Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Wesley
Friday morning, the distant sounds of practice echoed from the rink on the floor below, and my inbox flooded with positive media coverage from the previous night’s home opener.
I sat at my desk and reviewed the overnight analytics, watching social media metrics climb with satisfaction that made me almost giddy.
Griffin’s post-game interviews had gone viral—his leadership, his humility, his genuine emotion when talking about the team’s success.
The local news had led with the Stormhawks’ dramatic victory.
National sports outlets were praising the expansion team’s promising start.
Everything was working. The media strategy, the careful positioning, the narrative we’d been building since day one. Griffin was becoming exactly the face of the franchise we’d hoped for—charismatic, successful, inspiring.
And I was falling in love with him.
The thought surfaced unbidden as I scrolled through another glowing article about Griffin’s game-winning goal. I’d tried to keep my feelings categorized, manageable, with the same problem-solving skills I applied to crisis management and media relations.
But last night—watching him celebrate with genuine joy, seeing him ride the high of victory, then our private celebration afterward at his apartment when he was still buzzing with adrenaline—had stripped away any pretense that this was casual or containable.
I was in love with Griffin Lapierre. Completely, terrifyingly, irrevocably in love.
Four to six years, I reminded myself. That’s the timeline. We can do this. Last night proved we can navigate this successfully.
My phone buzzed with a text from Natalie, my PR specialist:
Natalie
Media requests still pouring in for Griffin. How do you want to prioritize?
I typed back a response about scheduling strategy, then returned to my analysis. The home opener had exceeded every metric we’d hoped for—attendance, engagement, sentiment. The Stormhawks weren’t just an expansion curiosity anymore. They were legitimate.
A knock on my doorframe made me look up. Griffin stood there, dressed in post-practice casual—jeans, T-shirt, hair still slightly damp from a shower. He looked relaxed, confident in ways that made him even more attractive than usual.
“Got a minute?” His tone was appropriately professional, the voice of a captain checking in with his PR manager. But his eyes held a warmth that had nothing to do with work.
“Of course. Come in.” I gestured to the chair across from my desk, the proper distance for a work meeting.
Griffin closed the door behind him—not unusual for private conversations, and nothing that should arouse suspicions.
“What’s up?” I kept my voice neutral, aware that the wall between my office and Natalie’s was thin.
“Need to go over the sporting goods sponsor event next week.” Griffin settled into the chair, his posture casual. “What’s the plan?”
I pulled up the calendar on my computer, grateful for the legitimate reason for this meeting. “Monday afternoon, two to four. Meet and greet with the customers at their flagship store, sign merchandise, photo opportunities. Standard appearance—I’m sure you’ve done a dozen like it.”
“Media coverage?”
“Local news will be there, plus their social media team. We’ll coordinate posts to maximize reach without oversaturating.” I turned my monitor so Griffin could see the schedule. “You’ll need to arrive fifteen minutes early for a briefing. I’ll be there to handle it. Wear your jersey.”
Griffin studied the screen, but I caught the slight smile playing at his lips. “Sounds manageable.”
“It’s easy. Just be yourself—charming, accessible, good with fans. You’re a natural at this stuff.”
“Thanks to your coaching.” Griffin’s gaze met mine, and the heat there had nothing to do with professional gratitude.
“Last night was incredible.” He dropped his voice, and it became husky.
“The game, the celebration… after. You were right—we can do this. Navigate this relationship while maintaining everything else.”
My pulse quickened at the intimacy in his voice, the way he was looking at me like we weren’t in my office.
“Griffin…” I kept my voice low, glancing toward the door. “We’re at work.”
“I know. But I had to see you. Had to tell you how perfect last night was.” He stood and moved around my desk with a confidence that suggested he’d forgotten—or stopped caring about—the risks.
I should have told him to stop. Should have maintained the separation we’d agreed was essential at the facility. Should have remembered every lesson Nashville had taught me about the dangers of letting personal and professional blur.
