“You saw the message,” Sasha said, shutting the door behind her.
Hillary rubbed at her temple. “Yeah. It’s getting worse.”
“Not dangerous,” Sasha clarified quickly. “Not yet. Just louder. More accounts, more edits, more people jumping on the trend. There have also been some fans trying to get to the bus, giving him the boy band treatment.” She dropped into the chair across from Hillary’s desk. “Most of it is fine, fan stuff. But some of it is . . . sexual.”
She glanced back at the screen. “Part of this is on me, though, isn’t it? The North Star crossover put him out there in a way he wasn’t before.”
Sasha shook her head immediately. “No. That was wholesome publicity, Hill. We got a band collab trending, we got fresh eyes on the team, and everyone was happy. Murphy is new to the hockey world. An unknown guy with that much charisma? They shine. People latch on.” She spread her hands. “It’s not your fault. It’s not his fault. But it’s something we’ve got to deal with.”
She hated the way her stomach twisted at Sasha’s words. Because Sasha was right. This wasn’t something she—or Murphy—had done wrong. It was just the price of visibility.
Hillary leaned back in her chair, pressing her lips together. “Still, I’ve been in this position long enough that I should have foreseen this.”
Sasha reached forward, resting her phone on the desk. “We’ll keep monitoring. If it escalates, we’ll step in. Until then, we just keep our heads and do our jobs.”
“Let’s push other guys into the media. Maybe a segment with Mr Wizard, people love mascot nonsense . . . or more tips from the captain? Something else to feed the algorithm gods.”
Sasha nodded, “Yeah, I’ll get some stuff drafted up.”
Hillary nodded, straightening her blazer. Work mode. Always in work mode.
A second knock broke the heavy silence between her and Sasha.
“Come in,” Hillary called, already sliding her phone closer like she’d been deep in email.
The door swung open, and there he was—Murphy, hair damp from his shower, hoodie stretched across broad shoulders, a coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other.
“I thought you could use this,” he said simply, setting the cup and muffin on her desk. He flashed her that grin—the one that always unraveled her insides—and for a moment she forgot Sasha was even in the room.
“Perfect timing,” Sasha said smoothly, leaning back in her chair. “We were just talking about you.”
Murphy’s brows shot up. “Should I be worried?”
“Not exactly.” Sasha swiveled her phone toward him, scrolling through a few of the screenshots. “The fan stuff . . . with them starting to show up to the bus, we think you should keep your head down just a little longer.”
Murphy frowned, then shrugged. “That’s fine. I’m heading home for Christmas anyway. Not planning on going out much. Let people forget for a while.”
Hillary kept her expression professional, even as something inside her softened at how easily he agreed. He always made things sound so simple. She wanted to check—reallycheck—that he was okay with it. But Sasha was here, and this wasn’t the place.
Murphy glanced at her then, and something flickered in his eyes. Confusion. Frustration. Like he could feel her holding back.
“Alright then,” he said finally, straightening. “I’ll head to practice.”
He gave her one last look—sharp, searching—before heading out the door.
When the door clicked shut, the silence pressed down. Hillary stared at the coffee on her desk until her gaze shifted to the muffin.
Last night kept playing on repeat in her mind. It was too much. She was feelingtoomuch.
And that was exactly why it had to end. She didn’t want to keep putting him in this on-and-off again situation, but she couldn’t seem to help herself around him. He didn’t deserve that.
Murphy deserved everything. He deserved bright mornings, simple joys, a future that stretched open like sunlight. And Hillary . . . she was too married to her work, too set in her ways, too jaded to give him what he deserved.
She straightened in her chair, steeling herself. She’d let it go on long enough.
Better to end it now, before she ruined him.
31
