How to Play the Player (The How To #4)
Chapter One
Dallas, Texas
March
Nathan
T wenty dollars for parking in downtown Dallas is highway robbery. I curse under my breath as I navigate through the city’s center. My car’s climate control barely keeps pace with the Texas humidity outside despite the fact it’s barely spring. Spring in Dallas holds all the charm and toxic behavior of Mother Nature. One minute you’re cold as fuck, and then you’re overheated the next. Not to mention it’s the “perfect” time of year for tornado season and thunderstorms. Today is one of the warm days, thank god.
The convention center looms ahead, a modern building of gleaming windows and sweeping architecture that’s hosting the biggest tech showcase of the year. After circling the block twice—because apparently convenient parking in this city has ceased to exist—I finally claim a spot in an overpriced garage.
The lack of caffeine has my patience hanging by a thread, my body still protesting last night’s preparation marathon. I’d spent hours rehearsing the talking points for today’s presentations, starting with the perfectly crafted script marketing had prepared. By two a.m., I’d scrapped their version entirely and started over. Call me a controlling bastard—most people do—but Knight Industries’ reputation rides on days like this. Details matter.
Despite running on maybe four hours of sleep, I feel ready. Or as ready as anyone can be when representing a top tech company at the industry’s premier innovation showcase. My sister, Mia Knight, would be giving me that trademarked I-told-you-so look right about now. She’d lecture me about proper rest and self-care. But four hours is a luxury for me, given my usual schedule.
I shoulder my laptop bag while maneuvering the cart of prototypes with the other, weaving through the growing crowd of tech enthusiasts and industry players filling the vast atrium. The convention center thrums with anticipation.
This is where reputations are made or broken, where next year’s breakthrough technologies debut before they hit the mainstream. The annual Dallas Tech Summit draws the biggest names in the industry, all of us competing for attention and market share in one sprawling exhibition space. To the public, it’s a chance to ooh and aah over shiny new gadgets. To those of us on this side of the displays, it’s equal parts chess match and knife fight. We’re all here to scout the competition, forge strategic alliances, and remind everyone why our companies lead the pack.
“Good morning, ma’am.” I manage a professional smile for the silver-haired woman staffing the registration desk. “Nathan Knight, here on behalf of Knight Industries.”
At thirty-five, I’ve become Knight Industries’ chief innovation officer and head of social-media, typically focusing on product development rather than public appearances with a few exceptions as a last-minute stand-in. Knight Industries—with my brother, Jonathan Knight, as CEO and his best friend, Jake Hall, as CTO—usually has our head of PR to attend an event like this. But when she unexpectedly had to call in her maternity leave a week early, and everyone else was too busy, I decided to take one for the team. Not that I mind. Better to have someone who knows the tech inside and out than someone who’d need to read from a script.
After verifying my credentials, the woman highlights a name on her tablet and hands me a sleek badge holder containing my pass, along with a welcome packet. “Your booth location is marked on the digital map,” she explains, pulling up a holographic display that would’ve seemed like science fiction five years ago. “You’ll find water stations and refreshment areas marked in blue. The networking cocktail reception will be at six in the Grand Ballroom.”
“Thank you.” I take the materials, already plotting my path to the nearest coffee vendor. The sooner I get caffeine in my system, the better for everyone involved.
The main exhibition hall is a sensory overload of cutting-edge tech. Some displays float seemingly in midair, showing everything from next-gen smartphones to high-tech computing models. A coffee-making robot that would have impressed even Seattle’s pickiest baristas works its magic to my left. To my right, transparent, advanced flat screens make traditional televisions look as outdated as black-and-white television sets. And straight ahead of me is a startup company demonstrating their new electric vehicle platform steered by a PlayStation controller.
I’m caught between awe and strategic analysis. Each innovation represents both potential competition and possible acquisition targets for Knight Industries’ expanding portfolio. We’ve come a long way in the eight years since Knight Industries launched with the AI social media security software Jonathan and Jake developed in college. Jonathan recruited me for their executive team not long after to helm our social media strategy and innovation pipeline.
Our booth, when I locate it, showcases the clean sophistication Mia insisted on for our brand identity. The Knight Industries logo floats above a pristine white display counter, our signature blue accents drawing the eye without overwhelming it. I position our latest prototypes according to the reference photo Mia sent—because my baby sister would absolutely have a hissy if I deviated from her precise vision. A woman’s touch, she’d call it. And given the fact she’s turned our brand into one of the most recognizable in tech, I’ve learned to trust her instincts.
I step back to photograph the finished setup for her approval when I spot a mobile coffee cart making its way down the aisle.
Perfect timing.
I start in that direction when an achingly familiar female voice stops me cold.
“Nathan?”
Everything in me freezes. That voice. After a year, it still hits hard.
For a moment, I remember her laughing in my kitchen, flour on her nose as she attempted to bake yellow cake with chocolate frosting for my birthday. But the memory vanishes and is quickly replaced by the reminder of why I don’t like to think about her.
Of course she’s here. Our worlds overlap too much for us to avoid each other forever. Both our businesses revolve around tech, even if she works to help maintain a companie’s reputation rather than the innovations themselves. I just hadn’t expected to face her today.
