The words pour out faster now, my professional restraint cracking under the weight of months of admiration I've kept carefully contained.
"This isn't theoretical for her. It's personal. Every strategy session, every late-night revision, every moment she's pouredinto this vision—it comes from someone who doesn't just work for this organization. Someone who believes in its potential to be extraordinary."
I'm leaning forward now, my entire focus narrowed to the woman whose brilliance I've watched in secret for too long. The woman who deserves to have someone recognize her genius publicly, completely, without reservation.
"She doesn't just see hockey players. She sees leaders. She doesn't just see fans. She sees community. She doesn't just see a business. She sees a legacy."
The room has gone completely silent. Even the air conditioning seems to have stopped. But I can't stop now. Won't stop. Not when she's standing there looking overwhelmed by the recognition she's never allowed herself to accept.
"That's the kind of strategic thinking that doesn't just build profitable partnerships," I say, my voice dropping to something more intense, more reverent. "It builds the future. And there's no one—no one—I trust more to architect that future."
I pause, meeting her eyes across the room. She's gone very still, her composure slipping to reveal something raw underneath. Emotion, maybe. Gratitude. The look of someone finally being seen for who she really is.
This is it. The moment I stop hiding, stop protecting myself, and finally fight for the woman who deserves everything.
"This isn't just about endorsing a proposal," I say, my voice steady despite the magnitude of what I'm about to confess. "It's about endorsing the person.”
I look directly at her, letting everyone in the room see the conviction in my eyes. And then, because words are not enough, my hand moves across the polished table, and for one brief, catastrophic moment, I cover her hand with mine.
"I trust Sloane McKenzie with the future of this team... and with mine."
The touch is fleeting, but the contact is a detonation. A public claim.
The words hang in the air, heavy and irreversible.
And in the silence that follows, I watch her face transform from overwhelming emotion to absolute, devastating horror.
For the first time since I stood up, I see what she sees. Not a colleague offering professional support. Not a teammate backing her play.
A man who just publicly claimed her. In front of executives. In front of investors. In front of the entire corporate structure she's spent years carefully navigating.
That familiar, sickening lurch of dread traces down my spine.
I fought. I finally fought.
But I think I just lost everything anyway.
29
Sloane
The atmosphere curdles instantly. The air goes heavy, unbreathable, like someone sucked all the oxygen out of the room. I watch Mr. Blackwood’s expression shift—his brows draw together, his jaw tightens. Across the table Frank Miller lets his smile drop completely, his face hardening into something cold and unyielding.
Every word of Garrett’s speech lands like a blow. He might as well have stood up and announced we’re sleeping together.
Then Vivian leans forward, and I see it—the calculated gleam in her eyes. The move she’s been waiting to make.
“Well,” she says, voice sweet as honey laced with arsenic. “As you can see, Garrett’s passion for Sloane’s work is... considerable.”
She lets the implication hang heavy and suffocating in the air.
“It’s hard to ignore, isn’t it? Especially now that podcasts are hinting about a certain alternate captain and a ‘petite redhead in marketing.’”
The words detonate in the room. Every molecule of air vanishes.
“But I hesitated to act,” Vivian says, shaking her head with performative regret. “It felt like malicious gossip. And Irefused to jeopardize careers based on rumors. I hoped it was a misunderstanding.”
She turns her gaze on Garrett. Her expression softens into what almost looks like sorrow.
