Chapter Five Billie Hartley #2
Enough to alter the air.
“What about my face?”
Billie’s brain stopped.
Entirely.
For one full second, her professional competence slipped on the ice and fell into a heap.
Mason’s expression was open wickedness now. Not cruel. Not cocky. Worse. Playful. Warm. Like he had found a thread and intended to tug once, just to see what unravelled.
Billie recovered with dignity.
Mostly.
“Your face,” she said, “is a public relations burden.”
His smile widened. “That’s not an insult.”
“It is in my tone.”
“Your tone has range.”
“Your face has caused at least three comments Harper is not allowed to like from the official account.”
“Only three?”
“Do not look proud.”
“I’m new here. I take wins where I can.”
She should have stepped back.
She did not.
His eyes dropped very briefly to her mouth.
Not enough for a kiss.
Enough for the thought of one to enter the room, take off its shoes, and make itself comfortable.
Billie inhaled.
Mason’s gaze snapped back up.
“Sorry,” he said quietly.
That irritated her.
Not because he said it.
Because she believed it.
“Stop doing that.”
“Apologising?”
“Looking guilty after almost flirting.”
He stared at her.
Then he laughed.
Soft, surprised, completely unfair.
“I almost flirted?”
“You attempted.”
“Attempted?”
“Poorly.”
“I’m wounded.”
“You’ll live.”
“Sophie would want to check.”
“Sophie has actual patients.”
He leaned one shoulder against the desk. “So what’s acceptable flirting in Australia?”
“With me?”
“Yes.”
“None.”
“Strict policy.”
“Very.”
“What about compliments disguised as observations?”
“Denied.”
“Professional admiration?”
“Suspicious.”
“Mutual respect?”
“Rare. Use sparingly.”
“What about saying you’re terrifyingly good at what you do?”
That landed too softly.
Billie glanced away. “That sounds like something you say to get out of trouble.”
“It’s something I say because it’s true.”
Her chest tightened again, the way it had in the training room when he’d said also you.
Mason Reed was dangerous when he joked.
He was worse when he didn’t.
Billie reached for the laptop. “Go ice your knee.”
“I already did.”
“Go ice your ego.”
“Luca’s video did that.”
She looked back at him.
The smile was still there, but the shadow had returned under it.
Billie knew a thing or two about shadows people smiled over.
“Don’t let him decide who you are on Friday,” she said.
Mason stilled.
Her own words surprised her. Too honest. Too personal. Too much like advice given because she cared what happened to him outside the event metrics.
She made herself continue, sharper. “That’s my job until the bet ends.”
His eyes warmed. “You decide who I am?”
“For campaign purposes.”
“Right.”
“For brand rehabilitation.”
“Obviously.”
“And because left unattended, you make catastrophic choices with microphones.”
“Historically supported.”
The air softened again.
Billie hated how easy it was becoming. How fast he caught her rhythm. How comfortably he made room for her edges without trying to sand them down.
That was not allowed.
She had a sponsor event to save, a rink to protect, and a personal rule against becoming part of any story that used the word ship.
Her phone buzzed.
Saved by technology.
She checked the screen.
Harper had sent the draft post.
SYDNEY BLADES OFFICIAL: A challenge has entered the chat.
Friday’s Charity Shootout remains what it began as: a community fundraiser for the Harbour Ice Junior Gear Fund.
If Luca D’Amato and the Melbourne Kings want to help raise money for Australian hockey’s next generation, Harbour Ice Centre has room on the ice.
Bring a donation. Bring respect. Leave the excuses at home.
Under it, Max’s proposed kid quote:
MAX, 11?: The Kings are welcome if they are brave and not allergic to meaningful community impact.
Billie stared.
Mason leaned in enough to read over her shoulder.
She became unfortunately aware of his warmth.
“That kid is going to run the country,” Mason said.
“Or a comment section.”
“Same skill set.”
Billie sent back one word.
APPROVED.
Mason made a low sound of amusement. “You’re letting him post that?”
“I’m not made of stone.”
“No,” he said. “You’re not.”
The words were quiet enough that she could have pretended not to hear.
She did not.
The silence that followed was not awkward.
That was worse.
Awkward silence could be broken with a schedule update. This silence had pulse. Shape. Heat under fluorescent lights and above old carpet.
Billie’s phone buzzed again.
This time, it was Sophie.
SOPHIE: Luca will come. He texted me.
Billie blinked.
Then read it again.
