Chapter 27 - Holly
Holly
We were in LA for the Kings series, and the team was scattered at tables throughout the hotel restaurant.
Hunter and the guys sat closest to us, laughing and teasing one another over breakfast. I kept my gaze on him for a moment, letting myself absorb the easy way he carried himself before turning my attention back to the looming storm sitting across from me in the shape of Bob Trent.
“You know,” he started, spoon idly scraping oatmeal in a way that somehow made him seem both calm and infuriatingly smug, “just because the higher-ups love you doesn’t mean you can waltz back in here and act like everything’s back to normal. I never had a soft spot for teacher’s pets.”
I gave him a tight-lipped smile, letting my fork hover over my plate. As if I wanted anything from him. Soft or other.
“I don’t think anyone here thinks that. But right now, we have a problem with the LA media that needs attention, and the team’s not going to wait for us to argue over semantics.”
His eyes narrowed, and I could practically feel the irritation radiating off him. “Oh? And what problem would that be, exactly?”
I drew up the email in my mind, already drafting the solution while keeping him talking. “A local outlet ran a story suggesting Hunter made some offhand remark about the Kings’ goalie joining them on the ice once he actually grows into his pads.”
Bob’s fork clattered onto the plate. “And you think you can just smooth that over with a little email? That’s playing with fire, Holly. What if it backfires? What if he looks… weak?”
I didn’t flinch. “Weak? The guy is one of the top goalies in the league. This isn’t about making him look weak. It’s about correcting misinformation before it spreads. We clarify, we move on. Done.”
He leaned back, arms crossed, giving me the slow, challenging look that always made me want to bite back. “Did he say it?”
“No.” My appetite for eggs benedict waned considerably, but I pushed the food around my plate to keep from looking at him.
“How do you know?” Bob asked. “Sounds like something a competitive goalie would say this deep in the playoffs. You should just let it run its course.”
I set down my fork and leaned forward, meeting his gaze. “You’re mad because I came back. Admit it.”
He smirked, like he had the perfect comeback lined up, and he did. “So why’d you come back, Holly? Really. Who takes a pay cut and jumps back into this circus after she had it made in Chicago?”
I didn’t answer. My eyes flicked to Hunter, just across the room.
His laughter with the guys was effortless, completely unaware of the tension boiling just a few tables away.
The memory of our time together flushed me from the inside out, but I kept my control, hid it well, and kept my focus on the problem at hand.
I turned back to Bob. “We’re going to fix this.
Here’s how.” I outlined the plan quickly, concisely, my fingers already hovering over my phone’s keyboard.
“We send a clarifying statement. Emphasize that he’s been misquoted.
Done. Simple, effective, and it keeps the story from going viral before we get ahead of it. ”
He scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s… that’s reckless. It’s not nuanced enough. It’ll play poorly in the press. You should take my suggestion and just leave it alone.”
I didn’t hesitate. “Let’s not pretend this is about the statement, Bob. You’ve been waiting for a screw-up so you have something to hold against me.”
His jaw tightened, and he leaned forward slightly. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
I smiled faintly, hit send on the email, and leaned back in my chair. “Let’s see just how bad it plays out, shall we?”
Bob’s eyes narrowed even further, the kind of look that promised he’d be circling like a shark the rest of the day. I was okay with that. Across the room, Hunter’s easy grin caught my eye, and I allowed myself the smallest, private smile.
Breakfast continued around us, the clatter of dishes and chatter of the team fading into background noise. I watched Hunter, the curve of his shoulders, the tilt of his head as he laughed at something Mason said, and felt the familiar spark that always had me flustered.
Bob opened his mouth to argue something else, but I cut him off with a quiet, sharp, “I’ve got this.”
He grunted, clearly displeased, but I let it be. My phone pinged with a new email—a follow-up from a journalist thanking me for clarifying the quote—but I ignored it. Right now, the bigger picture was enough: the snafu was handled, Hunter was none the wiser, and I’d drawn the line with Bob.
I took a final sip of my coffee, sliding the cup down to the table.
The LA sun hit the windows just right, warm and bright, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy that small sense of victory.
Then I looked at Hunter again, sitting with the guys, oblivious and perfect in the morning light, and felt a pull that had nothing to do with work.
Breakfast ended, the team trickling out to grab luggage, and I sat back, letting my phone rest on the table.
I could feel the tension from Bob’s presence lingering, but it was manageable.
I had taken control, neutralized the problem, and, more importantly, kept my eye on the one reason I’d come back: him.
I gathered my things, slid my phone into my bag, and leveled my gaze at Bob. “Breakfast is over. We’ve handled the issue. Can we just move on?”
He said nothing, just leaned back with the kind of grudging acknowledgment only he could manage. I stood, smoothing my skirt, and let a small, victorious smile curl at the corners of my lips. Everything was under control.
Or so I thought.
