Page 6

Harrison

I can’t stop a laugh from bubbling out of me.

There I was, this morning, thinking I’d never see Knockout again and being pretty fucking butt-hurt about it, and now here she is, standing right in the doorway to this conference room.

I’m so taken with the sight of her in that suit, the way it hugs her curves and accentuates her form far better than the shorts from yesterday, that it takes my mind a second to meander the rest of the way through my thoughts.

Yes, she’s here—but why?

It’s not divine intervention or insane luck.

It hits me as she clears the panic from her face and steps into the room. Knockout is the New York yuppie. She’s the fucking consultant hired by the team that we absolutely do not need. She’s the brand new obstacle in my way, stopping me from starting up what would be a perfectly good program.

“Ms. Waters,” Ki says, standing, running his hands down his suit, and extending a hand to her. “I hope your flight was okay coming in.”

Is that a blush I see crawling over her cheeks? That flight was more than okay, obviously. Her blush tugs at something in my stomach, reminding me of the way she felt last night, but I shove that down, reminding myself that no matter how good the sex was, I was unwittingly sleeping with the enemy.

Not for the first time. Maybe that’s my lifelong curse.

“It was fine, thank you.”

Ki turns so he’s standing next to her, and gestures to the table, glancing between the rest of the people in the room and her.

“Everyone, this is Lovie Waters, our new consultant.” He glances at her.

“To introduce you, I’ll just go right down the line.

First here is Coach Harrison Clark,” Ki nods at me, but Lovie noticeably does not meet my gaze before Ki goes on.

“ Senior assistant coach, Colt Donnell. A representative from HR, Ms. Maya Winthrop, and a representative from public relations, Mr. Jared Davis….”

Ki goes around the table, introducing one person after another, and I keep my eyes trained on Knockout—Willow—Lovie—even as she avoids my gaze at all costs.

When introductions are finished, Ki turns over the floor to her, and she stands at the front of the room, looking completely confident again as she launches her presentation.

“Good morning everyone,” she says, turning around and shooting us a broad smile. A ripple of jealousy goes through me at the knowledge that I suddenly have to share that smile with everyone else in this room.

Gesturing to the presentation, she goes on, “As Mr. Park said, I’m your inaugural Director of Player Development.

I’m sure if you’re someone in this room who focuses on the hockey side of things, that might seem like a buzzword position to you, something to pad the roster without offering any actual results. ”

I resist the urge to let my eyebrow rise. He's already piquing the interest of Colt beside me, who was telling me before the meeting that he just wanted to get this administrative crap over with so we could get back to season prep.

And now that she’s identified and pointed out those sentiments, all my coaches are leaning in a bit. I sit back in my chair, appraise her again as she changes the slide, she knows what she’s doing. At least, when it comes to selling herself professionally.

“I’m not just here to take a spot at the table,” Lovie assures, and when she turns, she catches my eyes for the first time since walking into the room.

Her gaze flicks away quickly, and I instantly feel a loss.

“My modernization approach is all about quantifying and optimizing—put our performance into numbers, and look for every single marginal gain we can scrape for. As someone wise once said,” she flips to the final slide of her presentation, which shows a movie still, “the inches we need are all around us. Maybe that’s the wrong sport, but hopefully, the sentiment still rings true.

No matter what your position is in this organization, I want to help you perform the best you can.

This is my contact information. I encourage you to use it. ”

“Thank you, Lovie,” Ki says, nodding and scooting his chair in as Lovie gathers her things and returns to the table. The room is charged, something energetic and new hanging in the air.

I am not a fan. She may have said her position isn’t just another admin role, but it sure sounds like that’s what it is.

Lovie takes diligent notes, and the rest of the meeting passes quickly, reminding me of a lot of long-ago college lectures in a room full of people, my mind somewhere far away from the discussion.

As an undergrad, I was always busy thinking about hockey.

Now, I’m staring at Lovie, mind working, trying to figure out what’s going on inside her head.

By the time Ki calls the meeting to a close, giving one final welcome to Ms. Waters, I’m basically vibrating out of my seat to talk to her. Maybe she’s a little high-strung, but surely she will get behind my program, right?

But Ki catches me before I can stop her, and I spin around to face him with a barely contained grimace on my face. “What’s up?”

“Look, man,” Ki laughs, releasing my arm like I might swing on him. “I know you’re not on board with this whole thing, but you haven’t seen her successes. She’s turned around a lot of start-ups just about to go under, reversed bankruptcies…”

Despite how much I want to go after her, I can’t stop myself from taking the bait, crossing my arms and giving Ki a droll stare. “You’re talking about business, Park. This is hockey.”

