His jaw flexed, but he nodded. “Tonight then. My place. We’ll talk.”
His phone dinged in his pocket, sneaking a peek.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said as he slipped his phone back in his pocket and took off his cap to run his hand through his sandy brown hair. “Patrick is getting his surgery tomorrow, that was my mom telling me he cleared his last pre-op appointment.”
“Oh, Murphy! I didn’t even know. How are you?”
“I’m okay. Of course, I’m worried, but we’ve been through the whole surgery thing so many times with him. While I’m never not nervous about it, it's not out of the ordinary . . . I don’t know if that makes sense.”
She squeezed his hand. “It does. I’d love to hear more about everything tonight.”
The look that turned the corners of his mouth warmed her down to her core.
“Okay. Tonight.”
He pressed one more kiss to her temple before straightening up, grabbing his cap, and heading for the door.
She couldn’t help herself; her gaze dropped as he walked away. Broad shoulders tapering to that narrow waist, those long legs, and his perfect ass filling out his joggers just right. She hadn’t let herself look lately, not really, but this time she gave in. Just one lingering glance.
And of course, because the universe hated her, he stopped at the door.
He turned his head and smirked. Then, slow and deliberate, he winked.
Heat shot up her neck like a guilty teenager getting caught in the act. Hillary whipped her eyes back to the coffee cup on her desk as if it suddenly held state secrets.
Behind her, the door clicked shut.
And then he was gone, leaving her staring at the coffee on her desk, her lips tingling, her heart a chaotic mess of fear and hope. She exhaled a shaky laugh.
A few minutes later, a knock at the door pulled Hillary out of her thoughts. She straightened quickly, like she hadn’t just been staring at the door Murphy had walked through.
Sasha slipped in, tablet in hand, already in full business mode. “Got a minute to debrief on yesterday?”
Yesterday. For a wild second, Hillary’s brain blanked. Yesterday meant Murphy on her couch, his mouth on hers, his shirt tugged halfway off?—
Oh god.
She blinked.No. Work yesterday.The video they’d recorded yesterday. The very professional, very public video.
“Uh—yeah. Of course,” Hillary said, forcing her voice steady.
Sasha perched on the edge of the chair across from her desk. “I posted the video this morning. Engagement is good.Comments are mostly positive. It’s landing clean, which is what we needed.”
Hillary nodded, trying to chase the heat from her cheeks. “That’s good.”
Sasha studied her for a beat, then went on. “Murphy’s stuff is stabilizing, too. Most of the noise died down. It seems that since North Star has a secret baby scandal, a handsome 24-year-old hockey player who danced with them once doesn't have the same pull. But . . . ” She hesitated. “There’s still a faction out there. They’re focused on him. My guess would be those are the fans that are here for Murphy and hockey, not just the crossover.”
Hillary gave a tight nod, clutching her coffee a little too hard. She should have felt reassured. Instead, all she could think was how much she wanted to protect him, from the internet and from the world, but for once, not herself.
Sasha rose, already gathering her tablet. “Okay, I’ll keep an eye on things and let you know if anything needs your attention.”
“Thank you,” Hillary said, with a curt nod.
When Sasha slipped out, the silence in the office rushed back in. Hillary sat there for a moment, her pulse still fluttering from Murphy’s kiss and Sasha’s warning, before finally pushing herself into gear.
She had a job to do.
