Page 42 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole

My throat swells, and I smile at her, nodding and finding it difficult to find my words.

In some ways, I still feel like that girl from years ago. The one who’s freshly injured, crying every day, pushing herself too hard. Grieving the loss of the championship game, grieving the loss of playing in the Olympics. Ignoring the doctors and trying to get back on the field no matter what.

And I realize that, in my own way, Iammentoring. With Lena, pushing her to take her healing seriously, even when she hates me for it.

“Thank you,” I finally manage to say. “Your work is inspiring. I think this partnership is going to be a success.”

Ms. Haworth smiles. “Me, too.”

Ava McNabb and Eliza Armstrong are our goalkeepers, and I need to figure out which one of them I’m going to start tomorrow against San Francisco.

It’s a tight one, but if we win this game, we have a chance of going to the playoffs. Every detail is important, and I’ve spent the week preparing. Practices have run longer than normal, and besides my little food adventure with Elliot and the sponsorship meeting yesterday, I’ve spent all my time working on strategy.

We’re playing the San Francisco Fahrenheit, one of the best teams in the league.

Ava is more flexible, has a higher probability of hitting those amazing saves, but she’s overall less reliable. Eliza is steadier, more consistent in her saving, less flashy, but if she’s going up against a really talented forward, she’s less likely to make the save, to take a risk that pays off.

I flip over to the San Francisco roster, then change to a video of their lead forward, tapping through to all her scores from last year, the way she rounds the field, hands in the air after each one.

I’d like to see that as little as possible during our next game, so I tap back to our goalies, watch their saves, one finger against my lips as I think through the various scenarios, try to determine which starter will grant us the best chance at the game.

They’ll switch in and out, of course, but who starts matters. It can set the tone for the rest of the game.

I’m so engrossed in my task, in thinking about the goalkeepers and which might be best for our game, that I only notice the storm the moment the power goes out, the lights in my office blinking off around me. The air conditioner groans and gives out, and the room instantly feels slightly muggy.

It’s too quiet in here without it.

Sitting up, I blink, turning off my tablet screen and waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness around me. It takes almost a full minute, and when they finally do, I make out the silhouette of a man in the doorway.

Screaming, I grab the first thing I can — my tablet — and hurl it at his head.

“Sophie!” the man shouts, ducking so my tablet hits the wall behind him and shatters into a million pieces. “What are youdoing?”

I’m breathing hard, mind still racing through the ways I can protect myself, when I realize it’s Elliot in the doorway.

“What amIdoing?” I gasp, throwing my hands up. “What areyoudoing? You scared the shit out of me?—”

“Why are you still here?” he asks, stepping into the room with the guts of my tablet in his hands. Gently, he sets it on my deskand turns to me, crossing his arms. “It’s storming out there. They’re saying there could be a tornado?”

I shrug, “They always say that.”

“Sophie, you can’t just?—”

“If the storm is so dangerous,” I say, taking a step toward him and jabbing my finger into his chest, “then what areyoudoing here?”

“I was making sure—” His words cut off, like he’s stopped himself, and his eyes dart down to mine. My mind fills in the rest of the sentence.

I was making sure you were okay.

That couldn’t possibly be what he was going to say. Elliot Altman, here, risking his life to check on me?

Olivia’s voice is in the back of my head, chanting like a middle schooler,He likes you!

It doesn’t make any sense.

“Sophie,” Elliot says, his voice rasping, his gaze still locked on mine. The room is black around us, and his eyes are inky in the dark.

I shouldn’t. We’re supposed to be friendly colleagues. But, in this moment, staring into his eyes, it feels like we’re the only two people on this planet. Like trying to fight this thing between us is just a losing game.