Page 6 of Slap Shot
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 wasa 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 broughtOliver 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."
