Love between Players

"No! You can't do that!" Justin's voice thundered across the opulent office, startling Welsh, the man who'd been his shadow for years—his personal assistant, confidant, and surrogate brother. Justin rarely lost control like this, but the idea of Welsh leaving him sent a spike of dread through his core.

"It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, sir," Welsh began, his voice trembling but steady with resolve. "I love her. And I would give up the world for her. This job means everything to my wife. I can't ask her to throw it away—not when it's all she's ever dreamed of. I have to move with her. No long-distance. No half-measures."

Justin slammed his hands on the mahogany desk, rattling a crystal tumbler of bourbon perched precariously at its edge. "Welsh, please… you know how hard it is for me to trust people. You've been with me through everything! Who the hell am I supposed to trust with this position? With *me*?"

Welsh sighed deeply, his loyalty clear in the slump of his shoulders. The weight of his decision crushed him too. "I have someone in mind. My cousin. He's brilliant, Justin. Smart, reliable, discrete. I trust him with my life. I've sent his CV to your email."

Justin barely heard him. Welsh's absence wasn't just a professional loss; it was deeply personal. Welsh knew *everything.* The tightly guarded secrets, the sleepwalking episodes that left him chained to his bed for safety—things he wouldn't trust to anyone else.

"Damn it, Welsh," Justin muttered, his voice cracking despite himself. "I'll double your salary. No—triple it. I'll find Vivian a better job here. I'll do *anything*. Just… don't go."

"It's not about the money," Welsh said, his voice thick with resolve. "Vivian has always put me first. She'd turn down this offer if I asked. But it's my turn to put her first. Please, Justin, let me go."

A long silence hung between them. Finally, Justin's shoulders sagged in resignation, though his jaw twitched with suppressed fury. "Fine," he said hoarsely. "But you're staying until I find someone else. When are you leaving?"

"In three weeks," Welsh replied softly. "Thank you, Justin. You've been more of a best friend than a boss."

Justin's curt nod was the only acknowledgment he could manage. When Welsh finally exited the office, Justin buried his head in his hands, simmering.

His phone buzzed. The name on the screen made his tension morph into a groan of despair—Riley. His chaotic sister, the one person who could worsen his mood with a single word.

"Heeeeeey, big brother," she sang, her dramatic tone instantly grating. "Tell me! How was last night?"

Last night. Memories of Leticia—her taste, her touch, her soft cries—flooded his mind. The shy girl Riley had pushed into his path for her amusement. It hadn't gone how anyone expected. Justin had toyed with her, teased her into surrender, then walked away before the night could go further. And yet, his lips twitched into a faint smile. Leticia was probably losing her mind thinking about him right now.

"It was fine," he replied flatly, knowing full well Riley wouldn't be satisfied.

"*Fine*? You better not be giving me a 'the milk was fresh at the store' kind of 'fine,' Justin. I hooked you up with my bestie! Spill it!"

He rolled his eyes. "I did what you asked, Riley. What do you want me to say? Have you talked to her?"

Riley hesitated, her usual bluster softening. "She's not taking my calls." Her voice lowered. "But you dropped her off, didn't you?"

"What?" His chest tightened. "I thought she had a car. You didn't handle that?"

"Jesus Christ, Justin!" Riley exploded. "You left her? At that bar? At night?"

"Wait—what? No—she's fine. Right? She has to be…" Justin's pulse hammered, every terrible scenario flashing through his mind. "Fuck. You don't think—"

"Jerk!" Riley screamed and hung up, leaving Justin holding a silent phone.

"Shit!" He redialed immediately, dread clawing at his insides.

"What?" she snapped when she answered.

"Send me her number. I'll call her."

"No! I'm going to her house. You might be rich and famous, but you're an *ass*. If something's happened to her, I'll go to the cops, and we'll both go down for this!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to stay calm. "Riley, send me her number now. I'm not asking again."

A sharp pause was followed by a defiant snarl, then his phone pinged. A message from Riley appeared—Leticia's number followed by an emoji of a raised middle finger.

"Charming," Justin muttered. He grabbed his second phone and dialed Leticia's number. The line rang, and with every second his nerves stretched tighter. Finally, her voice—soft, groggy, and laced with exhaustion—came through.

"Hello? Who is this?"

The sound of her voice, alive and unhurt, sent a wave of relief crashing through him. He ended the call abruptly without speaking, too rattled to process his next step.

But as silence reclaimed the room, he couldn't ignore the pull she had on his mind. That kiss had been imprinted in him, a lingering memory that left his lips tingling and his thoughts tangled.

It struck him to call Riley, but he changed his mind. Let her suffer since she loved causing so much trouble. It had been her idea to set up her best friend after all, yet she blamed him for not acting like a gentleman despite his playboy reputation. Who was she kidding?

Returning to Welsh and the search for a new personal assistant, Justin's face tightened so much it gave him a headache. What a terrible time to be both lonely and perpetually on edge.

Perhaps he could give Welsh's cousin a shot and see if he was up to the task.

One long look at the CV emailed to him, and his jaw dropped. Welsh's cousin was a Harvard first-class graduate in business administration. If that wasn't impressive, Justin didn't know what was. Three years of experience working at a renowned company, and he'd even developed an application for them.

Damn, Welsh must be so proud of his cousin. No wonder he came highly recommended.

Without hesitation, Justin grabbed his second phone and dialed the young man's number.

"Hello? Who is this?"

Justin's mouth refused to move for a moment, frozen in utter confusion. Somehow, he had redialed Leticia's number. Or had he? He quickly glanced between her contact information and the number on the CV.

"They match…" he murmured, barely able to process the realization.

"Dimanche? Are you French? Err… I'm sure this is the wrong number, Monsieur Dimanche..." she replied, her voice holding a hesitant charm before hanging up.

Wow. Just… wow. Justin leaned back, utterly floored. He needed to call Welsh. I must be losing my mind. Or maybe Leticia really is a witch and has cursed me for playing with her and leaving like a rake.

He exhaled and spoke aloud, almost incredulously. "Sorry. It's indeed the wrong number."