Page 67 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband

The room buzzes with agreement. Players and staff are nodding, some voicing their own concerns about privacy and fair treatment. What Harrison clearly intended as a power play is backfiring spectacularly.

"We'll address specific concerns in individual meetings," Harrison announces tersely. "For now, these policies are effective immediately. Meeting adjourned."

As people file out, conversations buzzing with dissatisfaction, Harrison's voice stops me at the door.

"Dr. Bennett. A word."

Fuck. Here we go.

I turn back as the room empties, leaving just Harrison and me.

"That was quite a performance," Harrison says once we're alone, his voice dripping with condescension.

"I was asking legitimate questions about policy implementation."

"You were grandstanding to deflect attention from your own violations."

"I wasn't aware I'd violated anything."

Harrison laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Dr. Bennett, I've been watching you very carefully since your arrival. Performance metrics that mysteriously improve when certain players respond positively to you. Session notes that become less detailed when personal involvement increases. Social media posts showing you at events with team members."

"Team events are part of my job?—"

"Leaving the same apartment building as star players at seven in the morning is not part of your job description."

My heart hammers so hard I'm surprised it doesn't echo off the conference room walls. "I fail to see how my residential choices are relevant to my professional performance."

"Don't play games with me, Dr. Bennett." Harrison steps closer, his voice dropping to that intimidating register that probably works on weaker people. "I know exactly what's been going on between you and Kingston."

"And what, exactly, do you think has been going on?"

"An inappropriate personal relationship that compromises your professional judgment and violates team policy."

He is clearly trying to intimidate me, to make me crumble like some delicate flower who can't handle grown-up conversations. Too bad for him, I've been dealing with assholes who think intimidation equals power since graduate school.

"My personal life is none of your business as long as it doesn't affect my work," I say coolly. "And you have no evidence that it has."

"Then you'll be unemployed by Friday, with a reference that ensures you'll never work in professional sports again." His smile is fucking reptilian. "Your choice, Dr. Bennett. Your career or your boy toy."

Boy toy.

Before I can respond, there's a soft knock on the conference room door. Harrison's assistant appears, looking nervous.

"Mr. Harrison? Your three o'clock is here."

"One moment." Harrison turns back to me. "Forty-eight hours, Dr. Bennett. Think carefully about what matters more to you—temporary infatuation or permanent career prospects."

He starts to leave, then pauses at the door. "Oh, and one more thing. Starting tomorrow, I'll be conducting individual meetings with every player on the roster."

"For what purpose?"

"To discuss professional boundaries and appropriate staff interactions. I'll be asking each player directly about their experiences with our mental performance coaching program." His smile returns, colder than before. "Specifically, whetherthey've observed any inappropriate behavior from staff members."

"Some players are very observant," Harrison continues. "We'll see what the players say, won't we?" Harrison steps closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Forty-eight hours, Dr. Bennett. Use them wisely."

He leaves me standing in the empty conference room.

My phone buzzes with a text from Dax: