The Play (Chicago Nights Book 1) Read online

  The Play

  A Chicago Nights Novel

  Natalie Wrye

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  Copyright © 2020 by Natalie Wrye.

  No part of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system without the written permission of the author (except for the use of brief quotations in a book review).

  Cover Design: Najla Qamber Designs

  Editing: Sandra Shipman + Kara Hildebrand

  For and to My Family:

  For always supporting me every step of the way, through thick and thin. Believing in me. And loving me.

  You four are literally the wind beneath my wings.

  I’d sing the song, if I had a better voice.

  About THE PLAY

  Becoming enemies with your neighbor is never a good idea.

  What’s even worse is when the neighbor is an incredibly hot client.

  Baseball god Sevin Smith is no longer just the noisy bachelor living above me. Now he’s the MVP client I have to protect from a paternity scandal, and I’m not thrilled that my boss has me on the case.

  That’s fine. I can pretend and work with a man who’s become my enemy.

  But what I can’t pretend is not to be attracted to him.

  Not to fall for his sexy laugh and easy smile. And I definitely can’t pretend I’m not falling for the spunky eight year old kid that may or may not be his.

  Yes, I admit it: Becoming enemies with your neighbor—the sexy sports star—is never a good idea.

  But falling in love with him might be the worst idea of all…

  Chapter 1

  EMILY

  CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

  Thursday night

  Was there anything sadder than wearing sexy lingerie under your Armani skirt suit, knowing no one would see it?

  I wasn’t sure, but if I had to take a poll, I’m sure the answer would be right up there with crushing on your sister’s boyfriend or falling over your discarded shoes on your two AM trip to the bathroom.

  Thirty minutes ago, when I realized Jason wasn’t showing up for our date, I couldn’t have imagined that my night could get worse than that typical two AM bathroom trip.

  Maybe… I was wrong. So very wrong.

  Heading home to slip quickly out of my little black dress and into a business suit wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when this night started out either, but I throw my shoulders back anyway, tying the belt around my trench coat tighter.

  Because when you get a call from your boss, you can’t say no. Even late at night.

  The early March Chicago weather is cold this year, made chillier by my lack of love life, and the second I march up to that familiar brick building, I swipe my key card at a sensor most people rarely take the time to see, trying not to be upset at another start to a weekend…

  Alone.

  The inside of the lobby when I enter is quiet, cold. At this hour, it’s dark, and with nothing but the sound of my high heels clicking to keep me company, I reach the end of the hall, my finger poised to the elevator button.

  Somebody’s finger makes it there first. I jump at the touch.

  “So,” the owner of the finger presses without preamble. “Did you do it? Did you bring Jason home?” My favorite colleague’s voice lowers. “Are you wearing the lingerie we picked out? Did you puff, powder and primp your nether regions just like I told you?”

  I sigh, stepping into the elevator alongside him. My eyes focus on the ceiling.

  “Fuck Jason.”

  Ben chuckles. “That’s exactly what I thought you were going to do.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but not a thing is going on with my nether regions tonight. Jason… He’s a jackass.”

  “Well, damn… I helped you pick out La Perla for tonight, and it was all for a jackass. What the hell happened? I thought that tonight was going to be the night.”

  “You know,” I finally look over. “For a communications consultant, you’re sure not picking up on my non-verbal cues.”

  “That’s because they’re all pointing to signs that you didn’t get laid. And I’m not accepting that.”

  “Accept it, please. And never mention it again.” I huff. “Besides, I didn’t say that I was definitely going to sleep with him,” I correct slowly, “I said it was a possibility that tonight was going to be the night. Possibly. And that was true, until I sat there for an hour at the restaurant, stood-up and sadly sipping my wine like an All American Reject. Wasn’t exactly my idea of a good date night.”

  Ben exhales, his chin dipping to his collar. He throws his hands on his hips. “That sucks.”

  “I know.”

  “Almost as much as being called in for a work meeting at nine o’clock on a Thursday night.” He smirks. Just as the elevator stops. The doors part.

  “If Stephan hears you say that, he’ll have your balls.” I walk out, heading towards the conference room with Ben trailing a foot behind me. He leans in to whisper.

  “He already has my balls. And since our boss is the sexiest man in Chicago, I say he can keep them. My balls look better in Stephan’s hands than they do on my body, I’m sure.”

  “What’s this about me having your balls in my hand?”

  A pair of footsteps turns the corner and Stephan Knight, walking shadow that he is, steps right into sight, making Ben and I stop.

  My gaze trails over him.

  Over the salt and peppered hair. The broad shoulders. That jaw.

  His midnight blue eyes are the color of his collared shirt, and each smoky iris is fixed on us as he welcomes us inside. “Glad you guys could make it.”

  As if we had a choice.

  Ben is certainly not lying; Stephan Knight might be the sexiest man in Chicago. But he also might be the scariest.

  The former Chicago District Attorney is anything if not surprising, and with this spur-of-the-moment meeting, I’m certain of only one other thing tonight besides that fact that I’m not getting laid.

