Page 3 of Slap Shot (Charm City Chill #3)

H eather

Code scrolled down Heather’s monitor in streams of green text that would have looked like hieroglyphics to most people.

But to her, it was beautiful, logical, predictable, controllable in ways that life rarely was.

She'd been at her desk in the Chill's headquarters since six this morning, three hours before her official start time, because the breach attempts from last night had left her restless and angry.

Someone was playing games with her, and she did not like to lose.

Her office occupied a corner of the building's third floor, windows overlooking the practice facility where she could watch players arriving for morning skate.

Not that she was watching. Definitely not staring at the way Oliver Chenofski moved across the parking lot with that easy athletic stride, his service dog Charlie trotting beside him like a golden shadow.

She absolutely was not thinking about how his eyes had darkened when he'd looked her over yesterday at the coffee shop, or the way his voice had roughened when he'd said, "That explains a lot." Like he'd been thinking about things that had nothing to do with hockey or cybersecurity.

A few hours later, her phone buzzed with a text: Conference room B in 20. Time to see what you're made of. - O

Heather stared at the message, her stomach twisting playfully at his text. They'd agreed to start working together immediately, but she hadn't expected the sass.

She saved her work and headed downstairs, grabbing a fresh coffee from the break room.

The hallways buzzed with trainers discussing injury reports, media staff planning coverage, and the distant sound of skates on ice from the practice rink.

It was everything she'd dreamed about when she was seventeen and convinced she'd play professionally someday.

Before her knee exploded like a bomb and took that dream with it.

Conference room B sat empty except for Oliver, who'd spread laptops and tablets across the table.

He'd changed out of his practice gear into dark jeans and a team polo that stretched across wide, muscled shoulders she definitely wasn't noticing.

His hair was still damp from his post-skate shower, and when he looked up at her entrance, she wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers through those dark strands.

"Morning," she said, setting down her coffee and trying not to inhale whatever clean, masculine scent he was wearing. "You've been busy."

"Couldn't sleep after yesterday." He gestured to the screens. "Figured I'd take a look at what we're dealing with."

"And?"

His expression went grim. "We're fucked."

Despite everything, Heather smiled. "That's the technical assessment?"

"The technical assessment is that whoever's been probing your systems knows exactly what they're doing.

Look at this." He turned one of the laptops toward her, and she had to lean closer to see the screen.

Close enough that her shoulder brushed his, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

Focus, she ordered herself. But it was hard to concentrate when his cologne made her want to press closer instead of pulling away.

"These aren't random attacks," he continued, apparently unaffected by their proximity. "Someone's mapping the entire infrastructure. Database architecture, security, access hierarchies. They're building a complete blueprint."

The systematic nature of the attacks bothered her more than she wanted to admit. She'd spent her career focusing on external threats—hackers breaking in from the outside. But this was different. Too precise. Too informed about their specific vulnerabilities.

What if she'd been looking in the wrong direction entirely?

Heather studied the data. "The timeline suggests they started a few weeks before I was hired." She straightened, putting distance between them before she did something stupid like lean into that solid warmth. "Show me the access logs."

For the next hour, they worked in sync, trading theories and building profiles of their invisible enemy.

Oliver's mind was razor-sharp, cutting through complex problems the same way he threaded passes through defensive coverage. More than once, Heather glanced at his hands as he typed. He had long fingers, calloused from years gripping hockey sticks, and she wondered what they’d feel like on her skin.

"You're staring," he said without looking up from his screen.

Heat flooded her cheeks. "I'm thinking."

"About what?"

About whether you kiss as intensely as you analyze code. About what it would be like to forget this needs to remain professional and find out if that attraction I saw in your eyes yesterday runs as deep as mine.

"About the breach and why it’s happening," she said instead.

This time he did look up, catching her gaze and holding it. An awareness that had nothing to do with professional collaboration and everything to do with the fact that she was a woman and he was a man, and they were alone in a room together passed between them.

"Yeah," he said, voice slightly gruffer than it had been a moment before.

Her phone rang, breaking the spell. Jack Westlake's name appeared on the screen, and Heather's stomach dropped. The team's new owner rarely called her directly.

"Dr. Quincy," Westlake's voice was crisp, businesslike. "I need to see you in my office. Now."

"Of course. I'll be right up."

She hung up, meeting Oliver's questioning look. "Westlake wants to see me."

"About the security issues?"

"I’d imagine so."

“Is he pissed? Are you going to get in trouble?”

She gathered her things, trying to ignore the way Oliver's concern made her chest tighten. When was the last time someone had worried about her job security? "Keep working on those access patterns. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Heather." The way he said her name made her pause at the door. "Be careful up there. Westlake's a good guy, but he's new and he’s got a lot to prove.”

"He might decide I'm not up for this," she said. It had cost her jobs before, when employers decided she wasn’t aggressive enough or that she was a woman doing a man’s job.

"That's not what I meant." Oliver stood, and suddenly the room felt smaller. "I meant they don't know what they have in you yet. But they will."

The simple confidence in his voice did things to her that had no place in a professional relationship. Heather nodded and headed for the elevator, trying to ignore the way her heart was beating too fast.