“You know, Holly…” Bob began, voice smooth and casual, but with an edge that made my stomach tighten. “You better watch your step. If management found out about you and Hunter, you might have to call up your friend in Chicago again.”
“Excuse me?” I forced a laugh. “That rumor’s dead and buried. And I’m a little disappointed that you’re trying to bring it up again, actually. I expected more from you.”
His grin widened, smug as ever. “Oh, I know it’s not a rumor. I’ve seen the way you look at him.” He leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Before you left, before Chicago. And now? You think management wouldn’t notice? That they wouldn’t ask questions?”
I felt my pulse spike, my skin prickling where his gaze lingered. “You’ve got it wrong. And what you think you’ve seen? You’re reading way too much into it. Things are purely professional between Hunter and me.”
But he laughed as though he were getting paid to. “I hope you haven’t unpacked your bags, because one word from me and you’ll be back in Chicago before the final buzzer tonight.”
My stomach twisted, but even as I was formulating a response to quell Bob’s unrelenting assault, a voice cut in from behind me.
“Is that any way to speak to a lady?” Hunter’s stride to our table was swift, confident, and every step of it made the heat rise in my belly.
Bob’s eyebrows shot up at his sudden appearance, and apparent knowledge of what we’d been talking about. “Eavesdropping is impolite, Callahan.”
“Yeah, well, your face is impolite,” he shot back, face tight with restrained anger. “And if you think threatening Holly’s gonna get you anywhere–”
“Who was threatening?” Bob held up his hands innocently. “All I stated was the facts. The team has rules, and if those rules are broken…”
Hunter dropped into the chair I’d just vacated, and lowered his voice to a menacing level. “If she goes, I go. And who do you think management will side with? Their star goalie right when we’re headed for the Stanley Cup, or a mediocre marketing guy who stirs up more trouble than he smoothes over?”
Bob recoiled slightly, clearly taken by the plot twist. “Look—”
“No, you’re the one who needs to look,” Hunter said, ice in his tone.
His eyes flicked to me for a moment, just long enough to communicate that he had my back, before locking back on Bob.
“Just because all the shitty things you’ve done aren’t talked about, doesn’t mean we don’t have a record of it.
I’ve been here for over seven years, remember?
You don’t want me delivering those records to management. ”
I felt a flush of admiration curl through me. The way he’d jumped to my defense, unhesitating, confident. I wanted to lean into him, press closer, but I kept my control.
“Thank you,” I murmured quietly to him, tugging at the edge of my composure. “But I think Bob got the message. Didn’t you, Bob?”
He simply nodded, and dropped his eyes to the cold oatmeal in front of him. I gathered my stuff and gestured to Hunter, “Come on.”
We weaved through the remaining tables, Bob trailing off, muttering threats under his breath, but clearly not willing to escalate further with Hunter breathing down his neck.
Once the elevator doors closed behind us, the sudden solitude brought a charged hush.
Hunter’s proximity pressed against me, the heat radiating from his body palpable.
He leaned casually against the wall, one shoulder brushing mine. My breath hitched.
“Grade A asshole,” he muttered, which made me laugh.
“I appreciate your timing,” I said then. “Honestly though, I can handle Bob Trent on my own.”
“I know.” He shrugged, eyes on the numbers slowly creeping up to my floor. “It felt good sticking up for you though. And rubbing his face in all the stupid things he’s done.”
I punched the emergency stop without thinking. Well, I was thinking, just not about getting to my hotel room. I couldn’t wait that long.
Hunter was on me in a blink, pinning me against the wall with a crushing kiss, his hands roaming freely all over my body. The fuse sparked instantly, blazing through me with a heat I could barely contain.
“God,” he whispered against my lips, teeth nipping softly at my bottom one. The sound of his voice sent a surge of arousal pooling between my legs.
I let out a soft laugh, shaky and breathless. “People are gonna be out here soon. To check on the elevator.”
But the words were a pretense. Every inch of me wanted more, closer, and the teasing kiss morphed into something that had been simmering since I left his bed the last time.
“Push the button, then.” He bucked his hips, and the evidence of his burgeoning hard-on pressed against the restless pulsing in my core. “The sooner we get to your room, the better.”
We broke apart, sharing a quiet moment of disbelief, of relief, of that rare, overwhelming closeness. My fingers traced the line of his jaw, and his thumb brushed over my lips in a silent promise.
I pushed the button to release the stop, and the elevator lurched into motion.
“Two more floors to go. How do you suggest we pass the time?” Hunter’s grin was lazy but intense, eyes glinting, and he leaned down to capture my lips again, softer this time, savoring the taste, the closeness.
I responded just as slowly, letting the kiss draw out, lingering on the small, perfect moments of contact.
We stayed like that, caught in the tension and warmth, until the ding of the next floor finally nudged us toward reality. But the electricity between us had only grown.
Even with the doors sliding open, I couldn’t resist leaning into him, his hand at my waist, our fingers still laced together.