Page 10 of Imperfect Player

When Tripp decided to bring me over to Advantage, he offered me an insane salary, one that he couldn’t afford when he was just starting out. I appreciated the sentiment, the value that he was putting on me as an employee. We were never going to get Advantage up and running if he was paying me what he offered. He knew it. I knew it. When I accepted the position, I did it under one condition: he pay me the salary I had written down on a slip of paper. He wasn’t allowed to see it until he agreed, which eventually, he begrudgingly did.

He blew out a breath when he saw the meager salary I was requesting. Just enough to cover the bills.

He argued. I argued back.

I didn’t care about the money. I cared about the job. About proving myself. I could either work for a firm, struggling to make my way through the ranks, fighting men for the clients I know I should have, or? Or I could work for a man who respects me. Thinks highly of me. Wants me and only me to help him build his business.

“He wouldn’t have hired you if he didn’t think you were talented. He sure as hell wouldn’t trust you with his high-profile clients.”

“It’s not that.”

Not completely, at least.

“I know. It’s Kai.”

She rolls her eyes, beyond familiar with the constant barrage of insults Kai used to sling my way. How I’m not good enough. How I’ll never succeed.

Kai is the last thing that I want to think about right now. Especially as I’m still riding high off the other night. The evening I spent with Ethan. The way he made me laugh. Made me feel.

“That aside, I really just don’t want to let Tripp down. He gave me the most amazing opportunity, pushing me further along in my career than I would have ever hoped to be anywhere else at this point.”

She takes a sip of the mango margarita before her. “I get it, but let’s be honest here. Advantage wouldn’t be as successful as it is if it weren’t for you. You both benefited, and you should both reap the rewards. So quit worrying and start enjoying.”

Worrying is just a part of who I am. If I’m not worried about work, I’m worried about my parents. If not them, Chelle. It’s a compulsion—the need to worry, the need to take care of those that I love. Chelle, however, considers it more of an addiction—a sickness of sorts. One that she desperately tries to get me to overcome. Valiant effort on her part, but I’m a hopeless case.

“You know the one thing that you never worry about?” she asks.

“Me.”

“Ding-ding.”

It’s a never-ending conversation between us—how I need to quit worrying about everyone else and start taking care of me.

So I decide to make her proud.

“The party wasn’t all worry and work,” I tell her. “I drank. I danced. I let loose.”

“I call bullshit.”

Reaching for a tortilla chip, I grab one and toss it at her.

“I did. It was fun.”

Chelle lifts the heavy, yet nearly empty, margarita glass in a cheers. “About damn time.”

“I was going to bring your dress tonight, but I took it to the cleaners.”

“Did you spill something on it during a twirl?”

“Ha, ha. No. I didn’t spill anything. Someone else spilled their drink on me.”

“Was it a man?” Her eyes grow wide with intrigue.

After my breakup with Kai, I decided to take a sabbatical from love and romance. Hell, from men in general. She’s been pushing me to have fun, to live life. To carpe the dick, if you will.

Something that I just don’t think I have in me.

“It was. In fact, it was . . . ” I pause, bracing myself for the reaction I know is coming. “Ethan Ambrose.”

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