Her voice broke the quiet. “I want… I want to keep this between us. For now.”
I lowered my lips to her temple, feeling her shiver through it. “For now.”
27
Holly
We were in LA for the Kings series, and the team was scattered at tables throughout the hotel restaurant. Hunter and the guys sat closest to us, laughing and teasing one another over breakfast. I kept my gaze on him for a moment, letting myself absorb the easy way he carried himself before turning my attention back to the looming storm sitting across from me in the shape of Bob Trent.
“You know,” he started, spoon idly scraping oatmeal in a way that somehow made him seem both calm and infuriatingly smug, “just because the higher-ups love you doesn’t mean you can waltz back in here and act like everything’s back to normal. I never had a soft spot for teacher’s pets.”
I gave him a tight-lipped smile, letting my fork hover over my plate. As if I wanted anything from him. Soft or other.
“I don’t think anyone here thinks that. But right now, we have a problem with the LA media that needs attention, and the team’s not going to wait for us to argue over semantics.”
His eyes narrowed, and I could practically feel the irritation radiating off him. “Oh? And what problem would that be, exactly?”
I drew up the email in my mind, already drafting the solutionwhile keeping him talking. “A local outlet ran a story suggesting Hunter made some offhand remark about the Kings’ goalie joining them on the ice once he actually grows into his pads.”
Bob’s fork clattered onto the plate. “And you think you can just smooth that over with a little email? That’s playing with fire, Holly. What if it backfires? What if he looks… weak?”
I didn’t flinch. “Weak? The guy is one of the top goalies in the league. This isn’t about making him look weak. It’s about correcting misinformation before it spreads. We clarify, we move on. Done.”
He leaned back, arms crossed, giving me the slow, challenging look that always made me want to bite back. “Did he say it?”
“No.” My appetite for eggs benedict waned considerably, but I pushed the food around my plate to keep from looking at him.
“How do you know?” Bob asked. “Sounds like something a competitive goalie would say this deep in the playoffs. You should just let it run its course.”
I set down my fork and leaned forward, meeting his gaze. “You’re mad because I came back. Admit it.”
He smirked, like he had the perfect comeback lined up, and he did. “So why’d you come back, Holly? Really. Who takes a pay cut and jumps back into this circus after she had it made in Chicago?”
I didn’t answer. My eyes flicked to Hunter, just across the room. His laughter with the guys was effortless, completely unaware of the tension boiling just a few tables away. The memory of our time together flushed me from the inside out, but I kept my control, hid it well, and kept my focus on the problem at hand.
I turned back to Bob. “We’re going to fix this. Here’s how.” I outlined the plan quickly, concisely, my fingers already hovering over my phone’s keyboard. “We send a clarifying statement. Emphasize that he’s been misquoted. Done. Simple, effective, and it keeps the story from going viral before we get ahead of it.”
He scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s… that’s reckless. It’s not nuanced enough. It’ll play poorly in the press. You should take my suggestion and just leave it alone.”
I didn’t hesitate. “Let’s not pretend this is about the statement, Bob. You’ve been waiting for a screw-up so you have something to hold against me.”
His jaw tightened, and he leaned forward slightly. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
I smiled faintly, hit send on the email, and leaned back in my chair. “Let’s see just how bad it plays out, shall we?”
Bob’s eyes narrowed even further, the kind of look that promised he’d be circling like a shark the rest of the day. I was okay with that. Across the room, Hunter’s easy grin caught my eye, and I allowed myself the smallest, private smile.
Breakfast continued around us, the clatter of dishes and chatter of the team fading into background noise. I watched Hunter, the curve of his shoulders, the tilt of his head as he laughed at something Mason said, and felt the familiar spark that always had me flustered.
Bob opened his mouth to argue something else, but I cut him off with a quiet, sharp, “I’ve got this.”
He grunted, clearly displeased, but I let it be. My phone pinged with a new email—a follow-up from a journalist thanking me for clarifying the quote—but I ignored it. Right now, the bigger picture was enough: the snafu was handled, Hunter was none the wiser, and I’d drawn the line with Bob.
I took a final sip of my coffee, sliding the cup down to the table. The LA sun hit the windows just right, warm and bright, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy that small sense of victory. Then I looked at Hunter again, sitting with the guys, oblivious and perfect in the morning light, and felt a pull that had nothing to do with work.
Breakfast ended, the team trickling out to grab luggage, and I sat back, letting my phone rest on the table. I could feel the tension from Bob’s presence lingering, but it was manageable. I had taken control, neutralized the problem, and, more importantly, kept my eye on theone reason I’d come back: him.
I gathered my things, slid my phone into my bag, and leveled my gaze at Bob. “Breakfast is over. We’ve handled the issue. Can we just move on?”
