Murphy leaned his elbows on her desk, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Now why would I do that,” he said, “when I’m already obsessed with someone else?”
Her breath caught, heat spiking in her chest full of jealousy, sharp and immediate.
He straightened, still grinning. “I’ve always had a thing for powerful women.”
And then he walked out, easy and unbothered, leaving her speechless in her office chair.
Hillary sat frozen, her coffee cooling in her hand. She didn’t know what to do with any of it—the way he unraveled her control so easily, the way one line from him could undo hours of carefully constructed walls.
Her phone dinged on the desk.
Hillary reached for her phone, the notification still glowing. It was from Sasha.
Sasha-Hey, can you check the comments? Do you want me to turn them off?
That got her attention. She tapped through to the team’s socials, scanning the feed. Overnight, hundreds of comments had piled up on the collab posts.
Most of them were harmless. Fans screaming about the band, people raving over how cool it was to see hockey players dancing on stage. But there was a definite theme running through them: howattractivethe men were. Wes and Ethan had their share of heart emojis, Conner and Cash were being dubbed“daddy material,” butMurphy—Murphy had whole threads dedicated to him.
Who’s the tall one?
I’d let him hip roll me any day.
Those Abs!
#MurphyNation
And on repeat with multiple gifs was the moment Murphy had pulled his shirt up, zooming in on his toned abs. North Star fans seemed a little different than the average hockey fan. How could she not have factored that in?
Yeah, okay, she got it. Murphy was hot. She knew that better than anyone. But seeing strangers reduce him to a collection of gifs and thirst posts made something sharp coil inside her.
What is wrong with me?she thought, scrolling faster. If this were just work, if this were just about managing the team’s image, she wouldn’t be so worked up. But with everything messy and undefined between them, every comment felt like a personal jab.
A knock sounded. Sasha poked her head in, eyes wary. “So? What do you think? Should I shut them down? You know, after last year, I get a little twitchy about this stuff.”
Hillary set the phone down, forcing her voice steady. “Check in with the players first. If they’re uncomfortable, we’ll turn comments off. If not, keep monitoring. If it gets worse, we’ll step in.”
Sasha nodded, relief flickering across her face. “Okay. I’ll keep an eye on it.”
The door shut again, leaving Hillary alone with the silence and her own swirling thoughts. She pressed her palms flat against her desk, staring at Murphy’s name trending across the feed.
Professional. This was all supposed to be professional.
So why did it feel like her chest was on fire?
Her phone lit up again, vibrating against the desk.
This time it wasn’t Sasha. It was Sydney.
Hillary groaned, tipping her head back against her chair. She didnothave the time or energy to deal with family right now. Between the game tonight, the aftermath of the concert, and the PR firehose that came with both, her brain was already fried.
But Sydney wasn’t just family. Sydney was . . . more. The one person who had always been worth answering, no matter what.
Hillary took a long sip of her perfect vanilla latte, letting the warmth settle her. She unwrapped the muffin, tore off a piece, and chewed slowly, bracing herself.
Then she hitcall back.
“Hey,” Hillary said as the line connected. She heard a sniffle. “You sound—what’s wrong?”
