Page 61 of The Game Plan

“No, because of her mother’s friends. She has lots and lots of friends with lots and lots of cash.” He smiles slyly. “Herdesigns aren’t bad, either. Fresh and lovely without being too daring. Just what the bored, rich Manhattanite wants.”

I swear to God, my entire body wants to dry heave. Somehow, I manage not to. “Her designs are—”

“Copies of yours?” he supplies. “Yes, I know.”

I think I gape. I don’t know anymore because I’ve gone numb. “You know?”

Felix shrugs, takes another sip of his drink. “You’d have to be blind not to notice, honey. Yours are a bit more risky, however.You push yourself where she plays it safe.”

Okay, now I know I’m gaping. “I can’t believe this. Mine are more daring, and you’re rewarding her?”

“Honey, safe sells more. And you’ve really got to applaud her ingenuity.” He sighs again, resting his elbows on the desk. “First client I scored was done using José, my lover’s, designs. I lost a good lay but gained a business.”

“That’s horrible.”

“That’s business. Calculated risks, use what you know will work.” He gives me a reproachful look. “You should understand this.”

“Don’t remember taking that course in college,” I snap.

“I’m talking about your dad, sweetie. Sports agents aren’t exactly known for being aboveboard. Frankly, I assumed you’d bemore hardened. More cutthroat.”

“My dad,” I grind out, “never stabbed his colleagues in the back.”

Felix gives me a disbelieving look. I ignore it and stand. I want to quit, to tell him he can go fuck himself with one ofhis precious Ferragamo slippers. I want that so badly I can taste it. But just the mention of my dad has me holding my tongue.He thinks I quit at everything. Flighty Fi, always running at the first sign of trouble.

And maybe Felix will fire me now. But I’m not going to stomp off in a dramatic rage first. Straightening my skirt, I manageto collect my temper.

“I’ll be in late tomorrow. I’m picking up those fabric samples on my way,” I tell him.

“All right.” He turns his attention back to his online gossip mag. “Take your time. Oh, that lovely little sandwich shop isnext door to them. See if anyone wants sandwiches. Not me. I’m skipping lunch this week.”

The faint hum of the city seeps in through the windows. Somewhere down the hall, a telephone rings. It’s nothing comparedto the ringing in my ears.

Sandwiches? I’m expected to go to Elena and ask if she wants a fucking sandwich for lunch tomorrow?

“Yeah,” I croak. “Sure.”

Except I’m not asking anyone a damn thing. My hands shake by the time I’ve pulled my purse from my desk drawer and grabbedmy coat off the hook.

It’s a struggle not to cry. With every step I take, the spike of my heel connects with the raw-wood floorboard and thuds inmy heart. My throat is closing, a lump rising.

Get it together, Mackenzie. Deep breaths.

I want to scream so badly my stomach clenches. I swear to all that’s holy, if I see Elena’s fuckity-fuck face I will fuckinglose my shit.

Keeping my head down so I don’t accidentally make eye contact with anyone, I move toward the lobby.

The elevator dings before I’m close enough. I lift my head, ready to run for it, because I needout. But my steps stutter to a halt, shock buzzing along my skin.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

Dex stands ten feet away, his big hands stuffed into his jeans pockets, his broad shoulders covered by a dark blue Henley.That steady, powerful gaze of his meets mine.

My lip wobbles, emotion pushing up past the lump in my throat. He must see my distress—the smile that’d been blooming drops.

My chest heaves as I struggle to keep my breathing normal. If I can just get to Dex, everything will be okay.

I walk straight to him, not stopping until I wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face against his solid chest. The scentof cloves and oranges is stronger now that I haven’t been near him in a while. He’s warm, strong, safe. His arms surroundme, hold me secure. I sag into his embrace.

---