Chapter 1
AUTHOR’S NOTE: THIS IS A NOVELLA. SO IT’S NOT AS LONG AS MY OTHER BOOKS, BUT THE CHAPTERS ARE GIANT. :) THE CHARACTERS ARE VERY FLAWED, AND GROW IMMENSELY OVER THE SPAN OF THIS BOOK. THEY DO CHILDISH THINGS IN THE NAME OF ‘PRIDE,’ BUT DO REDEEM THEMSELVES. IN MY OPINION! :) ALSO, THIS BOOK HAS NOT GONE THROUGH MY EDITOR YET. IT’LL GO TO HER IN EARLY 2026! :)
HOW TO PLAY A PLAYER
1. Never show interest first.
2. Slowly acknowledge him.
3. Stay in control.
4. Let him text and call you.
5. Think Beyoncé … Irreplaceable.
6. Channel your inner Lizzo.
7. Give him a little taste … but not the cookie.
8. Take control. You own this.
9. Don’t let the player play you.
10. Under no circumstances must you fall for the player.
POV: Emmie
Call her crazy, but Emmie loved the start of a new workweek. It was a chance to put failures behind them with a fresh start and get her team pumped for another whole week together.
Considering she was mostly her own boss, it helped her willingness to get up and go, but she did love her job. The early morning buzz of downtown Dallas, with a stop at Ellen’s for a quick bite to eat and coffee.
That was all she needed to fight that Monday morning grogginess. Getting up with the birds became easier over the last few months since her parents kicked out her older brother. He was currently giving her a crash course on couch surfing.
If his snores weren’t enough, the man was compared closely to a sow with his lack of hygiene and tidiness. She hadn’t remembered him being so gross growing up.
Sadly, Tommy held a lot of wasted potential, being brighter than most without trying, but with no ambition to do anything beyond the bare minimum. He’d been the golden boy in high school and close with Emmie, but something happened to Tommy when his fiancée left him.
It seems she kicked him so hard that his dignity leaked from his ears. When her mother called her in tears, she knew their dad had finally booted him out, not that she could blame him.
Tommy was twenty-eight, and when he lost his pipeline job for being late for the sixteenth time in three months, he went into chill mode, which meant using someone else’s Netflix account while he relaxed on someone else’s couch. Now, he took a permanent residence at her apartment, with a soda in one hand and salt-and-vinegar chips in the other.
When Emmie walked into her office building each morning, it was a breath of fresh air away from her brother and into a role she loved so much.
She click-clacked down the hallway toward her desk, noticing her assistant-turned-best friend Jasmine lying face down on her sofa in the corner of her office. Emmie chuckled, putting down her breakfast and taking a seat with her coffee.
“Let me guess … you were sexed down so good by that husband of yours last night that you’re completely limp and can’t work?”
Jasmine turned her head toward Emmie without moving her body, a massive smile on her face. “You know me too well. This baby-making agenda is not for the faint of heart. I’m exhausted.”
“Well, you shouldn’t be so irresistible,” she said. “You can’t blame Ace for wanting you in the midnight hours.”
Jasmine smirked, sat up, and gave Emmie a sheepish smile. “You’re right. I am pretty irresistible.”
They both laughed. Jasmine could give Zoe Saldana a run for her money. She was tall and leggy, with light eyes and shoulder-length hair. Her caramel-colored skin always attracted attention wherever they went because most white girls would kill for her skin tone.
Not to mention her almond-shaped eyes, the little freckle above her lip, and her sweet smile. Emmie would throw hands with anyone who disagreed.
Emmie took a sip of her coffee and gave Jasmine a what can you do look. “I mean … you can’t blame Ace. You knew he wanted a family—”
“Okay, Echo,” Jasmine said, standing up, straightening her A-line black dress, nervously wiping her palms down the length. “I hear it enough at home.”
Emmie sighed, batting her eyelashes. “You two would have beautiful babies, Jas. Your caramel skin with his green eyes? Plus, I’m itching to become a godmother.”
Jasmine grinned, turning to walk toward her desk, which sat outside of Emmie’s office. “It’s just petrifying the thought of pushing a baby out of my hoo-ha.”
It wasn’t as if Emmie had her own children to help calm her nerves about it or even a guy. Not that Emmie couldn’t get one. She was good at picking up a man, but him being worth the time it took to shave her legs or leave her house proved the problem.
Eligible bachelors in Dallas were rare. Emmie’s phone vibrated against her desk. She sighed before answering Tommy’s call, which she had put on speaker.
“Hey, Bocefus just took a huge dump on my jeans.”
