Chase: Wow. Seems the little kitten found her claws.
I bristle at the use of his nickname for me. The first time he called me ‘kitten,’ I thought it was endearing, until I realized how demeaning he actually intended it to be.
Bree: We. Are. Done. BYEEEEE!
I find his contact information, intending to block him like I should have to begin with, but then his next message pops up at the top of the screen.
Chase: Then I guess I’ll have to tell Carrington about this.
I swipe back to the chat and see an image of a half-naked woman, entangled in the arms of a man, in the throes of passion. I recognize the Texas Stars locker room, but not the player.
The woman has my face, but that isnotmy body. My cheeks flame with heat, and my eyes fill with tears. I wipe them away and look closer. I’d never—and I mean never—do something like that.
He must have used an actual image and instructed AI or Photoshop to change the face. But it looks so real… How am I going to prove that it’s not me without showing it to someone?
If he brings this to the team owner, my reputation will be ruined, regardless of whether I expose it as a fake, because Chase will blab about all the extra coverage I did for him.
A fresh wave of shame overwhelms me, making me queasy. Why did I let him manipulate me like that? I was so stupid and naïve, blind to who and what he really is. But even so, I never imagined him capable of this.
I can’t block him now. If I do, he’ll show the image to the team owner, and I wasn’t lying when I said my contact at the hockey magazine doesn’t work there anymore. I have to figure out a way to appease Chase, even temporarily, until I find a way out of this.
Bree: You really did climb out of a manure pile.
Chase: Now, now, kitten. Watch those claws. I’ve already drafted the email. Just have to hit send.
My stomach lurches to the point where I nearly vomit into my garbage can. Sweat breaks out on my face. Taking deep breaths, I push my hair back and grab my phone from where I dropped it on my desk.
Bree: Fine. I do this, and we’re done. And I mean it, Chase. This is the last time.
Chase: So glad you see things my way. I’ll be in touch.
I slap my phone screen down on my desk and shove it away like it’s a pariah as the full reality hits me.
Even if I succeed in landing an interview for him, Chase will never leave me alone. Somehow, I have to end his hold over me.
After I calm down—and thank goodness no one came into my office during that nightmare—I finish uploading the rest of the posts I planned, grateful for the distraction. Thirty minutes later, we have over a hundred votes already on the ‘Name the Arena’ project.
And five o’clock never looked so good. Then I remember I’m supposed to go to Wade’s tonight and consider canceling. How can I keep this from him? He’ll take one look at me and figure out something’s wrong. Wade knows how to read me better than anyone.
But the thought of going home and wearing a brave face for Harper doesn’t feel any better. Can I hold it together in front of Wade?
The question plagues me the entire ride to his place, and especially up the walk to his apartment. A cool breeze rustles the nearby palms as I vacillate in front of his door, questioning my decisions now more than I ever have. Normally, this is my favorite time of year. Still, my mind is as far from appreciating the subtle change of season as I am from Texas—a distance that didn’t make any difference in removing Chase permanently from my life.
The ramifications of my situation make my eyes burn all over again as I debate leaving. And instead of making my mouth water, the aroma wafting from the pizza I picked up on my way from work makes me queasy.
I still have a key and could let myself in, but that feels wrong. It’s not like I stayed here long enough to think of his place as my home, and besides, I don’t want to push the tenuous thread of reconciliation we’ve established.
Seeing no other choice but to power through, I lift my hand to knock, only to have the door whipped away before I can touch it. Wade fills the doorway with his broad shoulders, firm jawline, and piercing green eyes—an image that sucks the air right out of me.
When did he get so devastatingly attractive? Has he changed that much, or am I just seeing him now?
“Are you coming in or not?” He lifts a brow in tandem with his lopsided grin.
“I was about to knock.” I brush past him, catching his clean, musky scent, which has quite the opposite effect of the pizza. Unlike the unappealing aromas of cheese and tomato, I want to bury my face against his heather gray T-shirt, bawl my eyes out, and feel secure in his muscular arms again. Wade’s hugs havealways been a place of comfort for me, although the thought of holding me makes my entire body hum.
“Why did you stand out there for so long?” He closes the door, studying me.
Looking away, because if I stare into those eyes any longer, I’ll spill everything, I slide the pizza box onto the counter and drape my bag over the back of the stool. “Hard day at work. I was debating going home.”
