"Not if it's an established relationship that predates your assignment," Mariska countered. "We backdate it. Say you've been together since before you joined the Herald. Your editor can't fault you for a pre-existing relationship if you've maintained professional coverage."
"That's lying," Libby said.
"That's survival," Liam corrected. "A month, maybe six weeks at most. We date through the playoffs, then amicably part ways due to career demands. Your reputation stays intact, the team avoids distraction, and Kate's attempt at sabotage fails."
Jane squeezed Libby's hand. "It's not ideal, but it might be the only option that doesn't destroy your career."
Libby looked around the room—Liam watching her with that analytical expression, the PR team waiting for her decision, Jane's concerned face. Through the windows, Boston glittered below, unaware that her professional life was imploding because of a broken dress strap and a vindictive socialite.
Her phone rang again. Reid, her editor. She knew what he'd say—the appearance of impropriety was as damaging as actual impropriety. Without a reasonable explanation, she'd be pulled from the beat immediately.
"Fine," she said finally. "But I have conditions."
"What do you need?" Liam asked, his attention focused entirely on her.
"I maintain complete editorial independence. No interference with my coverage. No special access or restrictions. I report exactly as I would otherwise."
"Agreed," Liam said immediately.
"We minimize public appearances. Only what's absolutely necessary to sell this."
“Mariska?” Liam said without tearing his eyes from Libby.
"We can work with that," Mariska responded smoothly. "A few games where you're seen together, maybe one or two team events. Nothing excessive."
Libby felt hot all over. “And it ends the moment the playoffs do. Win or lose."
"Understood," Liam agreed. Then, to Mariska: "Make sure Ms. Bennet-Cross has everything she needs to maintain her professional standing. This situation isn't her fault."
"Of course. We'll ensure full support.” Mariska’s fingers flew across her tablet. "I'm sending the statement now. You two should post something personal on your social media—nothing elaborate, just acknowledging the relationship and asking for privacy. Do either of you have any photos together?"
"We haven't exactly been taking couple selfies," Libby said dryly.
Liam pulled out his phone, scrolling through it. "Actually..." He looked slightly uncomfortable. "At the skills session last week. You were analyzing the drill patterns. I took a photo."
"What? When?"
"Before the interview. You didn't notice." He showed her his phone. In the image, she was watching the ice intently, completely absorbed in the play analysis, a slight smile on her face. It was actually a lovely photo—natural, unposed, showing her passion for the sport rather than anything romantic.
Something twisted in Libby's chest looking at it. He'd been watching her when she wasn't performing, wasn't aware of being observed. He'd found something worth capturing in that unguarded moment. The implications of that—of Liam D'Arcy noticing her before any of this happened—made her stomach flutter in a way that had nothing to do with champagne.
Mariska looked at the image. "Perfect. It's candid, professional setting but personal moment. Post that, Liam. Libby, we'll send you one of the candids from tonight's photographer—there should be something from before the chaos, you two at the event looking natural."
Libby's phone rang again. Reid. She let it go to voicemail, knowing that conversation would require more energy than she had right now. The explanation, the assurances, the promises of maintained objectivity—all of that could wait until morning.
"I should get you home," Liam said. "We both need to decompress, and we should talk through the logistics without an audience."
"Jane—"
"I'll take her home," Chase said quickly from the doorway, then seemed to catch himself. "I mean, if that's alright with you, Jane."
Jane glanced at Libby, who gave a subtle nod. "That would be fine. Thank you, Chase."
"You two should be seen leaving together anyway," the PR director added. "It supports the narrative."
Libby was too exhausted to argue. The evening's chaos—the champagne, the $100,000, the dress disaster, the fake relationship—had drained her completely.
Outside the hotel, a few photographers were already waiting. Liam guided her to the waiting car, his hand at her back just proprietary enough to sell the relationship.
