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Professional distance is a myth, like work-life balance and calories not counting on vacation.

I’m hiding in the women’s bathroom like a middle schooler avoiding a crush when Maddy finds me. The team’s PR director looks like she stepped out of a fashion magazine with her sharp angles and sharper wit, but her expression is sympathetic as she hands me a paper towel.

“Rough first morning?”

“Is it that obvious?” I’ve been splashing cold water on my face for five minutes, trying to erase the feeling of Reed’s breath on my neck.

“You’ve got that look. The one everyone gets after their first Hendrix encounter.”

I freeze. “What?”

“Relax. I saw he arrived two hours early for his appointment.” She checks her lipstick in the mirror. “I mean the frustration. He has that effect on people like a human migraine with better abs.”

“I hadn’t noticed his abs.” Lie. I’ve noticed everything, including how he’s gotten thicker since Vegas.

Maddy snorts. “Sure. And I didn’t notice that he followed you out of the locker room like a man on a mission. Coffee?”

Twenty minutes later, we’re tucked into a corner of the facility’s café, and I’m discovering that Maddy Winters might be my salvation in this testosterone-fueled nightmare.

“Here’s the thing,” she says, stirring sugar into her espresso with surgical precision.

“This organization will protect you exactly as long as you’re useful and scandal-free.

The second there’s even a whisper of impropriety—especially with you being Coach’s daughter—they’ll throw you under the bus so fast you’ll get road rash. ”

“That’s... comforting.”

“I’m not here to comfort. I’m here to warn.” She leans forward conspiratorially. “I’ve been doing PR for this team for five years. I’ve seen careers destroyed over less than a lingering look. And Hendrix? He’s a walking liability on his best day.”

“I can handle him.” Another lie. I can barely handle being in the same building.

“Can you? Because from where I was sitting, it looked like he was about to eat you alive in that hallway.”

Heat floods my face. “That was—he was confused. Thought I was someone else.”

“Honey.” Maddy’s voice goes gentle. “I spin stories for a living. That wasn’t confusion. That was recognition.”

I stare into my coffee, weighing my options. I need an ally here, someone who understands the stakes. And something about Maddy makes me think she’s seen plenty of secrets.

“Vegas,” I say quietly. “Two years ago.”

To her credit, Maddy doesn’t gasp or judge. She just nods slowly. “And now you’re here. He’s here.”

“And now I’m here. He’s here. With mandatory therapy sessions. Starting in two hours.”

“Jesus.” She sits back, processing. “Does anyone else know?”

“No. And it needs to stay that way.”

“Obviously. Okay, damage control mode.” She pulls out her phone, typing rapidly. “First, you need documentation. Every interaction, every email, every session note. Create a paper trail that’s so professionally spotless it could be submitted as evidence.”

“I’m not trying to build a case—”

“You’re protecting yourself. Trust me on this.” She looks up from her phone. “Second, never be alone with him outside of scheduled sessions. Always in your office, always with the door closed but unlocked. Record everything if legal.”

“That seems extreme.”

“That seems smart. Hendrix’s got a history of poor impulse control, and you’ve got a history of...” She waves vaguely. “Vegas.”

Fair point.

“Third,” she continues, “cc me on any concerning communications. I can’t protect you from something I don’t see coming.”

“I appreciate this, but I can handle—”

“Chelsea.” She reaches across the table, gripping my hand.

“I like you. You’re smart, qualified, and exactly what this disaster of a team needs.

But this is a boys’ club wrapped in corporate dollars, and your father won’t be able to protect you if this goes south.

Hell, he’d probably lead the charge to distance himself. ”

The truth of it stings. My father’s love has always been conditional, based on performance and reputation. A scandal would be unforgivable.

“So what do I do?”

“You do your job. You maintain ironclad boundaries. And you don’t let Reed Hendrix charm, intimidate, or seduce you into forgetting what’s at stake.”

“He won’t—”

“He will. It’s what he does. The man collects conquests like hockey penalties.” She pauses. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Much.

Back in my office, I take Maddy’s advice to heart. I draft the most professionally distant email in the history of workplace communication.

To: N. Hendrix From: Dr. C. Clark Subject: Scheduled Performance Sessions

Mr. Hendrix,

This email confirms your mandatory performance enhancement sessions scheduled for the following dates and times:

Thursday, March 15: 10:00 AM Tuesday, March 20: 2:00 PM Thursday, March 22: 10:00 AM

Sessions will take place in my office (East Wing, Suite 302). Please arrive promptly. Failure to attend will be reported to management per your reinstatement agreement.

Attached please find intake forms to be completed prior to our first session.

Regards, Dr. Chelsea Clark Mental Performance Coach Chicago Outlaws

I hit send before I can second-guess myself, then turn to the mountain of paperwork that comes with avoiding one player while trying to help twenty-nine others.

My email pings four minutes later.

To: Dr. C. Clark From: N. Hendrix Re: Subject: Scheduled Performance Sessions

[Single animated GIF of a man winking]

That’s it. His entire response is a winking GIF.

I stare at it, watching the loop repeat. Wink. Reset. Wink. Reset. It’s simultaneously the most juvenile and most effective response he could have sent. Professional enough that I can’t report it, but personal enough to remind me he’s not playing by my rules.

Another email appears.

To: Dr. C. Clark From: N. Hendrix Subject: Forgot attachment

You forgot to attach the forms. But don’t worry, I already know what issues we need to work on.

See you soon, Dr. Clark.

P.S. - Interesting subject line. Especially the “enhancement” part.

I close my laptop harder than necessary.

My phone buzzes. Maddy.

Maddy: Just saw Hendrix’s response to your email. A GIF? Really?

Me: You saw it?

Maddy: He cc’d me. With a note that said, “Per your request for documentation.”

Maddy: Get in line. But also... kind of brilliant?

Me: Whose side are you on?

Maddy: The side that keeps my job. But between us? This is the most interesting thing to happen here in years.

I spend the rest of the hour creating detailed session plans that will keep tomorrow’s appointment clinical and structured. Standardized assessments. Specific protocols. No room for improvisation or personal tangents.