  We have a new client.

  The almost-midnight meeting tells me so.

  The offices of The Firm Crisis and Emergency Management are half-lit, and so are my senses, each part of my body thrumming in anticipation of tonight’s news.

  In the conference room, I take a seat at the long, rounded table next to Ben. Stephan, of course, sits at the head, his eyes alert as additional sets of footsteps join us.

  Kayla, Bowen and Sabrina make six, and so the meeting begins. Stephan cuts to the chase.

  “We have an assignment, people.” He steeples his long elegant fingers. “And it’s a good one.”

  I can see the excitement in his eyes as he stands to his feet.

  Wow, this really must be good.

  Stephan walks to the whiteboard on the wall, turning to face us all.

  “This is an in-house job, guys, so I want everyone to pay attention. Kayla, take out the file. Ben, get the lights. Emily?”

  My ears perk up. “Yes?”

  “I want you taking notes.” Stephan glares at me. “This case has a lot of entertainment law in it. And since that’s your specialty as of late, I’m going to need you on this assignment like bread on butter. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Crystal.” I’m already taking out a pen and paper, my hand poised. Electricity skims over the surface of my skin.

  Here we go.

  Waiting for a night like this has
been a long time in the making, and fortunately the wait has nothing to do with that asshole Jason but my own career.

  I was barely skimming by when I joined The Firm hardly making rent. My entire client list was friends and family—referral-only, and though my fees were not cheap, I’d come to discover that unfortunately nothing about living in downtown Chicago was cheap either.

  Especially my rent.

  Six months ago, I was nowhere near being on the street but funds were dwindling. Add student loans, the cost of running my own law operations and ailing grandparents, and I was practically bleeding dollar bills, the short-term success I was starting to enjoy ripping away at the seams.

  I’d been a secretary in New York, for God’s sake. A naive law grad with little money.

  Funny how life could humble you in half a year, and at my new job, that was still the case.

  I was the new girl, Stephan Knight’s most recent employee. And he hadn’t so much as looked at me until tonight.

  I’m practically vibrating as he rattles off this assignment, his blue eyes on fire. I watch him.

  “Kayla,” he shoots towards the PR agent as Ben flicks on more lights. “Can you read the file to the room, please?”

  One of my closest friends clears her throat, her dark hair bobbing as she brings the folder closer to her nose. She starts.

  “I had a client—excuse me—almost had a client. And he’s close to The Firm family. About eight months ago, I was set to becoming Sevin Smith’s PR agent. But,” she sighs loudly, “when my fiancé and Sevin went into business together, I resigned because of a conflict of interest. And Sevin has yet to hire a new PR agent.”

  “Which, I’m guessing, leaves little Mr. MVP open to all types of public scrutiny with no protection?” Ben leans forward.

  “Exactly. And he needs it more than ever…” Kayla huffs out soundly. “Because he’s being blackmailed for a million dollars.”

  The room falls still.

  “An old fling is claiming that Sevin’s the father of her child, and she wants to be paid to go away. She saw me on the news with Sevin a few months ago, and now she’s contacted me, threatening to go public. To tell everyone that Chicago’s shiniest new import is ‘nothing but a deadbeat dad.’” Kayla closes the folder, lancing us with those sharp oceanic blue eyes. Her lips are pressed shut. “End quote.”

  And the air grows thick. Made thicker by the fact that I have no idea who this Sevin guy is, and everyone else does.

  There’s a new gloom added to the room. A moment of silence.

  We always have a moment of silence.

  Probably for the possible death of our clients’ reputations. If we were to ever lose a case. Because we don’t.

  Stephan’s stare reminds us as he claps his hands.

  “So, is that clear? Emily…” His eyes go to me. “I want you as primary on this case. This is your area of expertise and I want you working beside Kayla and Ben as we figure out how to keep this out of the press and deal with the legal demands of this ex-groupie’s sudden paternity claims, if any. Until we prove that Sevin is the father, or likely isn’t, I don’t want a word of this breathed to the outside world. Bowen.” He glances at the tall chiseled man on the other side of the room. “You make sure this groupie knows the meaning of silence. We begin work tonight. Everyone understand?”

  The rest of the room nods. I stay still.

  Stephan starts rattling off a set of new instructions, and his five employees go flying.

  I’m already logging into my “Family Law” files on my phone as another cog in The Firm’s wheel when Ben sidles up to me. Face flushed, his manicured hands high, he taps his handsome cleft chin, checking my face, a small smile framing his full lips. He watches me closely.

  “So…this is big, isn’t it?”

  “Your ego. Why, yes, it is. And admitting it is the first step.” I flash him a grin for a second, and he grins back, the epitome of arrogant composure. He crosses his arms.

  “Stephan has you leading one of his cases. This is huge. Six months at The Firm and you’ve already earned his confidence. That has to mean something.”