I’d rather keep walking and pretend I didn’t hear her. But something stops me—maybe muscle memory from when that voice used to be my favorite sound in the world, or maybe just the masochistic need to confirm what I already know.
The moment stretches, heavy with everything left unsaid, while I debate whether to acknowledge her or maintain my trajectory toward caffeine and denial. Professional detachment wars with the urge to demand answers I know won’t satisfy.
Coffee will have to wait.
Slowly, I turn to face the woman who’d once meant the world to me.
Quinn Sanders stands in front of me, looking exactly as I remember, yet still somehow different. Her blond hair that I loved grabbing onto falls in loose waves around her face, minimal makeup enhances those blue eyes that used to see right through my defenses. The black dress she wears hugs the curves I once knew better than my own name. The more I stare, the harder it is to ignore my cock stretching against the zipper of my pants.
I force my expression into professional neutrality even as old instincts war with bitter memories. “Ms. Sanders.”
She stiffens at my formal address. Good. She should be uncomfortable. After all, she knows what she did.
“I-I didn’t expect to see you here.” She doesn’t quite meet my eyes. Out of nervousness or guilt? I can’t be sure.
“Last minute change of plans.” I keep my voice clipped, professional. No doubt, as a PR consultant, she’s looking for new industry gossip to exploit, new client secrets to trade for career advancement. A year hasn’t dulled the sting of that particular lesson. “Why are you here?”
She takes a steadying breath, squaring those delicate shoulders. “Like you, I’m promoting myself.”
“Hope they know what they’re getting themselves into,” I murmur.
Her brows draw together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“No need to play dumb with me, sweetie.” The endearment comes out of my mouth sharp enough to cut. “Tell me, do you warn your clients about you spilling their secrets before or after you take their money?”
“A bastard as always, I see.” She shakes her head. “Despite what you still believe, I didn’t do it.”
Before Quinn, I was never a man easily swayed, in business or my personal life. Mia loves comparing me to Mr. Darcy pre-Elizabeth Bennet, calling me outwardly cold and controlled. I prefer to think of it as cautious with a healthy dose of cynicism, both traits that would’ve served me better a year ago had I been more careful.
“Still keeping up the lie, huh? After all this time? Wow, you deserve an award, for sure.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the hurt flashing across her face before she can hide it. “You just have to blame me for every time you don’t get your way, now do you?”
“I’m not the one who screwed me over.”
Rage flickers over her expression, then is quickly reined in. “I’m sorry that happened to your brother’s company, but I’m not at fault.”
“Oh, so it’s mine. Got it.” I scoff, remembering those dark days after the NorthStar deal fell apart.
A year ago, I thought Quinn Sanders was the woman I’d marry. We’d only been together twelve months, but she’d become my anchor, my safe harbor in the storm of growing a tech empire. No other woman had ever come close.
Knight Industries had been on the verge of closing a deal that would’ve cemented our place among the industry leaders across the world. Jake, Jonathan, and I knew landing this client would finally force long-established companies to take us seriously. The contract was all but signed—I’d even planned a celebration with Quinn for after the ink dried. But the day before final signatures, the client pulled out without warning, citing a privacy violation after details of the deal were leaked and had gone viral on social media. Every bit of confidential information I’d shared with Quinn in a moment of misplaced trust was suddenly public knowledge.
I’d placed not just my faith in her completely, but also my heart, my future, and my company’s secrets. That faith was shattered the moment I connected the dots. Only one person outside the core team and the client had known the exact details.
Quinn.
All because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. The one time I’d chosen not to keep business and personal life separate and told the woman I’d planned to marry something she was never supposed to know about, I got fucked over.
I won’t make that mistake again.
“I understand the conclusion you’d come to.” Her voice wavers slightly. “But if we were over right then and there, the least you could’ve done was tell me that to my face. You didn’t have to ghost and humiliate me by posting on social-media—for the whole world to see—you making out and partying with multiple women.”
Her reminder stings, but I rationalize it under remembered betrayal.
Jake, Jonathan, and I tried everything to salvage the NorthStar deal over the course of the following hellish week. But in the end, nothing could undo the damage. I spent days—months—debating with myself whether to hate her or loathe myself as I drowned in anger and shame.
Facing my brother and Jake, after gathering the courage to own up to my mistake, was one of the hardest moments of my life. But they surprised me. Rather than show the anger that I was convinced I deserved, they thanked me for coming clean instead of running away. My brother’s forgiveness was something I struggled with accepting.
But once I did, only the anger remained, razor-sharp and consuming. So I did what any wounded man would do—I made sure the world knew I was single and down to fuck. I didn’t care who I hurt in the process, least of all if she saw what I was doing. And based on this conversation, the message was well received.
“It seemed only fair since you embarrassed me first.”
She pauses, visibly fighting back tears. “Have fun with your whore of the night, whoever she is.” Before I can respond, she turns and walks away, her heels clicking rapidly against the polished floor.
Good riddance.
I spend the rest of the day greeting clients, answering technical questions, and catching up with industry contacts. The constant interaction helps keep my mind off Quinn. At least until tonight, when work can no longer distract me from my thoughts. Then I’ll let the premium vodka and a nameless woman help me forget.