Page 29 of Bar Down

God, he was impossible. And increasingly hard to keep at arm's length, especially now that she knew exactly how those hands felt on her waist, how his body felt pressed against hers.

We'll talk in Toronto. I promise. Some things can't be explained over text.

After a longer pause than usual, his response appeared:

Fine. But be aware my sister is expecting us both for dinner Friday night.

Stephanie nearly dropped her phone. Before she could craft a response that didn't sound completely panicked, he sent another message:

This is non-negotiable. Amara is more relentless than Coach Vicky during playoff conditioning. Consider it an opportunity to gather intelligence about your ally from primary sources.

The formal wording couldn't hide what this was: Marcus Adeyemi, the team's shutdown defenseman who had just kissed her senseless in her office, was inviting her into his personal life. Creating a connection that couldn't be dismissed as merely professional.

As threats went, it was infinitely more unsettling than anything Reed or Westfield had implied.

Fine. But I'm not answering personal questions about our "alliance." And we need to talk about what happened in my office.

His final text carried a note of triumph she could practically hear in his voice:

Noted. And yes, we absolutely will. Pack appropriately for Toronto weather. Current forecast suggests temperatures 8-10 degrees below New Haven norms.

Such a hard-ass, even in victory. Stephanie put down her phone, caught between laughter and tears at the absurdity of her situation. Reed was scheming to destroy her career again, trying to turn her against Marcus with manipulative half-truths about the Chambers situation. Westfield was playing along, echoing the same narrative. And the entire organization hung in the balance.

And somehow, despite all that, the prospect of having dinner with Marcus and his sister in Toronto terrified her most.

Because professional threats she could handle. She'd built defenses, created contingencies, prepared for worst-case scenarios.

But Marcus seeing past her carefully constructed image, learning who she really was beneath the polished PR director exterior? That was uncharted territory with no strategic playbook.

And now that he'd kissed her—now that the line between professional and personal had been thoroughly crossed—there was no going back. Her lips still tingled from his kiss, her body still hummed with want, and her mind kept replaying his words:"Reed's threats change nothing."

She hoped he was right. But Reed was already trying to drive them apart with the Chambers story, and that was just his opening move. As anyone in hockey knew, the most dangerous plays were the ones you never saw coming.

Chapter Seven

Marcus

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