Chapter 55 Hillary
HILLARY
Hillary was still smiling at her coffee when her computer pinged. She checked her inbox, expecting another routine update, but froze when she saw the name.
Kevin Kwan – HR
The subject line was simple: Need to connect.
Her stomach dipped. She clicked it open.
Hillary,
I’d like to stop by your office in about 30 minutes to discuss something that’s come across my desk. Nothing urgent, but it should be addressed sooner rather than later.
– Kevin
“Nothing urgent.” The phrase did nothing to calm her. HR didn’t schedule quick chats for fun.
Her mind instantly ran through a dozen possibilities. Sven and Natalie again? Another blog spinning something into chaos? Or—her pulse spiked—it could be Murphy.
She was not his boss. Their jobs had nothing to do with each other. It was allowed. It still did not calm her.
She shut her laptop and leaned back in her chair, pressing her palms against her thighs. Thirty minutes. That was all the time she had to brace herself before Kevin walked in with whatever new storm was brewing.
By the time Kevin knocked and stepped into her office, Hillary had already worn a path into her carpet with all her pacing.
He was polite as ever—professional smile, folder in hand—but there was a seriousness about him that made her throat dry.
“Thanks for making the time,” he said, settling into the chair across from her desk. “I won’t keep you long.”
“Of course.” She folded her hands on the desk, hoping they wouldn’t shake. “What’s going on?”
Kevin glanced down at his folder, hesitated, then simply came out with it. “These were sent to me.”
He slid a few printed photos across the desk.
Hillary’s heart stopped.
Grainy, slightly blurry, but unmistakable: her, on a bench at the dog park. Murphy’s hand on her cheek. Her arms around his neck. Both of them leaning in, kissing like the world had disappeared.
She felt the blood drain from her face.
Kevin’s voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the weight in it. “I don’t know who took them or why they ended up on my desk, but as you can imagine, this is . . . complicated.”
Her mind raced. PR instinct screamed one thing, her heart another. The last place she ever wanted this conversation was here, under fluorescent lights, with an HR file folder on her desk.
Kevin’s voice was steady, reassuring, as though he could see the storm behind her eyes.
“You know this better than anyone, relationships inside the organization are allowed, as long as they’re disclosed. You and Murphy aren’t even on the same wing. All it takes is filing with HR.”
Hillary’s lips pulled into something that was supposed to be a smile but felt rough, thin. Her stomach flipped. “Then I have something to tell you,” she admitted, the words scraping on the way out.
Kevin’s expression softened, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I’ll make a note of it. Honestly, I just wanted to put this in your hands. You’re head of PR. It’s more your territory than mine.”
She exhaled, relief tangled with nerves.
Then came the knock. Sharp. Sudden.
Kevin glanced toward the door, but Hillary already knew who it was.
“Sasha,” she murmured as the door swung open.
Her second-in-command slipped in, eyes bright and curious, a phone in her hand. “Hope I’m not interrupting—” Her gaze flicked between Hillary and Kevin, and something in her expression sharpened.
Hillary straightened in her chair, bracing.
Kevin waved Sasha in, and she didn’t hesitate, she was already halfway through the door with her phone in hand. “Okay, so if these pictures start spreading, we need a game plan. I’ve got alerts set on socials, but they’re still contained for now. Kevin, you saw the same grainy version I did?”
Kevin nodded, already leaning forward to pull a notepad closer. “It’s nothing definitive, but the speculation will heat up fast if it gets traction.”
The two of them fell into a rhythm with Sasha outlining possible angles, Kevin scribbling notes and tossing out policy reminders. It was neat, efficient, and clinical.
Hillary barely heard them.
She sat there, back straight in her chair, nails digging into her palms, the edges of their voices muffled by the roar in her head.
This was her nightmare. Grainy pictures.
Speculation. Her private life—the one thing she kept fiercely guarded—was bleeding out into the public, where it could be twisted into a thousand ugly shapes.
Sasha’s voice cut through the fog: “ . . . we can preemptively push wholesome content if we need to, but the safest first step is to keep it quiet. Let it die before it grows.”
Kevin nodded again. “Agreed. If it escalates, we have policies in place to protect both parties.”
Both parties. Hillary wanted to laugh, except there was nothing funny about any of this. Protect both parties. As if there was a shield big enough to stop the internet once it decided to tear something apart.
Her pulse raced. She tried to breathe, to ground herself, but her chest felt too tight. This was the nightmare she’d been dreading from the moment she kissed him back at the gala.
