Chapter 49 Hillary
HILLARY
Hillary had gotten into the office before the chaos, the way she always did. The halls were still dim and quiet, the hum of the vending machine the only sound as she unlocked her door and slipped inside.
She hung her coat on the back of the door, booted up her laptop, and tried to focus on the emails already waiting for her. Work. Work was safe. Work was steady.
Then came the knock. Soft. Familiar. Her heart stuttered even before she said, “Come in.”
The door swung open, and there he was. Murphy. Messy hair under a cap, that easy grin that undid her every time, a steaming coffee in one hand and a muffin bag in the other.
“You’re spoiling me,” she tried, but her voice was breathless.
“Good,” he said simply, walking in as if he belonged there. Setting the coffee on her desk, the muffin beside it. But instead of stepping back like usual, he leaned down, slow, giving her time to stop him.
She didn’t.
The kiss was soft at first, sweet, like a promise. But when she tilted her chin up, his hand slid into her hair, and the sweetness melted into something deeper. She sighed against him, dizzy at the way one simple kiss from Murphy could scatter every defense she’d ever built.
When he finally pulled back, there was that grin again, softer this time. “Morning, Boss.”
Her lips curved into a soft smile. “Morning, Rookie.”
Murphy lingered close, his forehead almost brushing hers, his voice low. “I don’t have much time before practice, but . . . I need to ask. Where do we stand on telling people?”
The question hit harder than she expected. Of course it was coming—this thing between them wasn’t just stolen kisses anymore—but hearing him say it out loud made her pulse spike.
She forced herself to meet his eyes. Steady. Warm. Always steady. “Oh, we never did talk about that, did we?”
His jaw flexed, but he nodded. “Tonight then. My place. We’ll talk.”
His phone dinged in his pocket, sneaking a peek.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said as he slipped his phone back in his pocket and took off his cap to run his hand through his sandy brown hair. “Patrick is getting his surgery tomorrow, that was my mom telling me he cleared his last pre-op appointment.”
“Oh, Murphy! I didn’t even know. How are you?”
“I’m okay. Of course, I’m worried, but we’ve been through the whole surgery thing so many times with him. While I’m never not nervous about it, it's not out of the ordinary . . . I don’t know if that makes sense.”
She squeezed his hand. “It does. I’d love to hear more about everything tonight.”
The look that turned the corners of his mouth warmed her down to her core.
“Okay. Tonight.”
He pressed one more kiss to her temple before straightening up, grabbing his cap, and heading for the door.
She couldn’t help herself; her gaze dropped as he walked away. Broad shoulders tapering to that narrow waist, those long legs, and his perfect ass filling out his joggers just right. She hadn’t let herself look lately, not really, but this time she gave in. Just one lingering glance.
And of course, because the universe hated her, he stopped at the door.
He turned his head and smirked. Then, slow and deliberate, he winked.
Heat shot up her neck like a guilty teenager getting caught in the act. Hillary whipped her eyes back to the coffee cup on her desk as if it suddenly held state secrets.
Behind her, the door clicked shut.
And then he was gone, leaving her staring at the coffee on her desk, her lips tingling, her heart a chaotic mess of fear and hope. She exhaled a shaky laugh.
A few minutes later, a knock at the door pulled Hillary out of her thoughts. She straightened quickly, like she hadn’t just been staring at the door Murphy had walked through.
Sasha slipped in, tablet in hand, already in full business mode. “Got a minute to debrief on yesterday?”
Yesterday. For a wild second, Hillary’s brain blanked. Yesterday meant Murphy on her couch, his mouth on hers, his shirt tugged halfway off—
Oh god.
She blinked. No. Work yesterday. The video they’d recorded yesterday. The very professional, very public video.
“Uh—yeah. Of course,” Hillary said, forcing her voice steady.
Sasha perched on the edge of the chair across from her desk. “I posted the video this morning. Engagement is good. Comments are mostly positive. It’s landing clean, which is what we needed.”
Hillary nodded, trying to chase the heat from her cheeks. “That’s good.”
Sasha studied her for a beat, then went on.
“Murphy’s stuff is stabilizing, too. Most of the noise died down.
It seems that since North Star has a secret baby scandal, a handsome 24-year-old hockey player who danced with them once doesn't have the same pull. But . . . ” She hesitated.
“There’s still a faction out there. They’re focused on him.
