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"Effective PR requires understanding both what should be communicated and how. Mr. Reed preferred a more data-driven approach that sometimes overlooked human elements."

"The eternal conflict between numbers and narrative." Westfield leaned forward. "Which brings me to my visit. Preston has offered to consult on our organizational restructuring, given his experience with analytics integration in Boston. I'd value your thoughts, considering your history."

The trap was beautifully laid. If she objected, she'd seem petty and unprofessional. If she endorsed him, she'd enable her own destruction.

"Mr. Reed certainly has a distinctive approach to organizational management," she said carefully. "I'm sure you'll make the decision that best serves Darby & Darby's vision for the Chill."

Westfield studied her, seeming both impressed and amused by her diplomatic dodge.

"You know, Stephanie—may I call you Stephanie?—I admire professionals who've weathered difficult transitions. It builds character." His tone stayed conversational, but his eyes hardened. "Preston mentioned there were some personal conflicts in Boston. I trust those wouldn't resurface should we bring him on board?"

And there it was—the veiled threat, so similar to what she'd faced three years ago. History repeating itself with crushing predictability.

"My only concern is the well-being of this organization and its public image," she replied, meeting his gaze steadily. "I work effectively with anyone who shares that priority."

"Excellent." Westfield stood, apparently satisfied. "I look forward to your presentation tomorrow. Reed mentioned you might have concerns about our analytics direction, but I'm pleased to see you embracing change."

As he reached the door, he turned back with an afterthought that felt precisely calculated. "Oh, and please extend my regards to Mr. Adeyemi. His work in Vancouver was particularly impressive—though I understand the fallout was unfortunate for some parties. Analytical truth can be so disruptive, don't you agree?"

The door closed behind him before Stephanie could respond. She sat frozen, processing what had just happened. The message couldn't be clearer: Reed was coming back into her professional life, with Westfield's full support. And they were already using the same Chambers situation to try to drive a wedge between her and Marcus—first Reed's text suggesting Marcus was ruthless with analytics, now Westfield implying the same thing.

They were working together to isolate her, just like in Boston.

She touched her lips again, still feeling the ghost of Marcus's kiss. Less than ten minutes ago, he'd held her against her desk, kissed her like she was essential to him, and told her plainly that he made his own decisions about who he aligned with.

"Reed's threats change nothing,"he'd said with that unwavering confidence.

But he didn't know the full picture. He didn't know what Reed was truly capable of. He didn't know that Reed was actively trying to poison their alliance by painting Marcus as a villain in her eyes with the Chambers story.

She grabbed her phone, her first instinct to warn him, to explain everything. But what would that accomplish? Marcus would insist on fighting alongside her, his tactical mind unable to accept retreat as the best play. He'd already made that clear. He'd risk his position—his reputation—for an alliance that was barely a week old and a kiss that had just happened.

No. She couldn't let that happen. Not until she had a better plan.

With shaking hands, she pulled up their text conversation and typed:

Need to focus on media prep for the road trip. Will have to postpone our strategy discussion on the plane. The presentation is solid as is. We'll connect in Toronto if needed.

Another lie, another evasion. But necessary to keep him at a safe distance until she figured out how to navigate Reed's return without Marcus becoming collateral damage.

His response came immediately:

Is this related to Westfield's unscheduled visit to your office?

Stephanie stared at the message. How the hell did he know? Had he been watching? Waiting?

Before she could respond, another text arrived:

Chenny mentioned seeing him enter. Your meeting lasted 7 minutes. Too short for actual business, suggesting either confrontation or a power play. Given your sudden cancellation, I'm betting these events are connected.

A reluctant smile crossed her lips despite everything. Even in text, Marcus was pure Marcus—observant, analytical, and surprisingly perceptive underneath all the hockey-player bluntness.

She typed back:

Sometimes I forget how plugged into team gossip you are for someone who claims to avoid social drama.

His reply was swift:

Not gossip. Reconnaissance. Different methods, same result. You're dodging the question.

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