re saying you have an extra ticket to this event?”

  �
�Gregory won’t bat an eye if I tell him I have a friend who wants to come. It’s for charity, after all.”

  What I still didn’t understand was how Rebecca could doubt the devotion of a man willing to spend thousands of dollars on a “friend” he didn’t even know. “Remind me how your last point of contact with Gregory went. What is it that’s giving you doubts about his intentions?”

  “It’s going well, generally speaking, but he never stays over.” Rebecca fiddled with the hair extensions she’d gotten as part of her makeover. “I’m only permitted to stay at his penthouse once a week, and when we go out, he arranges it all through his assistant. The last time he sent four-dozen roses to my office, his assistant’s name was signed on the card.”

  The last time I was sent four-dozen roses was never. “He’s a busy man, is he not? It’s not uncommon for someone in his position to delegate those tasks to an assistant.”

  “Those tasks are our love life. Isn’t that fucked up?”

  I made an indecisive face. Rebecca was someone who might use the term “sugar daddy” in everyday language; it didn’t surprise me that being wooed by someone’s assistant perplexed her. Hell, it perplexed me. But her desired prospect was an upper-level executive at a Fortune-500 company. His days were probably scheduled down to the minute, including the hours he allotted to shacking up with his much-younger girlfriend.

  “While it might seem a little . . . unspontaneous, or unconventional, to us, things like scheduling are what keep his days running efficiently. I think that’s all part of the package if you’re still bent on pursuing this guy.”

  “Oh, I’m pursuing him. My goal is to have a ring by spring.”

  I winced. How old was she, twenty-three? I schooled my expression into something more neutral. “That’s a lofty goal, but I’ll do my best to help you connect with him.” That’s what we called it in LoveLeigh terms: connect, because “hoodwink” would be frowned upon.

  “I just get the impression he’s playing with me. He could be screwing someone else, for all I know. I want to make sure I’m not wasting my time. These are my best years, you know?”

  I frowned. Gregory was probably thinking the same—that he didn’t want to waste his time. He had a lot at stake when it came to marrying someone. Rebecca’s hands were clutched together so hard I could see her knuckles whiten through her tan. She was desperate.

  “Right. Well, if you’re confident this is what you need to take your relationship to the next step, I’ll do my best.”

  She reached across the table and grabbed my hands in hers, throwing the laws of personal space to the wind. “You’re a lifesaver. Thank you!”

  My response was to smile and nod. Once I was freed from her grip, I gathered my notebook and planner, preparing to leave. I’d spent more time than I should’ve at this consult, and I still had two more for the day.

  “I’ll email you all the information. Oh, and you’ll need a mask!”

  “It’s a costume party?” Just like that, I was experiencing flashbacks of the sumo suit.

  Rebecca wiggled her eyebrows. “A masquerade.”

  This was the sort of thing that excited young girls, perhaps especially those like Rebecca who had a specific vision for their future and assumed they were right on the cusp of seeing it all play out. But as I walked to the L stop, I wondered if there was anything I wouldn’t do for my job. And if I’d sell my soul in the process of finding out.

  Chapter 16

  Ava

  The sound of my knock echoed through the empty hallway. Eddie’s warnings aside, living across the hall from Stalker Neighbor Guy was pretty damn convenient.

  “Now there’s a sight for sore eyes,” Theo said upon opening the door.

  I plucked at the towel hanging over his bare shoulder. “Your towel says ‘professional chef,’ but your bare chest says ‘harassment suit.’”

  His eyes narrowed as he caught me around the waist before I could pass him. “You’re hilarious, have I ever told you that?”

  “I believe you used ‘ridiculous’ last time.”

  “And gorgeous. And stunning.” As if predicting my next move, he grabbed my wrists on their way up to my face. “Don’t cover that smile. I want to know my compliments still have an effect on you.”

  “I’m covering my blush because you’re ridiculous.”

  “Don’t. I want to see that too.” His expression turned earnest, and he bowed his head to kiss me. Good bye, willpower. I was being swept off my feet already and I’d barely crossed the threshold.

  “Is something burning?” I asked against his lips, and when he straightened and sniffed the air, I let out a giggle. “Gotcha.”

  “Oh you. Get in here.”

  I entered the kitchen, taking in the pans of sauce and sizzling shrimp, and my mouth instantly started watering. Theo adjusted the knobs on the stovetop, tending to the various works in progress. He turned his head and caught me watching him.

