All Chapters of The Playbook for Heartbreak: Chapter 1 - Chapter 9

"A full-season suspension?" Terry’s voice dropped, terrifyingly quiet. The room went dead silent. "They’re calling it a violent breach of league conduct," Marcus stammered, holding up his phone like it was a live grenade. On the screen, a blurry video was playing on loop. It showed Terry in the arena hallway after last night’s game, grabbing a rival player by the jersey and slamming him into the concrete wall. Eve didn’t flinch. She leaned over Marcus’s shoulder, her eyes tracking the viral view count spinning upward. "Three million views in twenty minutes. The comment section is calling you a violent thug, Terry. The league sponsors are already panicking." Terry ripped the tape off his bloody knuckles, throwing it into the trash. "He insulted my team. I’m the captain. I handle it." "You handle things like a caveman," Eve shot back, tapping her tablet. "And right now, your caveman instincts are going to cost this franchise a sixty-million-dollar playoff run." Before Terry could

The ink on the contract was barely dry before Eve found herself standing in the middle of Terry Wilde’s world. And his world was ridiculously expensive. His penthouse occupied the entire top floor of a glass high-rise overlooking the Boston harbor. It was all polished concrete, floor-to-ceiling windows and minimalist furniture. It smelled like rich leather, expensive wood, and a faint hint of ice. "Drink this," Terry said, tossing a bottle of green juice across the kitchen island toward her. Eve caught it with one hand, blinking up at him. He was currently standing by his massive sub-zero refrigerator, bare-chested and wearing nothing but grey sweatpants. His dark hair was damp from the shower, and his torso was a map of muscle, shadows, and a few jagged hockey scars. "I don't need a drink, Terry. I need a coherent strategy," Eve said, sitting on one of his leather barstools. She had been forced to borrow one of his oversized team hoodies because her father's security team had wa

Eve did not sleep well. The guest bed in the east wing of the penthouse was incredibly comfortable, but the unfamiliar sounds of the high-rise—the distant hum of the elevator, the whistle of the wind against the thick glass windows—kept her tossing and turning. By five in the morning, she gave up. She pulled on a pair of black leggings and an oversized grey sweatshirt, grabbing her tablet before padding quietly out of her room. The penthouse was dead silent, cast in the cool, blue shadow of early dawn. Following the rules of engagement, she stayed strictly to her side of the apartment, navigating toward the kitchen island to hunt for caffeine. She pressed the button on Terry’s ridiculously complex, high-end espresso machine, waiting as it hissed and whirred to life. "You're up early," a low, gravelly voice rasped from the shadows. Eve gasped, spinning around so fast she nearly knocked over her ceramic mug. Terry was sitting on the dark leather sofa in the living room. He was il

The text from Eve's father didn't just change the rules of their living arrangement; it changed the timeline. Marcus, functioning on pure PR panic, had decreed that if Eve was moving into Terry's penthouse, she needed a wardrobe that matched the tax bracket.Which was how Eve found herself standing inside a private, appointment-only boutique in Beacon Hill at ten o'clock on a Tuesday morning, staring at a rack of evening gowns that cost more than her entire annual data-software budget."You're scowling at the silk, Brooks," Terry said from the plush velvet couch across the room.He looked entirely out of place among the minimalist gold racks and champagne flutes, yet completely at home with the luxury of it. He was wearing dark tailored trousers and a casual knit polo that perfectly accentuated the heavy lines of his chest. His long legs were stretched out, an iPad balanced on his thigh as he skimmed through the latest practice clips she had sent him."I am calculating the sheer ineff