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M arcus

36 hours remaining

Marcus paced the length of the Stephanie’s office, the tension in his shoulders building with each turn. His mind calculated possibilities, eliminated variables. But for the first time in his career, the numbers weren't cooperating.

Thirty six hours until things went to shit.

He stopped at the whiteboard where Chenny had mapped out the data points of where the emails and the breach could have connected in neat, color-coded lines. The left winger's blue streak caught the fluorescent light as he hunched over his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard at a pace that matched Marcus's internal countdown.

"Anything?" Marcus asked, his voice tight.

"Negative," Chenny replied without looking up. "The son of a bitch knows what he's doing. He's got multiple layers of encryption, and everything is behind proprietary firewalls that aren’t not playing nice with any of my standard workarounds."

"There has to be a connection," Marcus insisted. "A back door. Something."

Marcus glanced over when Stephanie stormed in. The sight of her sent a surge of something fierce and protective through his chest. “How did it go?”

"The presentation went well, I think. Reed was coming into meet with Jack as I was leaving."

"That manipulative prick," Chenny muttered, still typing.

Marcus moved instinctively toward Stephanie, stopping just short of reaching for her in front of Chenny. "What happened?"

She leaned against the table, ankles crossed, the picture of control except for the slight tremor in her hands. "Westfield offered me the new combined Communications and Analytics Director position." Her eyes met Marcus's. "Which means Reed could step right in if we fail.”

The room went quiet except for Chenny's furious typing. Marcus processed this information, analyzing implications and outcomes while tamping down the adrenaline surge that threatened to cloud his judgment.

"Take it," he said finally.

"What?" Stephanie's voice sharpened. "I don’t think it’s necessary. I like things the way they are and even if we manage to nix this blackmail attempt, I think it’s setting me up for failure.”

"Tactically, it makes sense," Marcus explained, keeping his voice even. "Accept the job and I can help you navigate anything they throw at you.”

"It's surrender," Stephanie countered, crossing her arms. "Communications and Analytics shouldn't be under one director anyway. They're complementary but distinct disciplines. That's like asking a goalie to also be a center."

"Unless we can stop the release, we're all screwed six ways from Sunday."

Marcus turned back to the whiteboard, focusing on the problem's core. "If Reed’s here, his computer is probably on our network. Can we get in that way?"

"Worth a shot," Chenny said.

There was a tense pause. “I can do it, but not remotely.” Chenny pushed back from the desk. "We'd need direct access to his laptop."

"It’s bound to be password protected.”

"I can get around that.” Chenny's eyes lit up.

Stephanie held up a hand. “I don’t want the details.”

"Once I’m in, I could potentially clone his drive or install a backdoor. I’d be able to search for and delete any data that he stole."

"He's not going to leave it unattended," Stephanie said.

"Unless he’s distracted," Marcus replied, already calculating scenarios. "If we invite him to tomorrows game..."

"In the executive box," Stephanie caught on immediately. "I might be able to get to it and give it to someone.”

“How are you going to do that?” Chenny asked.

Stephanie tapped her chin. “Chilly.”

“You’re cold?”

“No, you dolt. Our mascot. I can have her come up to the executive box and make a big deal. When Reed isn’t looking I’ll grab his laptop bag and stash it somewhere we can look at it after the game.”

“No good. If he notices it’s missing he can move the data.”

Stephanie bit her lip. “Can you teach me what to do?”

“No. And I’m going to need at least a half hour with it.”

"Kind of hard to be on the ice and hacking into Reed's laptop simultaneously."

Marcus stopped, reconsidering. "Unless you’re not.”

“Coach isn’t going to bench me.”

“We’re playing Columbus tonight, right?” Marcus said with a grin.

Chenny’s eyes narrowed. “Diedrich.”

“Diedrich,” Marcus nodded.

“I definitely don’t want to know.” They were talking about Columbus’ enforcer.

“You just get Reed in the executive suite and Chilly as a distraction. Chenny will be outside the door by the start of the second period.”

“And I’ll have the laptop back by the end of the game.”

She blew out a sigh. “I don’t like this.”

For the next hour, they mapped out the operation with the precision of a power play drill. As they finished, Chenny stood and stretched. "I need to grab some equipment from my place and then get some rest. Do you need me for anything else?"

"We've got it," Marcus assured him.

When Chenny left, Marcus finally allowed himself to close the distance between him and Stephanie. His hand found hers, fingers interlacing with an ease that still surprised him.

"I don't like you taking this risk," he admitted quietly. "Reed's ruthless."

"So am I," she replied, squeezing his hand. "You've seen me at press conferences."

Despite everything, a smile tugged at his mouth. "This isn't about your capability. It's about—"

"You wanting to protect me," she finished. "I know. And under different circumstances, I might even find it endearing rather than mildly infuriating."

"Only mildly?" he asked, pulling her closer.

"Don't push your luck." But she didn't resist when he wrapped an arm around her waist. "This plan will work. We stop Reed, expose his manipulation, and get back to our regular jobs of you annoying me with statistical probabilities and me ignoring them in press releases."

Marcus studied her face—the determined set of her jaw, the intelligence in her eyes, the slight vulnerability she allowed only him to see. Something shifted in his chest, a recalibration of priorities that no equation could have predicted.

"When this is over," he said, his voice low, "we should discuss long-term strategic alignment."

Her eyebrow arched. "Is that analytics-speak for 'dating'?"

"It's analytics-speak for something more significant than dating," he clarified. "But we can start with the traditional protocols and progress accordingly."

"You're impossible," she murmured, but her eyes softened.

"Improbable," he corrected. "Not impossible. There's a critical difference in statistical terms."

She laughed and pushed away from him, straightening her dress. "Save the statistics lesson for after we save our careers. We've got work to do."

Marcus watched her gather her things, the analytical part of his brain calculating their chances of success while another part—one he'd long ignored—simply admired her strength. In hockey, he'd always valued teammates who performed under pressure. Stephanie was proving to be the ultimate clutch player.

"I’m shooing you out of my office now," she said. "I need to start laying groundwork for our distraction. And you need some downtime to prepare for the game tomorrow.”

He kissed her because he couldn’t help himself.

She rubbed her hand over the stubble on his cheek. “We should also plan a celebration after this works. Because we’re going to win.”

The conviction in her voice struck him like a perfect slapshot—clean, powerful, unstoppable. "I've run the numbers," he replied seriously. "And for once, I'm not just trusting the analytics. I'm trusting us."

Her smile was brief but brilliant before he slipped out the door.