My guess would be those are the fans that are here for Murphy and hockey, not just the crossover. ”
Hillary gave a tight nod, clutching her coffee a little too hard. She should have felt reassured. Instead, all she could think was how much she wanted to protect him, from the internet and from the world, but for once, not herself.
Sasha rose, already gathering her tablet. “Okay, I’ll keep an eye on things and let you know if anything needs your attention.”
“Thank you,” Hillary said, with a curt nod.
When Sasha slipped out, the silence in the office rushed back in. Hillary sat there for a moment, her pulse still fluttering from Murphy’s kiss and Sasha’s warning, before finally pushing herself into gear.
She had a job to do.
She pulled her laptop closer, opening spreadsheets, emails, and reports.
Numbers blurred into strategy, engagement metrics became stories she’d need to spin, and every sponsorship deal or player partnership demanded her attention.
Her pen tapped against the desk as she jotted notes for the meeting: —bullet points, projections, reminders to pitch new angles.
The hours disappeared into a steady hum of work, her focus split between the players, the organization, and the constant swirl of PR battles that never quite ended. For a while, it almost felt normal again.
Until she glanced at the clock.
It was almost game time.
Her heart gave a sharp little leap, traitorous and undeniable. She’d sat through dozens—no, hundreds—of games, but never like this. Never with this humming in her veins.
Tonight, she wasn’t just excited for the Magic to skate. She was excited to watch Murphy.
And that terrified her almost as much as it thrilled her.
The arena buzzed with energy, the familiar hum of fans filtering up into the press box. Hillary slid into her usual seat beside Alice, who was already set up with her laptop and tablet, ready to post highlights for socials.
On the ice, Murphy was everywhere. Explosive, relentless, focused in a way that made her pulse race. His skates cut across the ice with power, his stick finding the puck like it was magnetized.
By the time he buried his third goal of the night, the hats rained down, and the building roared with delight. Hillary couldn’t stop herself from grinning, her heart swelling like it might burst out of her chest.
“Wow,” Alice said, leaning forward to watch him circle with his teammates, grinning ear to ear. “Murphy’s really on fire tonight.”
Hillary’s cheeks ached from smiling. “Yeah,” she said softly, almost to herself. “He really is.”
Her eyes followed him as he raised his stick in salute to the crowd, joy radiating off him in waves. And for one reckless moment, she let herself imagine it.
What life could look like.
A life with Murphy. With Finn’s paws skittering across hardwood floors. With quiet mornings and hockey nights, with the warmth of that smile directed only at her.
And maybe—just maybe—with tonight as the beginning of that life.
She forced herself to look away, down at her notes, but the glow inside her refused to dim.
Alice squinted at her, amused. “It’s funny, you know. Usually, I’m the one who’s off in la-la land while you’re laser-focused on the numbers. But tonight . . . ” she gave a knowing tilt of her head, “feels like we’ve swapped roles.”
Heat crawled up Hillary’s neck, but she only pressed her lips together and focused on her notes as if they could ground her. Alice let it go, but the small, knowing smile lingered.
By the time the game ended and the last of the crowd had filtered out, Hillary couldn’t sit still. She moved through the motions of collecting her things, saying goodnight to Sasha and Alice, but her heart had already leapt ahead.
Later, she found herself standing outside Murphy’s condo door, her knuckles hovering just a second before she knocked. The sound echoed softly in the quiet hallway.
Her pulse thudded as she waited.
She lifted her hand and rapped on the door, her pulse stuttering with every second that passed. For a moment, there was silence.
Then came the sound of claws skittering frantically against hardwood, followed by a loud thunk and Murphy’s voice, exasperated and warm all at once.
“Finn! Oh, goodness, what did you do now? Stay down, buddy, stay—”
The deadbolt turned, and the door swung open. Murphy stood there in a rumpled T-shirt, his hair a little messy, one hand awkwardly catching Finn by the collar before the dog could barrel out into the hall.
He bent down, wrangling the dog with a chuckle. “Sorry, he thinks every knock means playtime.”
When he finally straightened, his hazel eyes found hers. For a heartbeat, everything else dropped away.
His smile broke slowly and easily, lighting up his whole face, and Hillary melted right there in the doorway.
“Come in,” Murphy said, stepping aside and tugging Finn gently back by the collar.
Hillary walked in, her eyes sweeping the space. She’d been here before, but tonight it felt different, like she was seeing it through a softer lens. She was still impressed. Everything about him impressed her, even the little things.