Playing Dirty Read online

  A native of St. Louis, Missouri, Tiffany Snow earned degrees in education and history from the University of Missouri-Columbia, before launching a career in information technology. After nearly fifteen years in IT, she switched careers to what she always dreamed of doing – writing. Tiffany is the author of romantic suspense novels such as the Kathleen Turner series, which includes No Turning Back, Turn to Me, and Turning Point. Since she’s drawn to character-driven books herself, that’s what she loves to write, and the guy always gets his girl.

  She feeds her love of books with avid reading, yet she manages to spare time and considerable affection for trivia, eighties hair bands, the St. Louis Cardinals, and Elvis. She and her husband have two daughters and one dog, whose untimely demise Tiffany contemplates on a daily basis.

  www.tiffanyasnow.com

  www.facebook.com/TiffanyASnow

  www.twitter.com/TiffanyASnow

  Copyright

  Published by Piatkus

  ISBN: 978-0-349-41154-5

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by Tiffany Allshouse

  Excerpt from Play to Win © 2015 by Tiffany Allshouse

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Piatkus

  Little, Brown Book Group

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Play To Win

  This book is dedicated to Jill, for digitally

  holding my hand as we

  slogged through together, one day at a

  time. You’re awesome, Babe.

  PROLOGUE

  Parker watched as Ryker’s truck rolled to a stop in front of the building. Sage emerged from the entry, scurrying across the sidewalk barefoot before climbing into the passenger seat. The truck pulled away from the curb, lost to sight in moments down the avenue.

  He’d heard the door close when she’d gone, leaving him alone in his bed without so much as a word of farewell.

  Not that he could blame her.

  She’d nearly died tonight. Had been moments away. Viktor hadn’t cared if he killed her or not. He’d put a fucking plastic bag over her head and slowly suffocated her.

  Parker’s hands balled into fists just remembering how she’d looked when he’d pulled her out of that car. Deathly pale, her mouth bleeding from where Viktor had hit her, mascara smeared by the tears soaking her cheeks …

  Sage deserved better. Far better. But Parker needed her in his life … in his job. No matter how tempting it was to want to slip into a more personal relationship with her, he knew he couldn’t. Relationships never lasted, and just when you thought you’d found the forever kind of love—it would end. And when it was over … she’d be gone. Permanently.

  Better to let her go with Ryker, a man who’d wanted a wife and kids—a family—for as long as Parker had known him, which had been a helluva long time. Ryker had fascinated Parker when they were young. So unlike the wealthy, cookie-cutter kids that had gone to the private school, the poor kid from the south side of town had been a welcome breath of fresh air.

  Nearly two decades had passed since they’d first met, but some things never changed. Maybe it had been because he’d been raised by a single mom, but Ryker had talked of nothing else but wanting to fall in love and get married. Especially when they’d been deployed and the future sometimes looked grim. Why he wasn’t married already, Parker had no idea.

  Unless he still wasn’t over Natalie.

  Natalie. The woman who’d torn the two of them apart. Obviously, Ryker still blamed Parker for her suicide, his anger and loathing as fresh now as the day they’d found out she’d driven her car into the river.

  Maybe he’d marry Sage.

  That thought was like a kick in the gut.

  Unable to stand the bedroom anymore and unwilling to climb beneath sheets still warm from Sage’s body, Parker walked into the living room. A faint glow from a dim light under the kitchen cabinets filtered in through the space, providing enough illumination for him to pour a healthy shot of scotch.

  Memories assailed him as he stood in the silent apartment, staring blindly out the window. Memories of Sage and the day they’d first met.

  “How many applicants do we have?” he asked the HR rep in charge of helping him find a new secretary.

  She set half a dozen files on his desk. “These were the ones I thought were the most qualified.”

  He glanced through the stack, flipping one open at random, then frowned. “An art history degree qualifies someone to be a secretary?”

  “Executive Administrative Assistant,” she corrected him. “And that’s the least qualified candidate, but she had a solid 3.8 GPA and her application was very well done. I thought an interview couldn’t hurt. I can cancel it, if you’d rather. She’s scheduled last so—”

  “No, it’s fine,” Parker interrupted, tossing aside the files. “Just send them in when they get here.” Surely one of them would work out. And could start immediately. He was drowning under the pile of work and the incessant phone calls.

  “Yes, sir.” She left the office, but Parker barely noticed, already plowing through his inbox, currently cluttered with over two hundred unread e-mails.

  The first applicant was Joanne, a no-nonsense woman who’d spent the last twenty years as assistant to some Wall Street hedge fund manager. He’d retired and she’d moved to Chicago to be closer to her grandchildren. Parker was bored before she’d even gotten to the name of the third one.

  The second applicant chewed gum. In an interview. Nope.

