Chapter

Twenty-Five

S tacia twirled a lock of hair between her fingers, staring at the contract spread out before her. The words blurred together, unreadable despite the crisp black ink on the heavy paper. Why was she hesitating?

This was what she wanted. Wasn’t it? A completely new job. No politics. No manufactured narratives. No business spin. Just a fresh start.

Her father had made good on his threat, ensuring that every political and corporate door slammed shut until she apologized—a concession she had refused to make. To her surprise, Michael had stood by her, going toe-to-toe with the senator and refusing to let him dictate her career. Instead of washing his hands of her, he had found a different path, one far removed from the world she had fought so hard to escape.

So why couldn’t she pick up the pen and sign?

Across the desk, Michael exhaled loudly, tapping his fingers against the polished wood. “What’s the problem, Stacia? You asked for this—hell, you begged for it. So sign it.”

She sighed, scanning the contract again as if searching for an answer between the lines. “I know, Michael.”

He leaned back, studying her with an assessing gaze. “Maybe you’re not ready to get back to work.”

The idea hit like a lifeline, and she grabbed onto it. “I guess. I’m just tired. Two demanding jobs in a row… A few weeks off wouldn’t hurt.”

Michael arched a brow. “They need you in New York next week. If you can’t do it, I’ll have to assign someone else.” He paused. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Of course.” She forced a laugh. “What do you mean?”

His expression softened, the sharp edges of his usual businesslike demeanor fading. “You’re just not… you.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

She stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t let her deflect. “This last job, the rumors, everything that happened. Stacia, tell me the truth. Did something happen between you and Jason? We all knew the media reports were garbage.”

Her heart clenched at the mention of his name.

“Of course they were,” she said, too quickly. She forced herself to hold Michael’s gaze, willing him to buy the lie. “No, it’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

She wiped a hand across her brow, but the exhaustion wasn’t something sleep could fix. It was bone-deep, rooted in the gaping hollow Jason had left behind. The pain hadn’t dulled in the days since she walked away, but at least she had her dignity.

She had left on her terms. She had closure. Even if it had shattered her in the process.

Michael watched her for a long beat, then nodded. “The Knights were really happy with your work.”

She forced another laugh. “What, do they have another scandal to clean up?”

“They actually asked if I’d object to them making you a permanent offer.”

Her breath caught.

She blinked. “What?”

Michael smirked. “You sound surprised.”

She was surprised. She had assumed her role with the team had ended when Jason’s career had.

“Why?” she asked, shaking her head. “Jason Friar is done with baseball. They don’t need me.”

“They liked your brand of public relations,” he said with a shrug. “And let’s be honest, ballplayers are young and stupid. Why did you assume this was about Friar?”

Because it always had been. Because Jason had been the job—the project. Her project. Her chest tightened. And now he’s gone.

“The contract was tied to him,” she said, her voice quieter. “He’s gone. The season’s over. And he made it very clear—he doesn’t need me anymore.”

The words tasted bitter, but she swallowed them down, locking them away with all the other messy emotions she refused to entertain.

Michael’s expression softened, a knowing look flickering across his face. “Stacia, I’ve known you a long time. I’d be sorry to see you go, but I think you should hear them out.”

She tensed, sensing something more in his words.

Michael hesitated, then added, “And maybe—just maybe—you should call Jason.”

Her stomach lurched.

“He’s only called here about a dozen times looking for you.” He studied her reaction carefully. “Is that why you changed your cell and home numbers?”

Her pulse pounded. Jason called? She turned away before he could see the emotions warring on her face.

“He got confused between the job and reality,” she said, keeping her voice steady.

Michael let out a short chuckle. “Did he?” His disbelief cut straight through her defenses.

Heat prickled at her skin, and she hated how easily he saw through her.

“Call him,” Michael said. “Hear him out. Communication is a good thing, Stacia.”

“I don’t need closure,” she bit out.

“Maybe he does.”

She bristled but had no response.

“Besides,” he added, “you left things unfinished.”

She stiffened. “What does that mean?”

Michael pulled a folded piece of paper from his desk drawer and slid it toward her.

“They don’t consider your contract finished.”

Her fingers curled around the edge of the desk.

“What?” she demanded. “Jason got his standing ovation. The whole world loves him now. What more could they possibly want?”

Michael shrugged. “I don’t know. But someone at the Knights thinks otherwise. They want you in your office at the stadium today. Three o’clock.”

The air in the room felt thick, suffocating. They wanted to see her. Jason had called for her. None of this made sense. But suddenly, she needed to know why.

She stood abruptly, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. “Fine,” she said tightly. “I’ll hear them out.”

She reached for the contract on the desk, her movements sharp, decisive. “And then I’ll sign this.”

Michael didn’t stop her as she stormed out of the office, but she could feel his knowing gaze following her the entire way.

W alking into the empty stadium felt surreal.

The last time Stacia had been here, the place had been alive—packed with thousands of screaming fans, the air charged with electricity, the weight of playoff dreams resting on every play. Before that, it had been a constant hive of movement, stadium workers swarming like ants, setting up for games, breaking them down, scrubbing away the evidence of triumphs and losses.

Now, silence pressed in, thick and almost oppressive.

Her heels clicked against the concrete of the parking garage, the sound echoing around her like something out of a horror movie. She resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder. There were cars parked nearby, proof that she wasn’t entirely alone, but it still felt unsettling.

The elevator ride was just as quiet, the kind of silence that stretched out time, making every second feel heavier.

When the doors slid open, she stepped out, instinctively expecting the usual chaos of the offices—blaring music, the rhythmic thud of bass shaking the floor, the casual noise of players and staff moving between rooms. Instead, nothing.