Sophie Chen, disciplined, private, unflappable Sophie, had not said the Kings account had replied.
She had said Luca texted me.
Oh.
Oh, absolutely not today.
Mason saw her face. “What?”
Billie looked toward the door, where Sophie stood in the hallway pretending to review her tablet with the posture of a woman who had just revealed a personal landmine by accident.
“Sophie knows Luca,” Billie said.
Mason’s head tilted. “Knows him how?”
Billie watched Sophie turn and walk briskly away.
“That,” Billie said, “is going to be Book Three’s problem.”
Mason blinked. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“What does Book Three mean?”
“Operational language.”
“You just made that up.”
“I make many things up. Most of them work.”
Before Mason could answer, Harper shrieked from the hallway.
“HE RESPONDED!”
Everyone rushed at once, which was how Billie ended up nearly colliding with Mason in the doorway.
His hand came up automatically to steady her at the waist.
Not the shoulder.
Not the elbow.
Her waist.
For one electric second, Billie stood still under his hand.
His grip was firm, careful, gone almost immediately.
“Sorry,” he said.
Her skin still remembered him.
“Stop apologising,” she snapped, because panic made her rude.
His eyes held hers.
“Stop making me need to,” he said.
The hallway noise swallowed the words, but Billie heard them.
Unfortunately.
Harper stood near the office printer with her phone raised like a holy object. Nate, Theo, Mark, Max, Evie, Alby, and Sophie crowded around her.
Harper read aloud.
“MELBOURNE KINGS OFFICIAL: Luca D’Amato accepts. We support Australian hockey at every level, even when Sydney needs help making it interesting.”
Nate made a noise like a kettle boiling.
Theo put a hand on his chest to physically hold him back.
Harper continued, eyes huge. “And Luca personally commented, ‘Tell Billie Hartley I expect decent coffee this time.’”
The hallway went dead quiet.
Mason looked at Billie.
So did everyone else.
Billie felt her face go dangerously blank.
Max whispered, “He knows your name.”
Evie’s smile turned predatory. “And your coffee.”
Nate gasped. “Plot twist.”
Theo said, “Don’t.”
Sophie looked like she wanted to disappear through the wall.
Mason’s expression had changed.
The humour drained from his face, replaced by something still, sharp, and inconveniently male.
Billie pointed at him. “Absolutely not.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You thought it loudly.”
“What coffee?”
“Do not make that voice.”
“What voice?”
“The one that sounds like you’re about to do something stupid.”
Mason looked from the phone to Billie. “Does Luca D’Amato have a reason to expect your coffee?”
Billie’s eyebrows lifted. “Excuse me?”
Harper whispered, “Oh, this is content.”
“Harper,” Billie warned.
But Mason was still looking at her, not with accusation exactly. Worse. Interest. Awareness. Something like jealousy trying very hard to put on professional clothes and failing at the collar.
Billie hated that she noticed.
She hated more that she liked it for half a second.
Then she remembered she had dignity.
Mostly.
“Luca attended a development summit here last year,” she said. “I was in charge of hospitality. He complained about the coffee. I told him to bring his own personality next time.”
Nate clutched his heart. “I’ve never loved you more.”
Mason’s mouth curved, but the edge remained. “And did he?”
“What?”
“Bring one?”
Billie fought the smile.
Lost by a millimetre.
“No.”
Mason nodded. “Good.”
The word landed low.
Possessive was not acceptable.
Protective was not acceptable.
Whatever this was, definitely not acceptable.
Billie turned to Harper. “Post our response.”
Harper’s thumbs hovered. “Which is?”
Billie took the phone.
She typed before she could overthink it.
SYDNEY BLADES OFFICIAL: Coffee available for all confirmed donors. Respect required before refills.
She handed it back.
Harper read it and sighed. “I love when you’re mean for charity.”
Max nodded. “Strong leadership.”
Alby grunted. “Finally, a sensible sentence.”
The post went live.
Within seconds, replies exploded.
Mason’s phone buzzed.
Then Billie’s.
Then Harper yelled, “Graham commented again!”
Billie braced. “What now?”
Harper read, “Vale Community Partners will provide coffee service at Friday’s event. Refills dependent on respect.”
The hallway erupted.
Nate shouted. Evie announced she was designing a respect-refill stamp. Max demanded an official title. Theo smiled into his hand. Mark looked like he might cry from sponsor satisfaction.
Billie should have felt triumphant.