Instead, I stood to meet him, and suddenly we were inches apart in the space between my desk and the wall, close enough that I could smell the mountain spring locker room body wash, could see the flecks of silver in his ice-blue eyes, could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
“We shouldn’t…” The protest was automatic, halfhearted, undermined by the way I swayed slightly toward him and closed the blinds to the window overlooking the rink.
“I know.” Griffin’s hand found my waist, his touch light but possessive. “But I can’t stop thinking about you. About last night. About when I can see you again.”
“Tonight?” The word escaped before I could stop it, boundaries crumbling under the weight of wanting him.
“Perfect.” Griffin’s other hand came up to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. “Your place?”
“Yeah. I’ll—”
Griffin leaned in and kissed me.
The contact was brief, tender, just a moment of connection that felt inevitable despite being reckless.
His lips moved against mine with familiar certainty, and I responded automatically—one hand finding his shoulder, the other resting against his chest, where I could feel his heart beating as fast as my own.
A knock sounded on my door, followed immediately by its opening.
“Wesley, I wanted to follow up on—”
Owen Davidson’s voice cut off mid-sentence.
Time seemed to freeze—one of those crystalline moments where every detail became hyperreal and horrifying all at once. Griffin and I sprang apart like opposing magnets, but it was too late. Far too late.
Davidson stood in my doorway, his hand still on the handle, his expression cycling through shock to understanding to something harder and more authoritative than I’d ever seen on his face.
He’d seen us. There was no ambiguity, no room for interpretation or explanation. He’d walked in on his team captain kissing his PR manager in a closed office during work hours, and the evidence was undeniable.
The silence stretched for seconds that felt like hours. Griffin’s face had gone pale, his eyes wide with the same panic flooding my system. My hand was still halfway raised from where it had been on Griffin’s chest, frozen in the moment of being caught.
Davidson’s jaw tightened. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold, controlled, absolutely furious beneath the professional veneer. “My office. Both of you. Right now.”
It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even really an order. It was a statement of fact—we would be in his office immediately, or the consequences would be even worse than they were already about to be.
“Mr. Davidson—” Griffin started, his voice rough.
“Now.” Davidson’s tone left no room for argument. He turned and walked away, leaving my door open behind him.
Griffin and I stood frozen for another beat, neither of us quite processing what had just happened. Then reality crashed in with devastating clarity.
We’d been caught. After all our careful planning and strategic distance and promises to be smart, we’d been caught kissing in my office in the middle of a workday because we’d gotten careless and comfortable and stupid.
“Fuck.” Griffin ran a hand over his face, his breathing uneven. “Wesley, I’m so sorry. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have—”
“Not now.” My voice came out steadier than I felt, some deep well of professionalism kicking in even as my world tilted sideways. “We need to go. Now.” I headed out.
Natalie stood outside my office door, her brow furrowed in confusion and concern. She’d clearly heard Davidson’s tone if not his words, had seen him storm out of my office and me emerge with Griffin, both looking shell-shocked.
“Wesley? Is everything okay?” Her voice followed us down the hallway to the elevator.
I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t find words to explain what had just happened or what was about to happen. Just kept walking, Griffin beside me, both of us headed toward whatever consequences awaited.
This is Nashville all over again.
The thought hit with sickening clarity. Another relationship discovered. Another professional crisis. Another public humiliation looming. Another situation where I was about to lose everything because the man I loved and I couldn’t keep our hands off each other.
I knew better. I promised myself I’d never do this again. Why didn’t I stop this? Why didn’t I maintain boundaries? Why did I let myself fall for another man who couldn’t be with me openly?
Except Griffin wasn’t Charles. Griffin wasn’t selfish. Griffin had tried to be considerate, had agreed to our timeline and our rules. This wasn’t his fault any more than it was mine.
We’d both gotten careless. Both let the high of last night’s success convince us we were invincible. We had equally forgotten that one moment of weakness could destroy everything we’d been building.
We took the elevator to the executive level, where Davidson’s office dominated the floor.
The walk felt interminable—seconds that stretched into eternity, both of us acutely aware that this was it.
The moment we’d been terrified of since we’d started this relationship.
The discovery that would change everything.