Page 14 of Slap Shot
"Was it?" The question was soft, uncertain.
Oliver stepped closer. "I don't know. What do you think?"
Instead of answering, Heather rose on her toes and kissed him. It was soft, tentative, flavored with wine and the kind of courage that came from perfect timing. Her lips were sweet, and the kiss hit him harder than the wine. When she pulled back, both of them were breathing harder.
"That was decidedly unprofessional," she whispered.
"Completely unprofessional," Oliver agreed, but he was smiling as he said it.
They stood there for a moment.
"Oliver," Heather said softly.
"Yeah?"
"What are we doing here?"
Before he could answer, Heather's phone rang. Jack Westlake's name on the screen made her gasp.
"Shit. This can’t be good," she said, answering the call. "Mr. Westlake?"
"Heather, where are you?" His voice was tense, urgent.
"Why? What's wrong?"
"I need you at the facility. Now. We've got a situation with the medical files. Someone has leaked Jax Thompson's concussion history to a blogger. Management's in full crisis mode."
"Oh no. What’s the spin the blogger is taking?”
"Five concussions over three seasons, the cognitive testing results." Westlake's voice was grim. "If they have Jax's files, they probably have everyone else's too."
Oliver bit back a curse. Their phantom hacker had just escalated from digital probing to active warfare. He stalked a few feet away, fighting the urge to punch the brick wall. Charlie whined and butted against his legs.
"I can be there in twenty minutes," Heather said.
"Do you think Chenofski can help with this?" Westlake asked.
Oliver whipped around.
“Uh,” Heather looked at him and he nodded vigorously. “I think so, but HR said...”
“Fuck HR. We need all hands on this. Get him and anyone else you think can stop these attacks. I don’t care if he’s one of my players or the janitor.”
“Right,” Heather said and hung up.
“I guess we’re back in business,” Oliver said, trying not to grit his teeth.
“I guess we are.”
Chapter Four
Heather
Heather stared at her reflection in her bathroom mirror, touching her lips where the phantom sensation of Oliver's mouth still lingered. Three hours had passed since their dinner at Antonio's, the show and that kiss, before they'd raced off to handle the crisis with Jax's leaked medical files.
What the hell had she been thinking?
The crisis meeting had consumed the rest of the evening, damage control sessions with management, emergency security protocols, and a very long conversation with a pissed of Jax about how his private medical information had gotten out. Through it all, she'd been hyperaware of Oliver's presence across the conference room, the way his jaw had tightened when they'd discussed the scope of the breach, the protective fury in his dark eyes when they'd realized how many of his teammates were potentially vulnerable.