  “Yes, it means that I can pay next month’s rent. And I hope that’s all you’re implying…”

  “I’m a Communications Consultant. I don’t imply. I say things outright. And I’m saying that if Jason doesn’t bite, then you might want to put that Jason-La Perla lingerie to good use. Preferably with someone else who could appreciate it. Someone single. Someone handsome. Someone like…”

  “If you say Stephan, I will literally go 2007 Britney Spears on you.”

  Ben shudders, one hand flying to his chest. He gapes. “Excuse you very much. I would never say Stephan.” His voice lowers. “Especially when I plan on saving him for myself.”

  I frown. “So who are you talking about then?”

  “I’m talking about Sevin Smith.”

  “Jesus, Ben. The client? I’m a lot of things, but dumb and desperate aren’t any of them. And I don’t get it… Sevin Smith?” I ask, genuinely perplexed. “Who is he anyway? Is he an actor?”

  “Actor?” His clean-shaven chin cocks. “Oh honey, you’ve got to read a blog at least once in a while.” He reaches for his cell phone, typing a few words before showing me the screen, his face serious as I lean in to look.

  What I see takes my breath away. This Sevin guy is gorgeous. No doubt about that.

  A headline flashes before my eyes—some campy title about championships and franchise legacies but I’m too busy staring at the featured man’s face, rugged and stubbled beneath a Chicago Cougars baseball cap.

  Ben has to remove the phone for me to stop staring. He winks down at me. “A complete dish, isn’t he?”

  I nod, not knowing what to say. “Sure. He’s a…whole meal, I guess.”

  “A shame you two didn’t hit it off.” Ben tucks his phone away. “If you had,” he whispers between tightened lips, “you might have had a chance at sampling some of that hunk. Well, if I don’t get to him first.”

  I can’t hold back the scowl that decorates my face. I incline closer to Ben. “What are you talking about? I don’t even know the guy.”

  “Oh, but you do. I’d say you know him rather…intimately.”

  The air tenses with his suggestion, and suddenly I have to struggle to breathe. That can only mean…

  I exhale. “You mean this Sevin guy’s my…?”

  “Late night bedroom scream-fest a floor above? Yup.” He announces with a pop. “And I can’t wait to accidentally bump into him on the elevator in the next few days. It’s already been confirmed. Emily,” he breathes, “Sevin’s your new neighbor. At least that’s what I overheard Stephan telling Bowen. Since that sexy bastard knows everything.”

  And the minute Ben says it, I know it’s true. Because Stephan does know everything.

  The air gains an extra thousand ounces of weight. And suddenly I can’t breathe.

  Having to prove myself at this job is one thing; proving it while holding a stick of dynamite is another.

  And this neighbor is a stick of dynamite, one that’s already exploding.

  The tension in my apartment building was already teeming between the two of us, the anger palpable. I’d already called the cops on the “Noise Nuisance” more times than I could count, and not once—but twice—he’d left little notes on the building’s bulletin board, taunting me like a child, dangling his sex life and my obvious lack-thereof like a proverbial carrot in front of my face.

  It was like middle school all over again. Only with high-priced apartments.

  And suddenly I feel sick.

  My discreet new boss just gave me an assignment for my not-so-discreet enemy of a neighbor. And I have to take it.

  Makes me wonder if the almighty Stephan can hear my thoughts now. Or if he knows about the La Perla lingerie I’m hiding.

  Whatever my rich attractive Ben-stalked boss does know, I hope it has nothing to do with how much I hate our new client. And how
I’m considering killing him before this case is all over…

  I bite the inside of my cheek, leaving the conference room, wishing that my worries were only as small as a bathroom trip at two A.M.

  Because I now have the answer for which is worse.

  Chapter 2

  EMILY

  Friday - midnight

  An entire day doesn’t erase the bad taste from last night’s meeting. And neither does this Kung Pao chicken I’m eating in bed.

  Instead of writing notes like I’m supposed to, I’ve been writing the words, Sevin Smith is my client. Sevin Smith is my client, over and over, but the doodling is no catharsis for my trouble.

  Because my asshole neighbor is my client. And there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.

  I figure if I say the sentence more, it’ll start to make sense.

  The twenty-four hours after Stephan’s secret meeting is stuffed with nothing but research on our new case, and with my head stuffed in my laptop and takeout in my lap, I do my absolute best to avoid the possibility of ever running into Sevin Smith in my apartment building.

  But the time marks eleven o’clock, a full day after the new news.

  I find myself shiftless, looking up paternity statues for the state of Illinois, my eyes tired from the effort.

  Headphones in, Fiona Apple music on, I try not to stare—weary and dry-eyed—at the pile of laundry in the corner of my bedroom where, if everything had gone according to plan last night, Jason might have set up a bottle of wine.

  The La Perla lingerie (the ones Jason once hinted he liked) sits lonely on top of the laundry pile, and I pretend I’m okay with China Taste being my date for the night.

  That I’m okay with being rejected by another guy in an online world where even a man you’ve been dating for two months might ditch you for other options. That I’m okay with going back to wearing my bikini-cut panties with the cartoon characters on them instead of the high-priced, hoping-to-get-laid lingerie.