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I don't look at anyone specific, but I feel eyes on me from the back of the room. The same dark stare that's been burning into my skull since I walked in here five minutes ago.

Liam Steele. Parking lot disaster. Griffin's personal nemesis. The man currently slouched in his chair like he'd rather be getting a root canal.

The man whose heart-shaped lock I've traced with my tongue.

"Questions so far?"

A hand goes up. "What about cheat meals?"

"What about them? You're professional athletes, not monks. But if your cheat meal turns into a cheat week, we're going to have problems."

"Define problems," the same voice asks.

I smile. "Problems like me showing up at your apartment with a meal plan and a very loud whistle."

The room erupts in laughter.

"Any other questions, or can I start fixing your lives?"

Silence. Then Aiden grins.

"Welcome to the team, Kat."

I click to the next slide and get to work, walking them through hydration protocols, meal timing, and supplement guidelines.

Most of the guys take notes. A few look genuinely interested.

Others are clearly just waiting for this to be over so they can get back to whatever hockey players do when they're not destroying their bodies for sport.

But Liam? He's not taking notes. He's just watching me. Not in a creepy way—more like he's trying to solve a puzzle he didn't know existed.

Fine. Let him stare.

If only you knew you're looking at your mystery woman.

After forty minutes of explaining why spinach won't kill them and energy drinks aren't a food group, I wrap up.

"Individual assessments start tomorrow. I'll be calling you in alphabetically, so Adams, you're first. Any final questions?"

Nothing.

"Great. Try not to die before I can fix you."

The guys file out, chatting and joking. Aiden stops by my laptop.

"Thanks for not making that painful," he says. "Half of them were expecting a lecture about kale smoothies and meditation."

"I save the kale smoothies for repeat offenders."

He grins and heads out, leaving me alone to pack up my presentation.

Except I'm not alone.

Liam's still here, sitting in the back row, arms crossed over his chest. Same scowl from the parking lot, same energy that makes the room feel smaller just by existing in it.

I don't look up from disconnecting my laptop. "Something I can help you with?"

"Maybe."

His voice carries across the empty conference room, rough and low. I finally glance up.

"Your individual assessment isn't until Thursday."

"Not about that."

I zip up my laptop case, not trusting myself to have this conversation without backup. "Then what?"

He stands, and the casual movement somehow manages to eat up half the space between us. "You gonna tell me why you're really here?"

"I'm here because this team hired me to keep you idiots from poisoning yourselves."

"Bullshit."

The word lands flat and certain. I straighten, meeting his stare head-on.

"Excuse me?"

"This job. This team. Your whole Little Miss Professional act." He takes another step closer. "What's the real reason?"

My pulse kicks up, but I keep my voice level. "The real reason is I'm qualified and I needed work. Shocking concept, I know."

"In Florida? With the Cyclones?" He's close enough now that I can see the skepticism in his dark eyes. "There are twenty-nine other teams. Better teams. Teams that actually win games."

"Maybe I like a challenge."

"Or maybe you like stirring up shit."

My temper flares before I can stop it. "And maybe you like making assumptions about people you don't know."

"I know enough."

"Really? What do you know?"

He stops walking. Looks at me for a long moment, jaw working like he's chewing on words he doesn't want to say.

"I know you hit my car and didn't blink. I know you walked into that meeting like you own the place. And I know you're not here by accident."

"You're right. I'm here because I'm good at my job and this team needs help. If that threatens your fragile ego, take it up with management."

Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe. Like he expected me to back down.

I don't back down. Ever.

"Anything else, or can I finish packing?"

He studies me for another beat, then shakes his head.

"Just one thing."

"What?"

"Next time you're gonna lecture us about nutrition, maybe don't show up smelling like coffee and stress."

I blink. "What?"

"Your hands are shaking. You've got coffee breath. And you keep checking your phone like you're expecting bad news." His mouth curves, "For someone preaching about healthy habits, you're running on fumes yourself."

If only he knew why my hands are really shaking. I know those hands. I know what they can do. But then there's the way he said "Novak" like it was poison. Like I went from the woman who screwed his brains out to enemy territory in half a second.

Embarrassment crawls up my neck. He's not wrong.

I've been mainlining caffeine since 6 AM, checking my phone obsessively for signs this whole thing is about to blow up.

I hate presenting to groups, hate the way my voice shakes when twenty pairs of eyes are staring at me, hate that part of me still feels like I'm faking my way through this even though I know I'm qualified.

"I'm fine," I snap, but my voice cracks.

"Sure you are."

"I am."

"When's the last time you ate something that wasn't a protein bar?"

I open my mouth to answer, then close it. Because honestly? I can't remember.

"That's what I thought." He turns to leave, then pauses at the door. "Oh, and why don't you bring your own nutrition plan to the meeting—might learn something."

Then he's gone, leaving me standing in an empty conference room with my laptop bag and the uncomfortable realization that the parking lot asshole just called me out on my own bullshit.

How the hell did the best night of my life turn into this mess?

And he's completely right.

I sink into the nearest chair and pull out my phone. Three missed calls from Griffin. Two text reminders to make sure I'm drinking enough water. And a voicemail from an unknown I haven't listened to yet.

He has a point.

I need to get a handle.

But first, I need to figure out why the hell the guy who accused me of insurance fraud is suddenly acting like he gives a damn.