Page 9 of One Pucking Secret
But I’m not the woman he left behind. Not anymore. I stand taller now, feeling the quiet strength in my bones, knowing that whatever happens next, I’m in control.
He rises, a half-smile curling his lips as if pleased by my presence. The sight of him stirs a tempest within me, but I cage my emotions, locking them away. I can’t afford to let the past cloud my judgment. Not now.
But the sight of Wyatt, with that half-smile suggesting genuine happiness to see me, kindles a fire of indignation within. It’s as if the years of silence, the ghosting that left me alone and vulnerable, meant nothing to him.
I refuse to let him see how deep the wounds go, how his absence left a void filled withunanswered questions and a secret too heavy to bear alone.
“Chlo—” he starts, the recognition clear in his voice, but I’m faster.
“Mr. Banks,” I interrupt with icy detachment. “My name is Chloe Reed. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Every syllable is a brick in the wall I’ve built around my heart, a barrier to protect not just me, but the part of him he doesn’t even know exists.
This is business, I remind myself.
Chapter 2
Wyatt
“Now that we’re allhere, we should get started,” Mark’s friend and supposed PR mastermind, Janelle Kelley, says as she steps into the conference room with the confidence that only someone seasoned in damage control could have in a situation like this.
Mark Turner’s been my agent since my senior year in college, and he’s become the father I never had, so I trust his judgment explicitly. If he says Luminous can repair my image, I believe him. But all I can focus on right now is that Chloe is standing right in front of me for the first time in eight years.
My chest tightens with a cocktail of anticipation and nostalgia. Chloe Reed is like a memory come to life, just as striking as she was on the night that still burns at the edges of my dreams. I hated that we’d only gotten to share one beautiful night together beforeeverything went to hell for me. One night where everything felt right—until it didn’t.
All business and brisk efficiency, her auburn hair catches the light like autumn leaves in a sunset, her eyes—those vivid green pools that once reflected passion—are ice cold as they meet mine. There’s no flicker of recognition, no warmth. It’s as if I’m a stranger, or worse, an inconvenience, as she takes one of the seats at the conference table.
I slump back into my chair, the leather cold against my skin through my shirt.
The room fades to a buzz as names and titles flit around the table, irrelevant. Zach Darling, my best friend and the captain of my team, is here, along with Mark, then Janelle and Chloe. The sting of her dismissal festers, and I grit my teeth.
Does she really not remember me?
Mark begins the meeting with a nod of thanks. “We appreciate Luminous Communication’s help with saving Wyatt’s image,” he says, setting a tone of gratitude but also urgency. “It kills me to see Wyatt’s name get dragged through the mud like this.”
“You know I’m always happy to help, Mark,” Janelle assures him.
Zach returns the sentiment. “Yeah, I hate seeing him go through this. I never imagined something like this would happen to anyone on my team.” His words carry a weight of genuine concern, and I feel more than a twinge of gratitude for his support.
Chloe nods, her hands clasped in front of her on the table. “It would be foolish of me to say it’ll be easy. Especially since social media can be… unforgiving.” It’s an attempt at empathy that falls flat in the sterile room.
My fingers curl into fists beneath the table, knuckles whitening. Sonia’s latest post flashes in my mind. A collage of words and images twisted into a narrative far from truth, a spiteful fiction spun by a woman scorned.
“Unforgiving?” I scoff under my breath, heat creeping up my neck. “Try vindictive.”
Chloe’s eyes sweep over to me, remaining professional yet detached. “Look, if you want to beat the allegations, your best bet is to do what I like to call an image rehab tour. As of right now, the posts the public are seeing are the only proof they need to paint you as a villain—”
“Allegations aren’t proof, nor are they facts,” I interrupt, the words edged with a frustration that has been simmering within me since the first lie was cast.
“But they’re enough to sink careers, Mr. Banks,” she counters.
I shake my head, trying to keep my frustration in check. This whole situation feels ridiculous. Sonia’s theatrics, painting me as the villain—it’s almost laughable. My record on the ice should speak for itself. But instead, I’m stuck in this boardroom when I should be at the rink, relying on everyone to help clean up a mess I didn’t make.
My heart pounds. A metronome set to the tempo of accusation. “I’ve never laid a hand on anyone in anger,” I assert, eyes locked with each skeptic across the conference table. My voice is a steady drumbeat, no hint of the fury that’s churning inside.
“Wyatt’s character is solid. I’ve known him since he was twenty-one, and he’s never touched a drop of alcohol.” Mark nods from his seat beside me, lines of concern etching his weathered face. “That night, Wyatt and his teammates went out to a bar to bond, but he didn’t drink any booze.”
Zach nods. “Sonia showed up uninvited. They had already broken up, but she found out where he was and forced herself into the conversation. She was drunk, belligerent, and refused to leave.”
Zach continues. “She said she’d drive home, even though she was in no condition to. That’s why Wyatt yelled—he wasn’t going to let her get behind the wheel drunk. He was angry at her manipulation, not because he lost his temper.”