Just stillness.

As she rounded the corner toward her office, the door stood open, light spilling from within.

She stepped inside—and froze.

The room had changed.

Gone was the cold, impersonal metal desk. In its place stood a dark wooden one, polished and stately, with a sleek computer monitor perched on top. The walls were no longer bare aside from the obligatory framed shot of the stadium—new pictures hung there, adding warmth, familiarity.

And sitting behind the desk, scanning a file, was Jason Friar.

Her breath caught.

His bad shoulder was still in a sling, but he looked different. Healthier. Lighter. There was a quiet confidence about him, a settled ease she had never seen before.

For a fleeting second, she thought about running. Backing out, escaping before he noticed—before she had to face whatever this was. But Jason looked up.

Their eyes locked, and in an instant, he was on his feet, knocking over a file and sending a cup of pencils rolling across the desk.

She took an involuntary step back, but he was faster. He moved around the desk, his good hand reaching for hers, fingers wrapping around her wrist before she could bolt. A spark shot through her, a jolt of awareness that raced from his touch straight to her heart. He tugged her into the room and shut the door behind them.

She sank into the nearest chair, breath unsteady. He perched on the edge of the desk, still holding her hand. A moment passed before he seemed to realize it. He let go, his fingers brushing hers as he pulled away. Then his expression shifted, turning professional.

“Thank you for coming, Ms. Kendall. We appreciate you stopping by and hearing our offer.”

She blinked. The formality. The rehearsed tone. The sudden shift in demeanor. Suspicion prickled up her spine.

Her eyes narrowed. “What the hell is going on? What are you doing here? And where is my stuff?”

He gestured around the office with a sweep of his good arm. “Welcome to the new talent development office. It’s not much yet, but we’re getting there.”

She barely glanced around, her focus razor-sharp on him. “You would think they’d offer you more. What exactly is ‘talent development’?”

“We’re building it from the ground up.” He leaned forward slightly, eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite place. “Haven’t hired the full staff yet, but we have office supplies.”

“How ambitious.”

His mouth quirked into something close to a smile.

“I’ve been asked to help develop younger players,” he explained. “A lot of these guys come into the league young, with more money than they’ve ever seen, more attention than they know how to handle. Some of them need guidance. Someone to help them adjust to life in baseball. That’s where we come in.”

“We?”

“Well, if you want to.”

She stilled.

He shifted, watching her closely. “You and I made a great team over the past few months. We thought we could expand on that. Help younger players when they’re drafted, make sure they adjust to life on the road, in the spotlight.” He shrugged. “I know baseball. You know publicity. The perfect team.”

The breath she had been holding slipped out, her heart sinking. Disappointment swept through her, cold and sharp. She had let herself hope—foolishly, recklessly—that this was something else. That he had called her here because he wanted her. Not her skills. Not her professional expertise.

Her.

Clearly, she had been mistaken. He needed her, all right—but only for her image-consulting skills. Not for her. Not in his life. Not in his bed. Not in his heart.

Her shoulders slumped slightly, but she inhaled, forcing herself to square them again. That was it, then. Time to cut bait. Regain some dignity. She couldn’t do this. Not when hearing his voice, seeing his face, smelling him made every raw nerve in her body scream. She wanted everything, or nothing. And she deserved no less.

Jason was watching her, his gaze sharp, intense.

She stood abruptly. “That’s great, Jason. Really. I’m glad you found a place for yourself, but I don’t belong here. I have another contract.”

He nodded slowly. “That’s what I told them.” Then his lips curved, his expression unreadable. “And, selfishly, I’m glad. If you worked for me, I couldn’t do this.”

Before she could react, his hands caught her shoulders, pulling her close.

And then he kissed her.

Hard.

Thorough.

Desperate.

His body molded against hers, lips moving over hers in a way that sent heat flooding through her, obliterating every thought, every defense. Her fingers curled into his arms, gripping instinctively—then he hissed in pain.

She yanked back. “Oh my God, your shoulder! I’m sorry?—”

He grimaced but shook his head. “Surgery’s next month. I’ll be laid up for a while, but after that, I’ll be ready for the season.” His good arm banded around her waist, tugging her back against him, his lips hovering inches from hers. “So, you don’t want the job?”

Her pulse roared in her ears, emotions slamming into her from every direction. Her body pressed into his, his scent clouding her senses, the heat of him bleeding into her skin.

“What job?” she murmured.

A knock on the door. She barely had time to step back before Cole Hammonds stepped inside, looking entirely too amused.

“Did you make her the offer?” he asked.

Jason smirked. “She turned it down.”

She whirled. “Wait a minute. I didn’t turn it down—not exactly.”

He grinned. “She just wants to be able to seduce me in the office, which she can’t do if I’m her boss.”

Cole snorted. “You, her boss? Not likely.” He turned to Stacia. “We’d be thrilled to have you in publicity and talent development, despite what this Neanderthal says.”

She stared at Jason. “You were serious?”

His smirk softened into something more sincere. “Of course. What did you think I meant?”

“I thought…” Her cheeks burned.

Cole smirked. “I’ll leave you two to figure it out. Just know—we’re pretty relaxed on the fraternization policy here.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Stacia turned back to Jason, breath unsteady. “So, what’s the deal with this job?”

Jason caught her hand, brushing his lips over her knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low. “For everything. I was an ass, and I pushed you away. But I want you. I miss you. I love you.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. “Really?”

He scowled. “Hey, guys don’t say these things. But I love you. I’m in love with you.”

A slow smile spread across her lips. She threw her arms around his neck. “I love you too.”

He pulled her in for a deep, scorching kiss.

Fairytales did come true.