And now it was here.
A knock at the door.
Her heart skipped and then the door opened, and Murphy stepped inside. He looked unfairly good for someone coming off the ice, hair still damp from his shower, hoodie loose around his shoulders. But the brightness she loved about him . . . it wasn’t there. Something was off.
“Hey,” he said, but his voice was quieter than usual, heavy.
Before she could ask, Sasha jumped in. “Good, you’re here. Saves us a step.” She patted the seat beside Hillary’s desk and slid her phone around so he could see. “We’ve got a situation. Someone snapped a picture—grainy, but clearly you two at the dog park.”
Hillary’s stomach lurched. She hadn’t even worked out how she felt about Kevin showing her earlier, and now Murphy was seeing it with fresh eyes.
He sank into the chair slowly, like his knees might not hold him, and just stared at the screen. His skin went pale under his tan, lips parting like he was about to say something, but no words came.
Sasha kept talking, laying out the steps, her voice brisk and steady, but Hillary couldn’t hear a single word. All she could hear was the rush of blood in her ears and the sound of Murphy’s breath as it stuttered, sharp and uneven, beside her.
His shoulders slumped. His big, open hands curled into fists on his thighs.
He wasn’t mad; not yet. He was hurt. Exposed.
And it broke her heart.
Her hand slid over his, squeezing tight. “Murphy,” she whispered, his name thick on her tongue.
He didn’t look at her right away. His gaze was stuck on the grainy photo like it had clawed its way into him. But then, finally, he turned.
And her breath caught.
He looked . . . bad. Not just pale, not just shaken. He looked like someone had pulled the ground out from under him and he didn’t know how to stand anymore.
“Can we—” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “Can we talk in the hall?”
The way he said it, soft but urgent, left no room for argument.
Hillary gave Sasha a quick nod—half apology, half promise—and stood.
She followed Murphy out into the hall, her heels clicking too loudly in the quiet corridor.
He stopped just a few feet away, braced a hand against the wall, and bent his head like he was trying to breathe through something heavier than air.
Her heart was breaking.
“Hey, I gotta go.”
The words dropped like a stone in her stomach. Hillary’s heart stopped.
“What? Why? We can figure this out, we’ll—” She heard her own voice climb, panic clawing up her throat.
Murphy cupped her face in his big, steady hands, forcing her to look at him. His palms were warm, his eyes anything but. They were raw, stricken.
“No.” His voice was rough but firm. “The timing is shit, but I’m heading to Boston. Patrick took a turn.”
Everything inside her went still. The photos, the gossip, the job, none of it mattered. Not when he said his brother’s name like that.
Her breath caught. And before she could think better of it, the words tumbled out, fierce and certain.
“Then let’s go.”
His brows pulled together, startled. “You—you’d come?”
“Of course I would,” she said, gripping his wrist like she could anchor him. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
Relief softened his whole face, the kind that made her ache for him. The corner of his mouth trembled, almost a smile, almost a sob. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t have to. It was written in the way he leaned his forehead against hers for a single steadying beat before nodding.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”
Murphy squeezed her hand once more, then pulled her in for a hug. He stood there for a long moment, arms wrapped completely around her, holding her tight, breathing her in. Her head lay against his chest, and she could feel his heart pounding. She would do anything for him.
“I’m going to go in there and deal with this, but . . . I’ll be at your condo in an hour. Is that enough time?”
He nodded quickly, his throat tight. “Yes. I’ll be ready.”
“Okay.”
His eyes lingered on hers, gratitude and fear and something steadier beneath it, before he turned toward the elevator.
Hillary drew in a shaky breath and pushed the office door back open.
Inside, Sasha and Kevin looked up, mid-discussion about damage control. Hillary smoothed her features into something professional. “Murphy’s heading home. Family emergency. I’ll be gone too.”
Sasha blinked. “Everything okay?”
Her chest squeezed. “No. But I’ll be with him. Which means this,”—she gestured at the laptop and printouts scattered across the table—“is yours to run point on.”
There was no hesitation, no pushback. Sasha just gave her one sharp, confident nod. “I’ve got it. Don’t worry about this, Hillary. Go.”
Relief flooded her, surprising in its intensity. For once, she didn’t have to hold every single thing together. She could let go, because someone needed her more.
She grabbed her coat and bag, her heart already racing ahead to Murphy, to Boston, to whatever waited for them there.
She was going to be there for him.