“What did you feed him this morning? I’m assuming not the dog food he’s been eating since birth as I asked.”
“I did,” Tommy defended. “Well, with some of my avocado—”
“Dogs can’t have that!” Emmie said.
“He begged for it.”
“Well, if we all got what we begged for in life, I’d be traveling the circus with Aunt Susie since age ten.”
“Whatever—”
“Clean it up!”
Emmie hung up before he could respond.
“I’d ask how Tommy’s situation is going, but I’m pretty sure that sums it up?” Jasmine asked.
“You’d be right.”
The elevator dinged from down the hallway; Laura, the floor’s shark, walked out in six-inch heels and a skirt tight enough to see what her mother gave her. “Someone get the chum,” Jasmine mumbled.
Emmie took another sip of coffee while watching Laura drop off her things and do her runway walk toward them. Was it bad that she envisioned her tripping over her long legs and drowning in the coffee Emmie would spill?
Who says coffee can’t cure the world’s problems?
Being a marketing manager was her dream job; landing it at twenty-six and keeping it for four years was a privilege she wouldn’t forget, but with every dream comes those who can’t stand to see you make it.
Via: Laura the Shark.
“Hello, girls, nice dress,” she said to Jasmine before bumping her out of the way to walk inside Emmie’s office.
Emmie ignored the pair of scissors Jasmine held up to Laura’s back and swallowed down her smile.
Laura stopped in front of her desk, her hip swaying to the side, her lengthy hair hanging down her back in a thick wave. Unfortunately, she was as beautiful as she thought she was until she opened her mouth. “I have the pitch for the diet bars.”
Emmie set down her coffee. “Let’s hear it.”
Laura smiled widely. “Got some flab, eat a diet slab?”
Jasmine choked on her coffee from her desk, and Emmie pressed her lips together in an attempt not to howl with laughter. “That’s not a catchy slogan, Laura. It sounds like cow food to me. Diet slab?”
Laura huffed, dropping her hand that held her note card. “Are you serious? It took me all weekend to come up with that.”
Emmie gave her a shrug. “I guess you’ll have to do some work during hours instead of texting and sending Snaps?”
Shooting her a narrowed look, she walked toward the door and whispered under her breath, “You wish someone would take the time to sext you.”
“What was that?” Emmie asked.
“Nothing,” she shouted from her desk.
Emmie felt her eye begin to twitch but took a calming breath and started to write their agenda for the week.
Most marketing managers jumped from one place to another, trying to stay relevant and survive as best they could in an ever-changing market.
Emmie felt blessed with the ability to know people and their interests without having to know them personally. Her sociology minor helped her in categorizing the public.
Especially men.
Although Tommy played a part in the reason she knew men so well. Their dad coached high school football, so their home was full of high school boys and Tommy’s friends.
It was evident at an early age that Emmie knew how to read a guy. When was he flirting? Is he flaky? Can he handle a relationship, or is he just good for a rump in the sheets?
“Emmie?”
She glanced up from her emails to a tear-streaked Ariel. Ariel was a pretty Hispanic woman, short with deep curves and long dark hair. Her makeup always looked like a perfect Instagram filter, but today, she just resembled a sad puppy abandoned in a cardboard box outside a 7-11.
“What is—”
“He never called me back!”
Ariel began to blubber in the doorway to her office while the girls stared down the short hallway. If Emmie didn’t know about this man, it meant he wasn’t around long enough for Ariel to sob.
“Ariel, do you need to go to the bathroom—”
“He just took me out, got me drunk, and then didn’t even take me home. Never called. Never anything!”
Emmie went to Girl’s Night once a week with these women, and Ariel knocked back liquor like an alcoholic invited to a frat party.
Ariel could give Meredith from The Office a run for her money. The only difference was that Ariel didn’t prostitute for steak coupons.
Jasmine’s wide eyes met Emmie’s through the glass wall of her office. Tara Karr, her restaurant guru, walked over, wrapping her arm around Ariel’s shoulders. Being blunt, Tara asked, “Do you need to go to the bathroom because I can’t work with your blubbering? Suck it up. Pull yourself together.”
“Tara!” Jasmine said, making her way over; she pushed Ariel inside and shut Emmie’s door, locking Tara out.
Tara was the best worker on the floor by far, so Emmie couldn’t sweat her for wanting to work, but compassion didn’t settle well with her. Coming from Asian parents, they raised her with strict rules and blunt opinions. Mostly inconsiderate opinions.
The gene obviously didn’t stop there.
