Page 5 of The Problem with Playboys

“Friendship? It’s the only thing in my life that ever seems to stay stable.”

“To friendship.” Chloe clinked her glass with Taylor’s, but she had a feeling where this was going. Taylor had struggled mightily since college to find a job or career path she found satisfying. It had been a similar story with her love life. She attracted men like flies, but so many had broken her heart. It was another reason Chloe was very choosy and didn’t keep anyone around for too long. “Is there something you want to tell me about?”

Taylor sighed. “Could you tell from the tone in my voice that things aren’t great?”

“Is it your job or a guy?”

“It’s work. I’m staying away from men. You know that. It was my New Year’s resolution.”

“It’s March. Most people have broken their resolutions by now.” Plus, she knew as stubborn and determined as Taylor could be, she never managed to stick to her guns on that one.

“Not me.” She took another sip of her drink. “No, my misery is all work related.”

“Anything specific?”

She shook her head. “It’s the same thing that happens every time. I decide to try something and I fail. I’m not good at being an events planner, just like I wasn’t good at financial services or being a fashion buyer or being a personal assistant.”

“I’m sure you’re better at it than you think you are.”

Taylor shrugged and stared down into her drink. “I just want to be good at something. That’s all. Like you. You’re a badass. I’d give anything to have a career that I was great at and gave me purpose.”

All Chloe could think about was her conversation with Parker and the ways he’d argued the exact opposite of Taylor’s point. “Not everyone thinks it’s so great.”

“Like who?”

“Like my soon-to-be former stepbrother.”

Taylor’s face lit up. “Oh, my God. Parker Sullivan. You just came from seeing him. Is he a jerk? I’ve heard stories.”

“He said horrible things about my job. He thinks crisis management is pointless.”

Taylor arched both eyebrows. “Seriously? It’s not like he’s curing cancer. He’s a sports agent.”

“You’re so right. Where does he get off saying anything about what I do? At least I help people. He negotiates sneaker contracts.”

The bartender stopped by to deliver their food. “Can I get you ladies anything else?”

Chloe munched on a few crispy fries. It was sheer salty heaven. “I think we’re good.”

“I’ll check back in a minute or two.” He turned and looked up at the TV hanging on the wall above the bar. For a moment, he was frozen as he stared at the screen.

Chloe’s sights were drawn to the vision of a cable news anchor and a photo of Marcus Grant. With the sound turned down, she couldn’t hear what was being said, but the crawl at the bottom of the screen told at least part of the story.Rookie’s multimillion-dollar contract in jeopardy. Social media account Little Black Book leaks photos of mafia card game.“Holy crap. That’s Parker’s star client.”

Taylor looked up and pointed. “See? Little Black Book. I told you this was a big deal.”

Chloe grabbed a few more fries, unable to look away from the TV. She wasn’t sure who was behind Little Black Book, and she hated to see Marcus Grant in hot water, but, wow, was the timing ever spectacular. She imagined Parker pacing the floor of his father’s fabulous home, furious over what had just happened. Would he really be able to laugh it off the way he’d suggested to her hours earlier? Or would he swallow his pride and try to get his big client out of this predicament?

“Something tells me Parker Sullivan might regret poking fun at your career,” Taylor said. “Are you going to call him and offer to help?”

Chloe stirred her drink, watching the ice cubes swirl in the glass, wondering why the notion of talking to Parker made her even the slightest bit excited. “Nah. I think I’ll wait and see if he decides to come to me.”

Parker had signed Marcus Grant because every time he took the field, there was ice water running through his veins. Cool and calm under pressure, with a laser-guided missile launcher of an arm, he was poised to become the best pro quarterback in half a century. Away from the field, the young man was a pussycat—easygoing and friendly, with a million-watt smile. In either situation, Parker saw Marcus as completely unflappable. But two days ago,Little Black Book had rattled Marcus’s cage, and he was slowly becoming unhinged.

“I don’t understand who’s behind this. That’s what’s driving me crazy,” Marcus said over speakerphone.

Parker listened, pacing in his office on the 87th floor of the Manhattan high-rise his sports agency occupied. He’d nearly worn a path in the carpet since 9:00 a.m. Not good considering it was only ten. “It’s got to be one of the tabloids. Some sort of social media stunt.” In truth, the notion of an invisible enemy was driving Parker crazy, too. He wanted to know who or what he was fighting against. But it was all cloaked in secrecy. For the moment. “The identity of Little Black Book is not the problem. What it’s done to your career is the real issue.”

“But how did they get photos of me at the card game? We had to turn over our cell phones. Those men take poker very seriously.”