Page 99 of Playing Dirty
He gives a small, stiff wave. There's no avoiding it now. We're going to have to do the thing, the polite, excruciating hello, and get it over with.
"Shit," I breathe. "He's seen me. No, don't deck anyone, Dot, I'll handle it. I'll just... I'll be right back."
I abandon my glass on the table and navigate the sea of guests toward him, my legs feeling like they belong to a complete stranger. He's tall and wiry, the physical antithesis of Cillian.
Where Cillian radiates an effortless, extroverted confidence and a warmth that feels like a physical embrace, Jason has always relied on a calculated charm, a thin veneer of smugness that tricks the world into seeing him as friendly and fun, when the reality is far more hollow. I mistook that veneer for depth once. I married it.
"Margot." He closes the distance, scratching the back of his head. "I, ah... I'm sorry I didn't give you a heads-up abouttonight. I figured you'd be occupied at your... boyfriend's game or something."
I suppose he's been keeping tabs on the news cycles lately, or perhaps the gossip mill in town is simply that efficient. He doesn't live in Solstice Ridge, but he does pass through on occasion.
"Yes, well, I'm heading over there shortly," I say, the words sounding brittle even to my own ears.
"Oh, right. I'm sure it'll be a great event." He shifts his weight awkwardly, then gestures vaguely toward my dress. "You look really beautiful, Margot."
"Please don't do that," I say, rubbing my temple as the familiar, heavy pressure of a headache begins to bloom. "Just... don't."
"Oh, come on, Margot," he says, a small smile playing at his lips. "I know things are a bit strained, but we never actually hated each other. I'm not flirting, I promise, I just think you look lovely. I'm sure the hockey star realizes how lucky he is."
A cold, sharp flare of rage ignites in my chest. Never hated each other. No, the truth is he never hated me, and I was too much of a coward to ever voice exactly how much his betrayal cost me, so I just stood there and let him walk all over me while I drafted his excuses for him.
"I saw the write-up on the new label, by the way. That's all you, isn't it?" His head tilts. "I always knew you'd do something big. You were the smartest person in any room."
"Yeah, thanks. It's been a real labor of love." I give him a thin smile, unwilling to offer more than politeness. My thumb finds the bare spot on my left hand where his ring used to sit, an old tic I thought I'd retired years ago.
He nods. "Well, good for you on all of it. The job, the success, dating the hockey guy. Not the kind of man I'd have pictured for you, but hey."
"He is wonderful to me," I say, "which is a nice change of pace."
He lifts his hands defensively. "Babe, I..."
"Do not call me babe," I hiss. "What is wrong with you?"
"I'm sorry, force of habit." He winces, looking momentarily ashamed. "Look, I didn't mean anything by it. It's just... you know how much I regret what happened. And seeing you with a man like that, with his kind of reputation, I worry. I'd hate to see you get hurt again."
"Like the wayyouhurt me?" I ask, the audacity of it stealing my breath.
"It's why I feel this protective instinct," he says, his voice dropping into something low and confiding. "Because I know the damage that causes and I've lived with that regret every single day. You'reeverything, Margot. If I could just go back and change the choices I made so we were still?—"
"Stop. Just stop," I whisper. The party has gone strange and far away, like I'm hearing it through water. "I need to leave. We really don't need to do this."
"There you are!"
A woman materializes at his shoulder, young and stylish, carrying two glasses of champagne. She hands him one, and his arm automatically settles at the small of her back, and my breath hitches in my throat.
"Sorry, am I interrupting a moment?" she asks, looking genuinely sweet and entirely oblivious.
"Not at all." He looks down at her with the same charming smile he just used on me. "Chelsea, this is Margot. Margot, meet Chelsea."
"It’s a delight to meet you," Chelsea chirps, her face radiating a genuine sweetness that acts as the absolute final straw for my frayed nerves.
I study her, so youthful and entirely oblivious to the reality of the man beside her. Because men like him don't change; infidelity is written into their DNA. She’s blind to the truth of what’s standing right there, beaming at her as if she’s the centerof the universe. It’s a performance I once fell for hook, line, and sinker.
Is history about to repeat itself with me?
The thought hits me like a physical blow, sudden and toxic. Cillian, the NHL’s most notorious bachelor. The gossip columns, the scandalous reputation, the exhausting rotation of women who occupied my spot before I arrived—not to mention the thousands who are currently desperate to take it from me.
He wouldn't. I believe that with every fiber of my being. Yet the terrace is suddenly too small, the air too thin, as the old poison begins to seep into my thoughts, questioning every certain thing I have, pulling me toward a darkness I know far too well.
