16. Harbor
HARBOR
“ A nything you want to go over before the interview?” My eyes flick to Weston’s and for a split second, he meets my gaze with a stare so intense I’m pretty sure I stop breathing.
Heart pounding, I wait for his response.
“I’m good.”
I twist the stack of bracelets on my wrist, burying the sharp twinge of disappointment.
Of course he doesn’t want any help from me. He still doesn’t trust me, doesn’t believe in the plan.
I drop my voice, taking a risk and stepping in closer to him, the fresh scent of his cologne winding around me.
“We’re on the same team, you know. I want this to go well, just like you.”
He swallows hard, the muscles in his neck moving with the effort. “I know. I appreciate that.”
Warmth floods through me at his comment.
Finally, we’re getting somewhere.
One thing I am good at is reading people, understanding what they need to succeed. The kind of strategic insight my dad thinks I lack, at least when it comes to hockey.
For the first time since taking this job, I actually believe he’s wrong.
I do have what it takes. I belong here. I just need to make Weston see it, too.
“If you change your mind, let me know.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and pivot to walk away. His hand grips my elbow.
“Harbor, wait…”
Spinning to face him, I try to focus on the task at hand. Not the man in front of me, with the sharp jawline and the perfect amount of stubble, looking beyond sexy in his dark blue suit.
The man whose lips were on mine less than twenty-four hours ago.
Keep it professional, Harbor. Forget about what happened in the locker room.
“Yes?”
“Can we do a trial run together?”
“Sure. We have enough time to run through the questions. Let’s do it. Take a seat here—” I pull out a chair, patting the fabric. “And I’ll be here. That’s the most likely scenario for an interview like this. It’ll be you, the interviewer, me, and the camera crew. That’s it.”
Weston sinks down into the chair, crossing his feet at the ankles. His posture’s hunched and defensive.
I hop up from my chair, placing my hand on his shoulder. “Chest out, shoulders back, head up. You want to exude confidence.”
He lifts his chin, blue eyes flashing and his jaw set. “Better? ”
“Much.” I take my seat again and get into my interviewing position, leaning slightly forward and staring at Weston intensely. The reporter stare, we call it.
He stares right back and my mouth goes dry, butterflies zooming around my belly—and it’s not only from nerves.
This man does something to me.
“So, Weston—how do you feel about the change in leadership? The relocation and new team name?”
“Cutting right to the chase, huh?” Weston’s full lips tip up at the corner as he scrubs a hand over his jaw.
I shrug. “Sorry, but we don’t have much time. Figure I’ll start with the harder questions.”
He nods. “It’s fine. How do I feel about the new leadership? I think Coach Keller could be a great asset to the team.”
“Could be or will be?” I frown at him. “Word choice matters here.”
“Right.” He rubs his face, wiping away the look of doubt. “Coach Keller will be a great asset to the team.”
“Perfect.” I smile at him and he relaxes a touch, sitting back in his chair. “This is your first time playing for a team outside of your hometown of New York City. How are you feeling about the move? Homesick yet?”
Weston hesitates for a second and I pounce, pointing at him. “That. No pausing. Roll right into an answer. Pause in the middle, but never at the beginning of a question. That gives the reporter time to extrapolate and interpret. You don’t want that.”
He huffs out a sigh. “Got it. Ask again.”
I clasp my hands together and lean forward. “This is your first time playing for a team outside of New York. How do you feel about that?”
“It’s new and different.” His eyes lock on mine and my heart hammers hard against my ribcage. “I’m looking forward to the season, seeing what we can accomplish together as a team.”
Not breaking eye contact, I ignore the ripple of electricity coursing through me and forge ahead with the mock interview.
“The Hockey with Heart campaign is something new this season. How do you feel about the team’s commitment to charity? Do you think the campaign’s a publicity ploy to help bolster the team’s image?”
Weston licks his lips, a surefire tell.
“Pause right there.” I hover my finger just over his lips, his breath warm against my skin. For one terrifying second, I forget what I’m about to say. “Don’t do that.”
“What?” His brows knit in confusion.
“Anything with your mouth.” I wave my hand around his face. “It’s a tell. You seem nervous.”
He huffs out a sigh. “Damn, you must be great at poker.”
I have to laugh at that. “I am pretty good. Sit back and try again. Weston, do you think the campaign’s a ploy to help with the team’s tarnished image?”
This time he meets my gaze head-on. “The team’s excited to build strong community ties and we’re looking forward to giving back.”
“Yes!” I beam at him and he finally cracks a smile, his teeth gleaming in the fluorescent lights of the conference room. “Great answer.”