  “Like what you see?”

  “Oh yes. The way this is going, I’ll never have to cook dinner again.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Although when I set the goal of having a personal chef by age thirty-five, I didn’t think he’d look like you. Much less work in the kitchen half naked.”

  “It’s hot and I get a little messy with the red sauce sometimes.” He dipped a pinky in the marinara and slipped it between his lips, and I took about a dozen mental snapshots. Holland would say I was adding material to my spank bank.

  “No complaints here,” I said, leaning on the bar with my chin in my hand. “So what are we doing for our next fitness outing? And please don’t say it’s a surprise.”

  “Remember when you asked me about Texas? I figured I’d bring a little Texas to Chicago and do something that feels like home.”

  “Not riding horses,” I said, monotone. My fear of mysterious lake-creatures might’ve waned, but horses were a giant no.

  “I like tiptoeing boundaries, don’t get me wrong, but I figured horses would be going too far after that conversation.”

  “You’d be correct.”

  “Dancing,” he said, tossing the shrimp in the sauce. “You know how to two-step?”

  “Is that what they do in Footloose?”

  “Absolutely not.” He shook his head, his laugh low and soft. “At least let me serve you some dinner before I kick you out for that comment.”

  “What? It’s a type of western dancing, right?” I giggled. I didn’t know anything about two-stepping or whatever. I was about as far removed from Southern traditions as you could get.

  “Anyway,” he emphasized, sliding a plate in front of me on the bar. Linguini with shrimp and red sauce, sprinkled with fresh parmesan, steamed on the plate along with a huge helping of mixed veggies and a grainy slice of bread. “Have you ever been to a dance hall?”

  I shook my head.

  “A country concert?”

  Another head-shake.

  “You don’t know what you’re missin’. It’s easy though, and it’s fun, depending on who you’re with.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Theo served himself and sat beside me at the bar. “You’ll want to wear something close-toed so you don’t get stomped on. Do you have boots?”

  I slurped a noodle as gracefully as possible while shooting him a disparaging look. “Of course I have boots.”

  “Not those fashion ones. Something without an obscene heel.”

  “Relax, I’ve got it covered,” I said, even though I knew better. I was five-foot-nothing, of course everything I owned had an obscene heel.

  “How about this weekend?”

  “Hmm.” I chewed a bite of garlic bread, trying to envision my schedule. “Oh yeah, I have to go to a masquerade party.”

  “Good to know one of us has a healthy social life.” He snorted. “Sounds fun.”

  “Yeah. Well, probably not. It’s for work.”

  “Oh? I guess I’m in the wrong industry, then.” />
  “You won’t be missing much. It’s for a client of mine. I’ll be doing some . . . field work, you could say.”

  “What’s it for, a birthday again?”

  “It’s a swanky charity event at that historic hotel on Michigan Avenue. I’ll be easy to miss. There’s a dinner and some sort of entertainment.” I shimmied, maybe to demonstrate what I wouldn’t be doing at the gala.

  Theo chewed thoughtfully then tilted his head. “The dinner benefitting the inner-city education initiative?”

  “I think so. Wait, how did you know about that?”

  “A client, believe it or not. She’s an event planner for the hotel.”

  “No way. What a small world.” I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Anyway, I’m sure it’s going to be great from a philanthropy standpoint, but I anticipate it being totally boring. All that schmoozing and whatnot.”

  Theo shrugged. “Well, pencil me in for the next weekend, babe, because we’re gonna paint the town.”

  Babe. My heart skipped at the endearment. I hadn’t been a “babe” for months. “You and your honkytonk are going on the calendar,” I promised him.

  I was probably the only person getting dropped off in front of The Overlook in an Uber, and the only reason I was climbing out of the mid-size sedan now was because I hadn’t wanted to walk from the L in my heels, and a pair of flats wouldn’t fit in my clutch. Thankfully these people would never see me again. Our social circles belonged on different planets.

  I gripped my clutch to keep myself from fidgeting and made my way across the lavish lobby, all marble and mahogany and gaudy, gold upholstery, and stepped into an elevator. The ballroom was on the fourteenth floor, at the end of a hallway lined with scrolled carpeting that cushioned every step. Was that memory foam? And was that a cello I heard? I was seriously out of my element.

  A pair of suited staff members flanked the tall double doors, and one of them took my name. As Rebecca said would happen, they found it on their list and I emitted a sigh of relief. I’d been doubting my admittance up until the last second.