Westlake's office occupied the entire northwest corner of the building, with windows overlooking both the rink and downtown New Haven. The man himself sat behind a mahogany desk and scowled at her when she came in.

"Dr. Quincy. Thank you for coming up." He gestured to a chair across from his desk. "I wanted to discuss the security assessment you submitted yesterday."

Heather sat, spine straight, game face on. "Of course."

"Your report mentions significant vulnerabilities. How significant, exactly?"

"Enough that I've recommended immediate implementation of enhanced protocols across all systems." She kept her voice steady. "The current architecture has multiple access points that could be exploited by someone with sufficient technical expertise."

"And you believe such a person is actively targeting our organization?"

"I know it." She pulled out her tablet, showing him the same data Oliver had been analyzing. "These aren't opportunistic attacks."

Westlake studied the information, his expression unreadable. "How long to implement your recommended changes?"

"Six weeks for full deployment. But I can have critical systems hardened within a week if—"

"You'll have whatever resources you need." He leaned back in his chair. "This organization has weathered too many storms to be brought down by hackers. Do whatever it takes to protect our people."

Relief flooded through her. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me yet. Do your job, and do it well." His eyes sharpened. "And Dr. Quincy? I understand you've brought Oliver Chenofski into this effort. I trust you have good reasons for involving one of our players in security matters?"

Heather's pulse kicked up. She didn’t want anyone to figure out about his past. "His technical background makes him a valuable asset."

"I see." Westlake's tone gave nothing away. "Just remember that our players' primary responsibility is to the team's performance on the ice. Don't let security concerns interfere with that responsibility."

"Of course not."

"Good. Keep me informed of your progress."

Heather took the dismissal and headed back to the elevator. Westlake's support was crucial, but his knowledge about Oliver suggested someone was already talking. In her experience, workplace gossip about a woman working closely with an attractive male colleague rarely ended well for the woman.

The elevator doors opened on the executive floor, and she nearly collided with a man in a navy suit who was juggling his phone, a coffee, and a stack of files.

"Oh, sorry! Multi-tasking fail," he said with a sheepish grin, steadying his coffee. "You must be Dr. Quincy. Travis Dane, Jack's assistant. I keep meaning to stop by and introduce myself, but it's been crazy around here."

"No problem. Nice to meet you." Heather shook his offered hand.

"How are you settling in? I know the transition to a new organization can be tough, especially in a specialized role like yours." Travis seemed genuinely concerned as he walked with her toward the elevator. "Jack mentioned you've been diving deep into our systems. Finding everything you need?"

"Just getting oriented. Standard security assessment process."

"That's good to hear. I have to admit, when Jack first mentioned hiring a cybersecurity consultant, I wondered if we'd had some kind of breach." He laughed, adjusting his glasses. "But I guess it's more about prevention, right? Being proactive?"

The elevator arrived, and Travis held the door. "I hope you don't mind me saying, but it must be challenging being one of the few women in a technical role around here. The sports world can be pretty old-school sometimes."

Finally, someone who gets it. Travis reminded her of the good managers from her previous job—professional, established, genuinely supportive.

"I'm used to working in male-dominated environments."

"I bet you are. And honestly, it's refreshing.

Coach Kovalchuk's been such a great addition too - really shows the organization is moving in the right direction.

" Travis stepped back as she entered the elevator.

"If you ever need anything from the administrative side - access to files, scheduling meetings, whatever - just let me know. We're all here to support each other."

The doors began to close. "Thanks, I appreciate that."

"Have a good rest of your day, Dr. Quincy."

As the elevator descended, Heather's mind was already shifting back to the security analysis waiting for her downstairs.

She found Oliver exactly where she'd left him, bent over his laptop with the kind of focus she'd seen players bring to video review sessions. Charlie lay at his feet, occasionally lifting his head when footsteps passed in the hallway.

"How did it go?" Oliver asked without looking up.

"Better than expected. Westlake's giving me whatever resources I need." She reclaimed her seat, noting how Oliver's shoulders relaxed at the news. "But he made a point of mentioning you specifically."

Now Oliver did look up, wariness creeping into his expression. "What kind of point?"

"The kind that suggests people are already talking about us working together." She met his gaze directly.

"Is that going to be a problem for you?" he asked.

The question hung between them, loaded with implications. Heather found herself studying his face, noting the sharp line of his jaw, the way his dark eyes seemed to see straight through her facade.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I've never worked this closely with someone who..." She trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence without crossing lines she wasn't ready to cross.

"Someone who what?"

"Someone who makes it hard to focus on work."

The words came out quieter than she'd intended, honest in a way that made her want to take them back immediately. Oliver went very still, his gaze intensifying.

"Heather—"

"We should get back to the security breach," she said quickly, before he could say something that would make this situation even more complicated. "That's what matters right now."

But even as she turned back to her laptop, she noticed the weight of his attention, the electric awareness that had been building between them since yesterday.

And despite every instinct screaming at her to maintain boundaries, she couldn't shake the feeling that working with Oliver Chenofski was going to test every rule she'd made about keeping her personal and professional lives separate.

The thought should have sent her running. Instead, it made her want to lean closer and see what happened next.