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“Westwood says it was all a disgusting ploy to get her out from the very beginning, stating ‘Emily Flanagan wanted my job. And when she didn’t get it, she found a way to get it for another team. Her whole relationship with Quinn Bagley is a sham, and it’s all been pretend from the very beginning. She had her sights set on him the night they met, planning it all from the start, just so she could sleep her way into getting what she wanted, and I have proof. She’s made fools out of everyone, Mr. Bagley included. This is all just a game to her.’”
What in the actual hell? How does she even know any part of it was pretend? At least she’s only dragging my name through the mud, and Quinn isn’t going down with me.
“Jesus, they even have recordings,” Patrick mutters as he walks up to us.
With a curse, Quinn shoves Craig’s phone back at him, exchanging it for Patrick’s as he yanks it out of his teammate’s hand, pressing Play on whatever Patrick has pulled up on his phone.
My voice comes through the speakers, a little muffled, but it’s very clearly me.
“It’s not exactly a hardship playing pretend with Quinn Bagley. Everyone bought it, didn’t they? I’m very good at what I do.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper, alarm bells going off in my head as every muscle in Quinn’s body goes rigid. “I said that at the charity event. I didn’t mean—”
Quinn’s eyes meet mine just long enough for me to see the storm brewing in them, making the words die in my throat and my breath quicken as he looks back down at Patrick’s phone, scrolling through the article.
I said that to Tyler when we had a private moment together after dinner. He asked if I was okay with everything, and he seemed genuinely concerned about me being able to handle the pressure of whatever Quinn and I were doing, under public scrutiny. He was worried, and I was just trying to ease his fears with my usual sarcasm.
That asshole! He was so nice to me all night long, making me think my initial impression of him was wrong because I wasn’t exactly in a great mood the day I met him.
Quinn hits Play on the next recording in the article, the quiet hum of everyone in the room whispering and talking all around us as they look at their own phones. Nausea churns in my stomach when Quinn’s deep, muffled voice comes out of the phone speaker next.
“I told you, I really like her, Tyler. Let’s just say everything changed with a sexy cheerleading uniform and her fulfilling all my fantasies out under the stars, and leave it at that.”
I wince when the recording ends, but not because Quinn was talking about something personal like that with Tyler. He’s one of Quinn’s best friends. At least he was gentlemanly and clean. When I told Wren about that night, I told her he made me come so hard when I was riding his dick that I almost bucked myself right off his lap with the force of that second orgasm. And you can definitely quote me on that, but at least I don’t have asshole friends who record our private conversations.
“That son of a bitch. That goddamn son of a bitch!” Quinn shouts angrily, making me jump at the ferocity in his voice, Patrick quickly grabbing his phone back from him before Quinn launches it across the room.
“Why in the actual fuck would Tyler screw you over like this?” Patrick asks, almost as much anger written all over him as Quinn, while Craig starts telling Marcus what happened. Marcus then tells someone else, and so it goes, until everyone in the room gets heated within seconds.
“Who’s got the champagne?”
Everyone in the room immediately quiets, and all eyes turn toward the man who just walked through the doorway, wearing his usual three-piece, designer suit and so much product in his hair it must be a bitch walking by any open flames.
I wish Tess were here.
“Why all the long faces?” Tyler asks with a chuckle, scanning the room as he walks farther in, pausing at the head of the table and a few feet away from us. “I thought this was a celebration for a job well done at the clinic?”
“What the fuck did you do?” Quinn’s voice simmering with rage breaks up the silence in the tension-filled room as he glares at Tyler, and it makes me break out into a chill.
“I’ve done a lot of good deeds today; you’re going to have to be more specific.” Tyler smirks, not even realizing he’s poking a bear who looks like he’s seconds away from ripping the man’s face off.
“Why in the hell is Ellen Westwood blabbing all of our personal business everywhere, and why in the fuck does she have recordings of private conversations we had with you?” Quinn asks, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists down by his sides, while everyone’s eyes ping-pong back and forth between the two men, and my heart starts thundering in my chest.