“The business of hockey. All I’m asking is that you go in with an open mind.”

“Sure.” I toss the word out with the level of commitment he probably expects from me, just wanting to escape this discussion with him and get to the hallway. I can see Lovie in a discussion with Jared Davis, the slimy asshole.

There’s not a single new hire that he hasn’t tried to fuck. He takes public relations as a personal responsibility, apparently.

Until now, it’s never bothered me. But as Park says something about giving Love a season to work her magic, I hear her laughing beyond the door, that sharp, curt sound making goosebumps rise on my arms.

“Sounds good, man,” I say, clapping Ki on the shoulder and turning, stepping out into the hallway and not seeing her.

Muttering under my breath, I turn toward the administration offices, wondering if she’s headed there to set up her space, but something tells me that’s not the way she’s gone.

Instead, I about-face and go the opposite direction, not stopping until I’m pushing through a large glass door and onto an outdoor patio.

Just as I thought, Lovie is standing at the railing, leaning over slightly. When she hears the door, she turns around and stands straight, and I notice her suit doesn’t have a single wrinkle.

“What are you doing?” she snaps, the moment I get close enough to hear her. I stop, raising an eyebrow.

“What are you doing?”

“We can’t be seen out here together!” she says, the words hissing out through her teeth. God help me, she’s fucking hot when she’s pissed off.

“And why not?” I ask, leaning against the railing with one arm and shooting her a confused look. “It’s not like anyone here knows?—”

“Do not say it out loud,” she insists, cutting me off and moving toward the railing, turning so she’s facing me. “And they probably suspect, considering the way you ogled me during that entire meeting.”

“If anyone was ogling, it was fucking Davis.”

“He was just being nice. you know what? It doesn’t matter! The most important thing here is that absolutely nobody can know about what happened between us.”

I bite my tongue to keep from blurting out something I might regret.

At the moment, I’m torn. One half of me wants to keep this going, to tease her and see just how much I can work her up, just how wild she might get.

I’m already thinking about the sound those buttons on her suit might make when they come undone.

Another part of me sees something in her expression—something more than worry. Something bordering on panic that says this isn’t a joke. Not to her.

So, instead of doing any of the things I want to do, I raise my hands, nodding and drawing a hand across my lips like a zipper, “Not a word, Waters, or should I call you Willow?”

Her face flushes further, cheeks glowing under her makeup. “It’s my middle name. You were a stranger on a plane. It’s not like I was going to give you my full name.”

“You gave me a lot more than your full name, if I remember right.”

“This—” she pauses, takes a deep breath, and runs a hand over her hair, then gestures between us with it. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. No jokes like that. No insinuations. Someone could overhear it and get the wrong idea.”

“Fine,” I relent. She nods once and turns to leave, but I clear my throat, drawing her attention again. “Since you’re ruining my fun, maybe you could do something for me?”

Her eyebrows shoot up, that blush traveling down to her neck, and I realize what she’s thinking. It makes me laugh.

“Now who’s the one insinuating things?” I laugh, shake my head. “No, Park is making me get approval from the new consultant for my program. Turns out that’s you. Maybe you make quick work of it for me, give it the stamp of approval, so we can get it ready for next summer?”

Her brow wrinkles, then relaxes, and when she meets my eyes, there’s a newfound understanding there. “The camp for kids?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” I can taste the victory—her saying of course she’ll approve it. Only a monster wouldn’t.

“I’ll have to look it over more,” she says, tilting her head. “My job is to make sure the players—and the team as a whole—are performing at the top of their game. I’m not sure something like that will work. Especially if we’re not sure about player time and ice time.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to help disadvantaged kids?”

“I’m saying I need this job,” her tone goes flat, and she crosses her arms. “And I’m not going to let anything jeopardize that. I’ll look into the program and see what I can do, but I’m not going to make quick work of it.”

“Not even as a favor to me?”

“Not as a favor to anyone.”

Her expression has turned hard landing somewhere between pissed-off boss and frustrated librarian—but this time, instead of turning me on, it just ticks me off.

Knockout might be hot as hell, and a great fuck, but that doesn’t mean she’s any different than the other administration people with heads up their asses when it comes to the business side of hockey.

Profits, expenses, line-by-line examinations of the team. All that data and marginal gain bullshit she was talking about is just smoke and mirrors, a ploy to cover the fact that she’s trying to turn the guys on my team into dollar signs.

At least I managed to dodge a massive bullet.

“I should have known better,” I mutter, shaking my head and pushing past her, heading back into the arena. My shoes thump noisily on the cement, and a bird chirps, circling once before landing beside the door.

Lovie doesn’t call after me, and I don’t look back.