“Media coverage?”
“Local news will be there, plus their social media team. We’ll coordinate posts to maximize reach without oversaturating.” I turned my monitor so Griffin could see the schedule. “You’ll need to arrive fifteen minutes early for a briefing. I’ll be there to handle it. Wear your jersey.”
Griffin studied the screen, but I caught the slight smile playing at his lips. “Sounds manageable.”
“It’s easy. Just be yourself—charming, accessible, good with fans. You’re a natural at this stuff.”
“Thanks to your coaching.” Griffin’s gaze met mine, and the heat there had nothing to do with professional gratitude. “Last night was incredible.” He dropped his voice, and it became husky. “The game, the celebration… after. You were right—we can do this. Navigate this relationship while maintaining everything else.”
My pulse quickened at the intimacy in his voice, the way he was looking at me like we weren’t in my office.
“Griffin…” I kept my voice low, glancing toward the door. “We’re at work.”
“I know. But I had to see you. Had to tell you how perfect last night was.” He stood and moved around my deskwith a confidence that suggested he’d forgotten—or stopped caring about—the risks.
I should have told him to stop. Should have maintained the separation we’d agreed was essential at the facility. Should have remembered every lesson Nashville had taught me about the dangers of letting personal and professional blur.
Instead, I stood to meet him, and suddenly we were inches apart in the space between my desk and the wall, close enough that I could smell the mountain spring locker room body wash, could see the flecks of silver in his ice-blue eyes, could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
“We shouldn’t…” The protest was automatic, halfhearted, undermined by the way I swayed slightly toward him and closed the blinds to the window overlooking the rink.
“I know.” Griffin’s hand found my waist, his touch light but possessive. “But I can’t stop thinking about you. About last night. About when I can see you again.”
“Tonight?” The word escaped before I could stop it, boundaries crumbling under the weight of wanting him.
“Perfect.” Griffin’s other hand came up to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. “Your place?”
“Yeah. I’ll?—”
Griffin leaned in and kissed me.
The contact was brief, tender, just a moment of connection that felt inevitable despite being reckless. His lips moved against mine with familiar certainty, and I responded automatically—one hand finding his shoulder, the other resting against his chest, where I could feel his heart beating as fast as my own.
A knock sounded on my door, followed immediately by its opening.
“Wesley, I wanted to follow up on?—”
Owen Davidson’s voice cut off mid-sentence.
Time seemed to freeze—one of those crystalline moments where every detail became hyperreal and horrifying all at once. Griffin and I sprang apart like opposing magnets, but it was too late. Far too late.
Davidson stood in my doorway, his hand still on the handle, his expression cycling through shock to understanding to something harder and more authoritative than I’d ever seen on his face.
He’d seen us. There was no ambiguity, no room for interpretation or explanation. He’d walked in on his team captain kissing his PR manager in a closed office during work hours, and the evidence was undeniable.
The silence stretched for seconds that felt like hours. Griffin’s face had gone pale, his eyes wide with the same panic flooding my system. My hand was still halfway raised from where it had been on Griffin’s chest, frozen in the moment of being caught.
Davidson’s jaw tightened. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold, controlled, absolutely furious beneath the professional veneer. “My office. Both of you. Right now.”
It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even really an order. It was a statement of fact—we would be in his office immediately, or the consequences would be even worse than they were already about to be.
“Mr. Davidson—” Griffin started, his voice rough.
“Now.” Davidson’s tone left no room for argument. He turned and walked away, leaving my door open behind him.
Griffin and I stood frozen for another beat, neither of us quite processing what had just happened. Then reality crashed in with devastating clarity.
We’d been caught. After all our careful planning and strategic distance and promises to be smart, we’d been caught kissing in my office in the middle of a workday because we’d gotten careless and comfortable and stupid.
