"He didn't know you'd be there," Jane pointed out. "Chase's suggestion was spontaneous."
Libby had to concede that point. "It doesn't align with what I've heard about him."
"From whom?" Jane asked.
Libby hesitated, journalistic instinct warring with sibling openness. "Sources," she finally said, which wasn't technically a lie.
Jane's expression turned knowing. "Lib, I've worked with this team for three seasons. Whatever your 'sources' have told you about Liam, I can promise you there's more to the story."
"You always think the best of everyone," Libby pointed out.
"And you always look for the catch," Jane replied without heat. "Sometimes people are exactly who they seem to be."
"Nobody is exactly who they seem to be," Libby countered. "Especially not in professional sports with million-dollar images to maintain."
Before Jane could respond, her phone chimed with a text. Her expression softened as she read it.
"Chase?" Libby guessed.
Jane's blush confirmed it. "He's asking if we're going to the charity casino night on Friday."
"The what now?"
"The team's annual fundraiser," Jane explained. "Black tie, silent auction, fake gambling for children's hospital donations. All staff and media are invited." Her expression turned pleading. "Please say you'll come. These events are always so awkward alone, and with you there?—"
"You'd have an excuse to avoid acknowledging the obvious chemistry between you and Coach Bingley?" Libby finished for her.
"I'd have my sister to keep me company," Jane corrected primly. "Though your psychological assessment isn't entirely wrong."
Libby groaned internally. A formal charity event meant finding something appropriate to wear, navigating high-society social dynamics, and probably enduring more of Liam D'Arcy's cold demeanor. But Jane's hopeful expression was impossible to deny.
"Fine," she sighed. "But you're helping me find something to wear that doesn't scream 'small-market sports reporter who buys suits at Target.'"
Jane's smile was worth the impending social discomfort. "Deal. And who knows? Maybe you'll learn something interesting for your coverage."
"At a fake gambling event full of hockey players in tuxedos? What could possibly go wrong?" Libby's tone was skeptical, but a small part of her was intrigued by the opportunity to observe the team in yet another context.
If nothing else, seeing Liam D'Arcy in formal wear would be... professionally informative. Purely from a journalistic perspective, of course.
Liam found Chase in the video room after most of the team had departed, game footage from their previous Portland matchup playing on the oversized screen.
"You sent the Herald reporter to my skills session," he said without preamble.
Chase looked up, not bothering to deny it. "I did."
"Why?"
"Thought it might balance her perspective." Chase leaned forward. "She knows hockey, Liam. Really knows it. Mariska in PR says her coverage is already the second-most read source on the Steel in Boston, and she's been here less than a week."
Liam dropped into the chair beside his friend, eyes fixed on the screen rather than Chase's face. "It's not your job to manage my media image."
"No, it's your job, and you're terrible at it," Chase said with the blunt honesty of long friendship. "All those non-answers and deflections make you seem..."
"Professional?" Liam suggested.
"Robotic," Chase corrected. "Or worse, arrogant."
"I'm focused on winning, not being liked by reporters."
