Chapter Five Billie Hartley #3
Instead, she was aware of Mason standing beside her.
Too close.
Too quiet.
She looked up.
He was watching her, not the phone, not the metrics, not the chaos.
Her pulse tripped.
“What?” she asked.
“You’re good at this.”
“Obviously.”
“No,” he said. “I mean, really good.”
There it was again.
No teasing.
No escape hatch.
Just praise, clean and direct, like he expected her to know what to do with it.
She did not.
So she did what she always did.
She moved.
“Everyone downstairs,” Billie ordered. “We have flyers to print, sponsor notes to update, donor messaging to align, and apparently coffee diplomacy to manage.”
The group scattered in three different directions and one near collision.
Sophie slipped away first, too controlled.
Harper chased after her, probably smelling subplot.
Nate dragged Max toward the media room to discuss “nonviolent emoji strategy.” Theo followed like a weary bodyguard.
Mark called Graham again. Alby muttered about skating, which had become the least important part of hockey somehow.
Billie headed for the stairs.
Mason followed.
Of course he did.
“You don’t have to escort me,” she said.
“I’m going downstairs.”
“Convenient.”
“The stairs lead there.”
“Most men would pretend to have a reason.”
“I’m trying honesty.”
“Risky brand pivot.”
He smiled, but it faded as they reached the landing.
“Billie.”
She stopped.
The rink stretched below them, bright and scratched and stubborn. Harbour Ice Centre looked ordinary from this angle. Old boards. Faded banners. A few volunteers near the benches. Staff moving with purpose. A place held together by loyalty, tape, and invoices nobody wanted to open.
“What?”
“About Luca.”
She almost laughed. “Do not tell me you’re jealous.”
“I’m not.”
The answer came too fast.
Billie turned slowly.
Mason looked pained.
Not knee-pained.
Man-caught-in-obvious-lie pained.
Billie crossed her arms. “That was embarrassing for both of us.”
“Fine.” He looked at the rink, jaw tight. “I don’t like him putting your name in his mouth to get attention.”
Her breath caught.
He looked back immediately, like he regretted the sentence but refused to retreat from it.
Billie could have made a joke.
She should have made a joke.
Instead, something honest slipped out.
“People use my name to get things all the time.”
Mason’s face changed.
Not dramatically.
Enough.
“That happens a lot?”
Billie wished she had not said it.
She turned toward the stairs again. “Forget it.”
“No.”
She froze.
His voice was not loud, but it was firm.
She looked back.
Mason stood one step above her, one hand on the railing, eyes steady.
“No?” she repeated.
“I mean, you can tell me to drop it, and I will. But I’m not going to forget you said that.”
Her chest tightened.
She did not know what to do with a man who listened like that. Who heard the throwaway line and held it carefully instead of stepping over it.
It made her want to run.
It made her want to stay.
Both options were unacceptable during business hours.
“Drop it,” she said.
He nodded once. “Okay.”
And then he actually did.
No pressing. No coaxing. No charming his way past the line.
Just okay.
Billie hated how much that mattered.
They walked down the stairs together in silence. At the bottom, Evie came flying out of the skate room with the kangaroo costume held overhead like a trophy.
“I found it!”
Nate shouted from across the rink. “THE PROPHECY!”
Max yelled, “Put it on Tall Regret!”
Mason looked at Billie.
Billie looked at Mason.
Then at the kangaroo costume.
Then at the donation tracker Harper had just projected onto the wall, already climbing.
Billie took a slow breath.
“Absolutely not,” she said.
The entire rink booed her.
Mason leaned closer, voice low enough only she could hear.
“For twenty-five thousand dollars, boss, I’ll wear the ears.”
Billie looked at him.
He was smiling, but she could see the truth under it.
He meant it.
Useful. Deliberate. Showing up.
Her heart did the rude thing again.
Before she could answer, Harper screamed.
Billie spun. “What?”
Harper stared at her phone, face white with shock and delight. “The local morning show wants both of you live tomorrow.”
Billie’s stomach dropped straight through the ice.
Mason blinked. “Both of us?”
Harper nodded hard. “They specifically asked for Tall Regret and the woman making him respect Australian hockey.”
The rink exploded.
Nate shouted. Max cheered. Evie waved the kangaroo head like a flag. Mark yelled something about media value. Alby barked for everyone to stop shouting in his building, which made absolutely nobody stop.
Mason looked at Billie over the chaos.
His smile had gone slow.
Dangerous.
“Well,” he said, “looks like we’re going live.”
Billie pointed a finger at his chest.
“One rule.”
“Yes, boss?”
“No flirting on national television.”
Mason’s eyes dropped to her finger against his shirt, then lifted to her face.
“Billie,” he said softly, “I think local morning television might be safer.”
And that was when Billie realised she had put her hand on his chest and forgotten to remove it.