The door creaks open. “Harbor, we’re on in five. Time to mic up.” One of the sound technicians pops her head in, glancing from me to Weston. I scoot back a little, my cheeks heating. The last thing I want is to give the wrong impression to the crew .
“Got it. We were just rehearsing.” My words come out in a hurried jumble as she hustles over with Weston’s mic. She hands him the earpiece and he shoves it in, then she winds cords around and tucks the receiver box into his back pocket.
“All set. We go live in a few.” The technician scurries away, and Weston swipes his palms down his thighs.
“You ready?”
He nods, his expression serious, tiny lines crinkling his eyes.
“One last thing.”
“Oh?”
“Your tie.”
Instinctively, I reach out and adjust the knot, straightening the silky fabric until it lays just right against his thick neck. “There.”
I gaze up at him and my stomach swoops as he locks those deep pools of blue on me. Hot desire rolls through me and I can’t move, can’t think rationally.
The only thing on my mind is Weston Steele and the magnetic forcefield of want between us.
This is what my father warned me about.
Personal feelings overriding professional judgment. The ultimate sin.
Don’t ruin my reputation, Harbor.
“We’re on!” the technician shouts into the room, and I jump away from Weston so fast I create a gust of wind.
“Coming!” I call out, putting maximum space between us as I race toward the interview room.
Weston follows behind and we file into the press area. Several people from ESPN line the wall and the reporter’s already sitting, glasses of water on a round table between two leather chairs .
He stands as we approach, jutting out his hand. “Weston, great to meet you. I’m Pete Faulkner from ESPN. Thanks for chatting today.”
Weston pumps his hand once, twice, then slides into his seat gracefully. “Happy to chat.”
“Sound check, one, two, three…” The technician fiddles with the sound equipment and the camera crew adjusts the lighting slightly, tilting the lights up to account for Weston’s height.
“And we’re recording…”
Pete the reporter launches into a series of softball questions, easy things about hockey and Weston’s early career. Then the interview takes a quick turn to the scandal.
“You were close with Coach Evans, right?” Pete doesn’t wait for Weston to respond before he forges ahead. “Were you surprised to hear about the gambling accusations?”
Weston clears his throat. “I was. And that’s all I can comment on the matter, Pete.”
“So you had no idea about the gambling ring? How do you feel about the team moving? This is your first time playing out of New York, right?”
Weston nods, straightening his shoulders.
“It is. I’ve spent my entire career in New York.
But it’s an exciting change for the team and the community.
We’re looking forward to building the franchise, getting involved with the people here.
The Hockey with Heart campaign’s going to do great things for some great people and I’m happy to be a part of something that makes a difference. ”
Pride blooms in my chest at his absolutely perfect response. Even better than what we rehearsed.
This is what comes from championship-level preparation. The kind of strategic excellence that would make Dad proud. Reading the situation, anticipating challenges, and preparing responses that exceed expectations.
“Sounds like a great PR campaign.”
“It’s more than that, Pete. We’re here to do more than play hockey. We’re here to grow the game and change lives.”
“Wow, those are big plans, considering this is kind of a rebuilding year for the team. Coach Keller’s a rookie in the league—how do you feel about that?”
“I trust Mr. Prince and the GM to have the team’s back. They conducted a thorough search, and I’m confident they have the best coach for the team.”
“That’s an awful lot of trust, Steele.” Pete raises a brow at Weston. “Especially after the season you all just went through.”
Weston’s eyes find mine. “In hockey, you have to work together and trust your teammates. That’s the only way to win out there.”
Warmth floods my veins as my dad’s words echo in my head.
Trust your team. It’s the only way to win.
“Sounds like you’re ready for a new season, Steele. I look forward to seeing you out on the ice.”
The cameras click off and the lights go up, cool relief rushing through me.
We did it.
Weston stands and the sound technician scurries over, unclipping the mic from him. He shakes Pete’s hand and then steps away from the stage, moving in my direction.
“Great job.” I beam at him, resisting the urge to reach out and hug him I’m so happy.
“Thanks.” He scrubs his palm over the back of his neck. “We good? ”
The question stings, disappointment creeping around the edges of my happiness. The professional distance is back, his easygoing demeanor gone the second the cameras stop rolling.
“Yeah. We’re good.”
“Cool. Thanks for your help.” Loosening his tie, Weston strides out of the room and I’m left staring at his broad back.
I should be celebrating. Together, we just delivered a flawless media performance, the kind of interview that gets played and replayed.
Instead, I’m standing her crushed and alone.
A professional victory’s never felt more like a personal defeat.