  The third wore a blouse two sizes too small and a skirt so short he had to look away when she crossed her legs or it would go all Basic Instinct on him. She had a predatory look in her eye and Parker would swear she eyed his crotch when he stood to shake her hand.

  The fourth and fifth were both bland possibilities, neither one standing out as particularly ambitious or enthusiastic. Parker wouldn’t want to stereotype—that would be politically incorrect—but if he did, he’d say they both seemed like women biding their time in a temporary job until they married and quit to pop out babies.

  By the time the last one—the art history major—was due, Parker’d had about enough. This interview shit was putting him even further behind. Accounting had just delivered a stack of billables he was supposed to check, he had a meeting in less than thirty minutes that he hadn’t had enough time to prepare for, and he was starving because he’d had to work through lunch. Irritated didn’t begin to describe his current mood.<
br />
  A tentative knock sounded on the glass door and he didn’t even glance up as he called out a “Come in.” He heard the door open as he shifted a stack of folders. That Carlson file had to be around here somewhere …

  “Just have a seat,” he said. “I’ll be with you in a mo—” Glancing up, his words abruptly cut off.

  The woman who’d entered his office was drop-dead gorgeous. Not pretty. No, way more than that—curvy and sexy, with legs up to there, and thick chestnut hair down to there. Her body looked like it had been made for sex, lovingly encased in a peach dress that hugged every delicious curve. The neckline was demure, scooped and only hinting at what lay beneath. The hemline teased, hitting right above her knees. The skin of her legs was so perfect, Parker couldn’t tell if she was wearing nylons or not. But then he caught sight of her shoes, bronze sandals that wrapped around her ankle on top of a three-inch heel.

  And her toes were painted the exact shade of her dress.

  “Hi, I’m Sage Reese.”

  The voice was throaty and smooth like twenty-year-old scotch, and made Parker jerk his gaze up to her face. She was smiling, a warm, open smile that showed perfect white teeth. Her eyes were the same shade of mahogany as her hair, framed in lush, dark lashes.

  She was holding her hand out expectantly and Parker jumped to his feet, thrusting his hand toward her and knocking over the entire stack of Accounting files in the process.

  Shit.

  “Oh no!” she exclaimed. “That was totally my fault.” She dropped down and started picking up the scattered files, treating Parker to first a view down her cleavage, then one of the fabric of her dress stretched tight across her hips and ass as she bobbed up and down.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said hurriedly. “Just leave it.” This time he grabbed her wrist when she placed a file back on his desk. Her bones felt fragile beneath soft skin and he quickly let go. He gestured to one of the two chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

  Her smile wasn’t quite as wide now, but she sat down. Parker fished through the disaster on his desk, looking for her file while the silence grew long and awkward. He felt incompetent and unprepared, her appearance throwing him off, which was ridiculous. It wasn’t as though he’d never been with a beautiful woman before.

  The phrase been with provoked all the wrong kind of images for a work setting and he cleared his throat, banishing those thoughts as he finally laid hands on her file and flipped it open.

  “Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself, Sage?” he asked, trying to recover what was left of a first impression. She probably thought he was a disorganized, unprofessional klutz.

  “Um, sure. Well, I graduated magna cum laude from the University of Chicago with a degree in art history. I interned at the Art Institute of Chicago—”

  “And why didn’t they hire you?” he interrupted, glancing up from the pages.

  Her cheeks flushed. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think there was an open position.”

  He’d embarrassed her, and he could have kicked himself for the tactless question. It wasn’t like they would’ve told her a reason for not hiring her even if they’d had a job available.

  “Do you have any experience with investment banking?” he asked, hurrying to change the subject. Her eyes were focused on him, deep and fathomless, and he had to look away. He flipped through her application and résumé, barely seeing the words.

  “Um, no.”

  “Any experience with the stock market? Hedge funds? Economics? Finance?” She shook her head after each one, her cheeks growing redder with each word. “Ever been a secreta—administrative assistant—before?”

  “No.” Her voice was quiet, and even the small smile she’d had earlier was nowhere in sight now.

  Parker felt like a schmuck now, but what the hell was he supposed to do? It was an interview, not a date.

  “Are you from Chicago?” he asked, wanting to hear something from her other than a No.

  “Lake Forest,” she replied, naming one of the wealthiest suburbs of Chicago.

  “Sisters? Brothers?” Boyfriend? Husband? He knew he couldn’t ask the last two, but wished he could. He hadn’t spied a ring earlier, but nowadays, that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

  “Only child.”

  Daddy’s little princess. He could see it on her as clearly as if she’d had it bedazzled on the dress she wore. Which begged the question, why was she interviewing for a job like this when surely she could live with her parents until something in her field opened up?

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said.

  He doubted it.

  “You’re thinking why would I apply for a job I have absolutely no qualifications for,” she continued.

  Okay, maybe she did know what he was thinking.

  Tossing the file onto the desk, Parker sat back in his chair and waited.

