The Game Plan (Game On, #3)(46)

I glare down at my hand, my fingers slowly curling into a fist. But for some odd reason, I start to think of Ethan’s hand wrapping around mine, holding me down as he slides into me.

“You feel so good, Cherry.” Brilliant eyes of green-gold and amber look at me with glazed wonder. “Nothing better on Earth than this.”

“Fiona? You okay?”

I suck in a breath and glance up at Elena, who hovers. “Yep. All good.” Not entirely true. But I’m calmer. Able to speak, anyway. “Anything else?”

She frowns a little. “Ah…no.”

“Okay. Well, I’m getting some coffee then.”

I leave her standing there. For now I’m calm. But every step I take hammers it in: I hate this. I hate this.

It occurs to me that I have to be a little more proactive. Take the bull by the horns. I am woman, hear me roar and all that.

I wait until the end of the day to make my move. Yes, I’m that brave.

“Felix? You have a moment?” I clutch my clammy hands behind the folds of my skirt.

Felix looks up from his laptop. A tiny white espresso cup sits beside it, which means he’s probably reading up on celebrity gossip. “Sure, sweetie.”

Sweetie? I want to gag. And now that I’ve worked up the nerve to approach him, I actually have to talk. Part of me really wants to laugh. I have absolutely no trouble talking to people. I don’t think I could go a day without saying something to someone, even if it’s just to tell a person they have on cute shoes.

But now a golf-ball-sized lump of panic is lodged in my throat, and it’s all I can do just to get my ass in the chair opposite Felix.

“Want an espresso?” He gives me an overly friendly smile, the one he uses on clients he fears might be difficult. So I know he isn’t exactly unaware of why I’m here.

“No. I’m good.” I focus on his eyes. Always look them in the eye. Reminds you that you're talking to another human. Nothing more. “You…ah…made Elena associate designer?”

Everything inside of me wants to scream, maybe throw Felix’s coffee onto his pristine white leather Corbusier lounge chair.

With an expansive sigh, he sits back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Yes, I did, hon.”

“I thought you weren’t going to make that decision until next month.”

“Fiona, I understand that you’re disappointed.” His tone is so patronizing, I have to dig my nails into my palms to keep from twitching. “But you and I both know it was coming to this.” He takes a dainty sip of his macchiato. “I simply sped up the process.”

“Is it…” I suck back a sobbing breath. “Is it because I went on vacation?”

His cup clinks on the glass desktop. “God, no.” He regards me for a moment, his dark eyes almost sad. “Elena simply has an edge that you do not. Namely, contacts.”

This time a sob does escape me, only it sounds kind of a like a laugh. “You promoted her because of her mother?”

“No, because of her mother’s friends. She has lots and lots of friends with lots and lots of cash.” He smiles slyly. “Her designs 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 above board. Frankly, I assumed you’d be more 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 f*ck himself with one of his 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 manage to 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 is next door to them. See if anyone wants sandwiches. Not me. I’m skipping lunch this week.”