“What’s wrong?” Jasmine asked, coddling Ariel.
The elevator dinged, interrupting Ariel’s hiccup, and sent Emmie into a frantic mess. It had to be Mitchel Jones, their boss, because he always made an appearance on Monday mornings, not that he would be bothered at any other time, as the third floor needed his attention. Sporting equipment, alcoholic beverages, and lawn care were more important to society than women who ruled the world.
Science proved it, and Emmie was sure of it.
Emmie heard Mitchel’s laugh from down the hallway. Jumping up, she shoved Ariel and Jasmine into the nearest bathroom to her office. She leaned against Jasmine’s desk while Mitchel and his newest brown-nosing third-level man made their way toward her.
What was his name? Seth or Sam. She didn’t know or care. They all sang the same tune to her, a nice smile with an even nicer face, but they lacked any kind of emotion other than to grunt at women and laugh at Mitchel’s lame jokes.
And they were lame jokes.
“Good morning to Ms. Daniels,” Mitchel said, his cheesy smile on display, hands shoved into a pair of slacks that cost more than her apartment.
“Everything in check over here?” he asked, running his fingers through his hair as if he was proud to have it, which was a questionable subject around the office.
“I sent out the agenda this morning, and we were just getting started,” she said, shuffling the brochures on the top of Jasmine’s desk.
“Hey, Mr. Daniels,” Laura said.
He tossed her a finger wave.
Mitchel scanned the floors and the lighting before meeting Emmie’s eyes. He seemed a little preoccupied, which was odd.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Mitchel gestured toward the man standing beside him. Emmie dragged her gaze to him slowly, hoping this didn’t take long because her inbox was full.
“This is Steele Reeves. He works on the third floor taking care of our alcoholic beverages.”
The man who stood in front of her wore a killer smile, with a wide jaw and a hard part in his raven-colored hair. She would have said he was attractive but was sure he had a campaign going to tell the world about it himself.
If she had to market him, she would sell him as a typical frat boy turned marketing rep who knew how good-looking he was—a typical playboy.
Ariel’s cry echoed from outside the bathroom door, and Emmie gave the noise a long sideways glance.
“What’s going on in there?” Mitchel asked.
“They’re fine,” she said, coughing loudly when Ariel cried again and offering her hand to the gentleman who didn’t think a handshake was necessary.
Steele reached forward and shook her hand, lingering a little too long for comfort, giving her a smile that she knew he thought would get her out of her panties, and said, “You can call me Steele since I’ll be overseeing while Mitchel is away.”
Emmie let her hand drop, making a dramatic slap against her thigh. “An overseer?” she asked. “How long have you worked here?”
Steele’s smile widened, and he elbowed Mitchel, who began to chuckle. “You were right.”
Emmie was too prideful to ask what he was right about, so she lifted her chin and urged Mitchel to answer with her hand.
“I’m going on vacation for two weeks. I’ve given Steele the responsibility—”
“What about our VP, Henry?” she asked.
Mitchel lowered his head. “He is out of town on a business trip. I’ve already made it official that Steele is going to oversee the place while we’re both away. Not that I think you would need help—”
“I don’t,” she said. “But I appreciate your time. Maybe if we need help getting something off the top shelf, we’ll call.”
Mitchel howled with laughter and slapped Steele on the back. Steele’s dark eyes watched her intently, his hands shoved into his expensive slacks with a cocky smirk. If she couldn’t see right through him, those eyes would have come close to eating her soul.
Who had eyes that dark? Satan?
“Well, have fun on your vacation, Mitchel. I have something to take care of that is time-consuming.”
“Wait a minute,” Mitchel said. “How are things going here?”
“Good,” Emmie said, eyeing the bathroom door, willing both girls to stay put. “I’ve sent out our agenda. Laura is back to square one, and Tara is bringing me something later today.”
“What about Ariel? Where is she?” Mitchel asked.
She opened her mouth to make up some bologna when the bathroom door swung open, and Jasmine and Ariel both walked out. Jasmine quickly answered the ringing phone, leaving Ariel standing with her mouth open like a ten-year-old had just realized boys were cute.
Awkwardness slid over them like nails on a chalkboard.
“Ariel, how is your pitch for Lady Cosmetic’s coming?” Mitchel asked.
Ariel’s eyes focused on Steele, and Emmie’s patience began to grow thin until it became clear. It was evident in the way he avoided Ariel’s gaze that he was the one who didn’t take her home.
For crying out loud.
Emmie couldn’t help but chuckle, which drew everyone’s attention. “Ariel had a tough weekend, but she and I are sitting down this morning to figure this out. Ariel, you can meet me in my office.”
