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The title reads Blue Crabs Affair: Ethical Dilemmas Surrounding Performance Strategy and Personal Relationships . Just next to the title I see by Constance Evans .

My eyes skip down the page, drinking in the article with a quickness I didn’t know I was capable of. Beside me, Lovie sits perfectly still, and I get the feeling that she’s already read through the entire thing.

Lovelace Waters is an interesting name for an interesting woman. My investigation into this newest hire of the Baltimore Blue Crabs began when I first noticed her sitting behind the bench with the other staff, but couldn’t find any history in her employment regarding athletics or sports.

That’s because she doesn’t have any. Ms. Waters has an MBA and, according to her previous clients, helps firms to optimize their analytics and performance.

Simply put, Ms. Waters is all about helping organizations make more money, often through lay-offs and the utilization of technology that takes away human jobs.

At first, the focus of this article was going to be all about the bleeding of business into sport, and how a hyper-focus on money-driven-success steals from us all, but it turns out there’s a lot more than strategizing happening in those meeting rooms ? —

“What the fuck is this?” I snap, pushing back from the desk when I can’t take any more of it. It’s all stupid, and untrue—based on what Lovie has told me about her previous work, she’s helped several small businesses avoid going under back in Maine.

It’s not the most important thing, but for some reason, I feel a mighty push to defend her honor. She’s done amazing things for this team, and I’ve been the first to go up against her around every bend.

Before the HR rep can say anything, I speak again, “And who the fuck took those pictures?”

“Mr. Clark,” she snaps, speaking with a voice that doesn’t match her sweet face. “You’ll watch your language when you’re in this office.”

I clench my jaw and say nothing, hands turning to fists under the table.

Lovie spares a glance my way, but I’m too slow to catch it, to hold it.

The HR rep goes on, “As of right now, we don’t have information about who posted these images, or who sent them to the press. But what is more important are the legal implications.”

Lovie clears her throat, “Legal implication? I looked through the employee handbook—it’s not against the rules for us to have…relations.”

She’s still not looking at me.

“No, it’s not,” Ms. Winthrop says, turning her gaze on Lovie in a way that communicates real hurt.

“But if you read the employee handbook, then you know that it’s highly encouraged that employees disclose their relationships to us so we can help to protect you.

And, besides that, relationships between subordinate and?—”

“I am not Harrison’s subordinate,” Lovie argues. “Not according to the org chart.”

“Regardless of the technicalities,” Ms. Winthrop says, frowning and looking back to her computer, “there are consequences to this. PR is having a hell of a time trying to control the narrative here. For the most part…Mr. Clark, you’re being painted as something of a villain.

A Leonardo DiCaprio-esque older man who just can’t stop himself from dating younger women. ”

“First of all,” I clarify, glancing at Lovie, who is staring at her hands. “She’s thirty-three. It’s not like I’m going after some college girl. She’s a grown woman. And second of all—this is not anyone’s business but our own?—”

“You’re wrong in the fact that this very much is the Blue Crab’s business,” Ms. Winthrop fires back, her cheeks red. “Your actions reflect back on us, Mr. Clark. And if Lovie were ever to make the decision to sue?—”

“—I won’t—” Lovie interjects, but Ms. Winthrop goes right on.

“—there would certainly be some legal grounds for it, direct subordinate or not.”

“So what do you need us to do?” I ask, clearing my throat. “Tell people to leave us the fuck alone?”

“No.” She shakes her head, holding her hands up. “Do not say anything publicly until we’ve thoroughly debriefed with PR.”

Great. Just what I need. A meeting with Davis, the fucker.

“And…assuming that this is going to continue, I’m putting together paperwork for the two of you. I’ll need signatures by the end of the day on this. Right now, I’m going to assume PR wants you to make no more public appearances until we?—”

Abruptly, Lovie stands from the chair next to me, holding her hands up in front of her, sucking in a sharp breath, like she’s being held at gunpoint.

“That won’t be necessary, Maya.”

I turn and look up at Lovie, at that dark hair over her shoulders, the serious look in her expression.

The librarian, turned principal, turned scared little girl.

For a moment, it’s like I can see through every layer of her—the brave veneer, the trembling fear, the bedrock of determination at her very core.

When she turns to me, the look in her eyes is like I’m a stranger. Coldly, without much care at all, she says, “It’s over Harrison. This whole thing is done.”

With that, she turns and walks briskly out of the room.