Page 63 of Offside Secrets
Oh, the temptation of telling this man where he can go right now doesn’t escape me. But I do park it for the moment.
“I’m telling you the league has pretty strict policies about harassment.” I let my eyes drift meaningfully toward where Jenny and Lisa disappeared. “Funny how quickly things can escalate when there are witnesses.”
His expression shifts, becoming more calculating. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.” I step closer, not threatening but making it clear I’m not backing down. “But here’s the thing about hockey players—we’re really good at protecting our teammates. All of them, doesn’t matter if they’re on or off the ice.”
“Is that some kind of threat?”
“It’s a friendly reminder that this building has security cameras everywhere.” I gesture casually at the discreet camera mounted above us. “And the league takes workplace safety very seriously. Especially when it involves minority owners of partner organizations.”
Victor’s face goes pale. He knows exactly what I’m implying—that his behavior tonight could cost him his stake in Alexandria, could destroy his carefully cultivated reputation.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I wouldn’t have to. Security reviews footage automatically after incidents.” I shrug. “But I’m sure it’s nothing. Just a misunderstanding, right?”
He stares at me for a long moment, clearly trying to calculate whether I’m bluffing. Finally, he pushes past me toward the main corridor.
“Stay in your lane, Stockton,” he mutters.
“Always do,” I call after him. “That’s what makes me captain.”
I wait until he’s gone, then pull out my phone and dial Sawyer.
“Yo, Cam, what’s up? You should be celebrating?—”
“I need you to do me a favor,” I interrupt. “Are you still here, at the arena?” Judging by the ruckus I hear in the background, I could have guessed the answer, but I still ask.
“Yeah, man. Why?”
“Can you swing by security and ask them to pull the footage from corridor C-7 from tonight? Tell them there was an incident with an unauthorized person in a restricted area.”
“What kind of incident?”
“The kind that needs to be documented. Just in case.” I pause. “And Sawyer? Make sure Ben knows about it, too. Quietly.”
“You got it. Anything else?”
I think about the photographer, about the envelope full of money, about all the ways Victor’s been trying to destroy Sutton’s reputation and hurt our team.
“Yes, but hear me out first,” I begin. “Can you please also try to find the photographer and find out his side of the story? He was walking toward the parking lot, if you head that way now you may be able to catch up to him.”
“Yeah man, of course,” Sawyer agrees readily. “I’m already walking that way. But, why can’t you do it?”
Something like a movie montage flickers behind my eyes: Sutton stranded in the parking lot, needing help. Sutton in that dress she wore the night of the gala, looking like she could stop traffic without even trying. Sutton in my arms when we finally kissed—her lips soft and perfect, tasting like the sugary sweetness I always knew they would.
I blow out a breath, my decision already made. “Because I’ve got somewhere else I need to be.”
CHAPTER 22
SUTTON
My living room is bathed in the blue glow of the television, empty wine glass on the coffee table, laptop deliberately closed and shoved under a throw pillow so I can’t be tempted to check the latest gossip blog updates. I’ve been stress-cleaning for two hours. My baseboards are scrubbed, ten shelves of books reorganized, and couch cushions have been fluffed within an inch of their lives. Anything to keep my hands busy while Campbell played the most important game of his career.
The game I watched from my couch instead of the owner’s box, because apparently I’m a coward who can’t face the cameras when they’re looking for reactions to capture and dissect.
But let me tell you, he was magnificent.