She looked at Emmie with thankful eyes. “Have a good day, Mr. Jones.”
Mitchel pulled his ringing phone from his pocket and held up a finger, stepping to the side to talk.
Emmie sighed, looking down at her watch, thinking about her mile-long to-do list and how trivial chitchat would not get her emails worked.
“One year,” he said.
She looked up from her watch to Steele, staring at her with a small smile. She would be a liar if she didn’t admit that he was good-looking. However, Emmie had never been the girl to trip over herself because of a man, and Steele Reeves wasn’t any different.
“One year what?” she asked.
He leaned in closer toward her, his woodsy scent hitting her soul. “I’ve been working here for one year.”
“Good for you,” she said sarcastically. “I’ve been here four.”
“I can’t imagine why such a fun gal like you would have missed the Christmas party last year. You would have known I worked here, or maybe get out of your office or the second floor once in a while.”
Emmie glanced at the wall clock behind his head, not caring that he followed her gaze. Steele lifted his dark brows, stepped a little closer, and leaned in to whisper, “She was sloppy drunk.”
“Who?” Emmie asked dumbly.
Steele sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and let it pop dramatically. “You know who.”
“Listen,” she said, looking over her shoulder to see Mitchel animatedly talking on his phone. “You don’t have to defend yourself to me because I couldn’t care any less. Maybe save the excuse for one of your office flings?”
“Ouch,” he said, placing his palm over his chest. Emmie noticed how his button-down stretched over his pecs and biceps with the movement. “You think so highly of me. Office flings?”
This guy must deem her completely clueless. She’d heard his name around the office and knew Laura had gone out with him a few times and considered him a cuddy buddy, not to mention hurting Ariel’s feelings. His reputation was no secret.
“I work a lot, but I have ears. I’ve heard a few things about you that I would consider flaky. But as I said, it doesn’t matter to me.”
Steele let his head fall back, and he laughed a deep chuckle that Emmie felt in her stomach. “Office player and flaky? Jeez, what a perspective you have.”
“Funny you should talk about perspective, because yours of yourself is a complete load of—”
“Sorry, that was my wife. Woman drives me crazy,” Mitchel said.
“That’s okay,” she smiled. “I have to go—”
“Did y’all get acquainted?” Mitchel asked.
Steele laughed. “You can call it that. I’m sure Ms. Lovely and I will have fun over the next two weeks. I’ll keep her in line.”
Mitchel liked to hear that. “Great. We’ll let you get back to work. Keep up the good job.”
“See you soon,” Steele said, giving her a finger wave.
Emmie contemplated tossing Jasmine’s stamper at his head.
“Good riddance,” she mumbled.
Emmie walked back toward her office, listening to the sound of her shoes clicking against the tile and the distant sound of fingers on keyboards, when she heard a soft blubber.
She stopped in her tracks, turned, and looked in the kitchen, seeing Tara and Jasmine hovering over a crying Ariel. Aggravated, Emmie swallowed the slew of grow-ups that lingered and walked inside, placing one hand on her slender hip.
“Ariel,” Emmie said nicely. She turned to look at Emmie; her mascara peppered her under eye, and her mouth turned down into a permanent pout. “Do you need to go home?”
She shook her head, leaned over, and grabbed a napkin to blow her nose in from the depths of her purse. “No. I need some coffee, and I’ll be okay. Maybe we can push drinks up this week?”
She inwardly groaned. “It’s Monday,” Emmie said. “What are we, retired women of rich businessmen? Miami Wives? Where is my margarita, Julio?” she asked in a Spanish accent.
“Don’t quit your day job,” Tara said behind her coffee cup.
Jasmine gave Emmie a look. “Okay, get cleaned up, and we can get started on your pitch. And Ariel,” she said, “don’t waste another tear on that jerk.”
Ariel shrugged. “It was obvious it was him?”
Emmie nodded. “And it’s obvious he isn’t worth it.”
Tara leaned against the wall opposite them and took a drink of her coffee. “He might not be worth the tears, but worth that orgasm, I’m sure. Have y’all not noticed his body? He could give Asgard a run for their money.”
Emmie couldn’t disagree because she’d just checked him out herself.
“Not helping,” Emmie said. “Have y’all not heard the rumors about him?”
Tara shrugged.
“We can talk about it over drinks tonight. Right now, we need to go back to work,” Emmie said.
Ariel stood up, took a huge breath, and tossed her napkin into the trash. “Okay, let’s get to work.”
Finally, some work on the horizon.