  “I’m smart,” she said. “I’m a hard worker, and a quick learner.”

  “You have zero business experience at all,” Parker said bluntly.

  “I had a minor in business,” she said, somewhat defensive.

  A minor. Practically nothing more than a few economics classes about how to balance a checkbook. But he didn’t say that.

  “Can you at least type?”

  “Yes, I can type,” she said, sounding affronted.

  “You’re an art history major,” he said flatly. “It was a valid question.”

  The corners of her lips lifted slightly in an almost smile. It entranced him. Then he found he was staring at her mouth and jerked his gaze away.

  She swallowed, her next words seeming to take an effort to get out. “I need this job. I have bills to pay. Please, Mr. Anderson. Give me a chance. I won’t disappoint you.”

  Considering her background, it was odd that she’d need a job quite that badly. Had her parents fallen on hard times? Maybe they’d disowned her? He felt a pang of sympathy at the thought—uncharacteristic for him—and he frowned, which was the wrong thing to do because her face immediately fell as she misinterpreted his response.

  She shot to her feet. “I’m sorry for wasting your time,” she blurted. “I’ll just go.” She looked near tears, which was the proverbial final straw. He mentally cursed his weakness for tears on a pretty girl.

  “Wait,” he called, halting her on her way out the door. She turned back. “This job won’t be easy and you’ll probably be working more than forty hours a week,” he cautioned, wondering if he was out of his mind. Not only was she inexperienced, he didn’t know if he could trust himself around her. And he refused to be the cliché boss screwing his secretary.

  Administrative Assistant.

  Fuck.

  “I can do that,” she said, hope lighting up in her eyes.

  “If you don’t cut it, then you’ll be let go,” he warned.

  “I understand.”

  Coming out from behind his desk, Parker approached her, noting the subtle scent of her perfume as he drew closer. Holding out his hand, he said, “When can you start?”

  Her smile was blinding as she placed her hand in his, and Parker knew he’d made a huge mistake the minute their skin touched. He’d just consigned himself to God only knew how much torture. If he hadn’t hired her, he could’ve asked her out, taken her to dinner … then to bed. All of which was utterly out of the question now.

  “Thank you so much, sir,” she enthused. “I won’t let you down. I promise.”

  Parker’s expression was grim, he knew, so he mustered a faint smile. “See you tomorrow morning, Sage. Seven-thirty.”

  “Absolutely.” She’d nodded, still smiling, then turned and left. Her scent had lingered in the air of his office. He’d scrubbed a hand over his face in frustrated resignation. He’d made his bed. Now he had to lie in it. If he had any luck at all, she’d hate the job and quit.

  But she hadn’t hated the job. She’d taken to being his assistant like she’d been born to it, their communicatio
n clicking immediately into place. Somehow, she’d understood him, the job, and what he needed almost without trying. In a frighteningly short amount of time, she’d become indispensable to him.

  And he’d liked her. Besides being so attracted to her it made concentrating difficult sometimes when she was in his office—like when she was crawling around on the floor in her skirt and bare feet, emptying box after box of documents—he enjoyed her personality. Funny, a bit quirky, almost always lighthearted and positive, she was his own personal breath of fresh air in the stale business environment that sometimes felt suffocating.

  In the end he was glad he’d hired her, even though it ruled out anything physical between them, because it meant their relationship could continue. Because if he hadn’t hired her and had dated her instead, he had no doubt it would have been short-lived. He didn’t do relationships. Not even with Sage. Especially not with Sage.

  Watching her date other men had been hard, and if someone were to ask him if he’d deliberately sabotaged those short-lived relationships, he’d deny it. But deep down, he knew that jealousy had played a factor in how often he called her when he knew she was out with another man. Was it fair to either of them? No. Yet he hadn’t been able to stop himself.

  And now she’d chosen to go from his bed to Ryker’s. Jealousy was too pale of a word to describe how that made him feel, but if the last couple of weeks had shown him anything, it was that he needed to let it go. He’d flat-out turned her down, which had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. To know, definitively and not just as a guess, that Sage wanted him had been a heady thing. The feel of her in his arms, the press of her lips against his … the sight of her naked in that bathtub, her soap-slickened hands touching her breasts, her stomach—

  Parker tossed back the rest of the scotch in one swallow, forcing the images from his mind. He had to stop obsessing, and stop sabotaging her. It wasn’t fair to Sage, and it was just his own fucking bad luck that he had to figure this out now, when she was with Ryker, than before when she’d been dating what’s-his-name. The guy she’d said had been bad in bed.

  His lips twisted at that. She’d been so adorably embarrassed when she’d blurted that out he’d had a hard time not laughing outright, until he’d realized that she’d only know that because she’d slept with him. Then the green monster had dug into his gut and he’d been viciously glad to have interrupted her date the night before.