Chapter Nine Billie Hartley #2
She swallowed with effort. “The kingdom is overbranded.”
“Ice Queen?”
“Do not.”
“It suits you.”
“It does not.”
He looked at her.
Not teasing now.
“A little,” he said.
Billie’s pulse gave an unwelcome kick.
She turned back to the concourse. “Queens have crowns and free time.”
“And subjects.”
“I have Nate. That cancels the honour.”
Mason laughed.
The sound followed her as she moved toward the sponsor wall. He walked beside her, not too close, not too far. Annoyingly good at keeping pace despite the knee.
She pulled up her tablet again. “We need Luca’s entry controlled. If he comes through the front lobby, media will swarm. If he comes through the player entrance, it looks like special treatment.”
“Side service door?”
“Too close to the physio room.”
Mason nodded. “Then front lobby with a scheduled window. Give media five minutes, then he’s moved to visitor space.”
Billie paused.
He looked at her. “What?”
“That was useful.”
“I’m trying to make it a habit.”
“Dangerous. People will expect things.”
“They already do.”
The words carried weight.
Billie looked at him.
His face was easy, but not careless. The protein bar wrapper crinkled in his hand. His eyes were on the rink, but she could feel the truth under the sentence.
People expected things from Mason Reed too.
Different things than they expected from her. Goals. charm. comeback stories. proof. Entertainment. A rebuilt version of himself that could make money again.
Maybe she had been unfair, thinking he had come here only to hide.
Maybe hiding was what people called survival when they did not like how it looked.
She looked away first. “We’ll use the front lobby.”
“Good.”
“And you’ll arrive before him.”
“Because?”
“Because you are one of the event anchors.”
His mouth twitched. “Am I?”
“For operational purposes.”
“Am I anchoring anything else?”
She stared at him.
He lifted both hands. “Retracting. No flirting before Friday.”
“The rule was before the interview.”
“You extended it with your eyes.”
“My eyes are not legally binding.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
She pointed toward the bench. “Go ice your knee.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Mason.”
He smiled and began backing away. “Respectfully.”
“I will revoke your protein bar privileges.”
“You accepted tribute. Too late.”
She rolled her eyes.
Unfortunately, she smiled while doing it.
His grin softened.
For one stupid, warm second, the whole rink faded again.
Then Harper sprinted into the concourse.
Literally sprinted.
Billie’s stomach dropped. “What now?”
Harper skidded to a stop, holding her phone out. “Not bad. Big.”
“I hate that distinction.”
“The Ice Queen hoodie sold three hundred pre-orders in twenty minutes.”
Billie stared. “Three hundred?”
“And donations crossed twelve thousand.”
Mason let out a low whistle.
Billie looked at the rink.
Twelve thousand.
The number hit her in the ribs.
Harper was beaming. “Also, SportNow wants an exclusive with you.”
“No.”
“I assumed.”
“Good.”
“But, there’s more.”
“Of course there is.”
Harper looked from Billie to Mason and winced. “The anonymous number texted again.”
Mason’s posture changed.
Billie held out her hand. “Show me.”
Harper gave her the phone.
The message was not sent to Billie this time.
It had been posted from a newly created account under the latest Blades charity post.
Anonymous account. No photo. Username: IceBetTruth.
Comment:
Everyone loves a fake romance when it sells tickets. Ask Billie what she really wants from Mason Reed.
Billie went cold.
Mason stepped closer. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
But she did.
Not the specific meaning. Not the person. Not the threat.
But she knew the shape.
A line of attack aimed at her motives.
Make the woman look manipulative.
Make the public question the campaign.
Make Mason wonder whether he was being used.
Make Billie defend herself instead of the rink.
Harper’s voice was tense. “I deleted it after screenshotting, but people saw. It already has replies.”
Mason looked at Billie. “I don’t believe that.”
She turned to him.
The speed of his answer caught her off guard.
“I don’t,” he repeated.
“I didn’t ask.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
Her throat tightened.
No.
No, absolutely not.
This was how he got past things. Not with flirting. Not with that ridiculous smile. With immediate faith she had not earned and did not know where to put.
Billie handed Harper’s phone back. “Lock comments on the charity post for now.”
Harper nodded. “Done.”
“Post a clean update with donation totals and Friday structure. No mention of anonymous nonsense.”
“On it.”
“Mason, you say nothing.”
He looked at her. “I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
“But Billie.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened. “Someone is targeting you.”
“Someone is targeting the campaign through me.”
“That’s not better.”
“It’s more useful.”
His eyes flashed. “You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Turn yourself into the least important part of whatever hurts.”
Harper suddenly became very interested in her phone.
Billie’s chest locked.
Mason seemed to realise they had an audience, but he did not take it back.
She hated that.
She hated that he was right.
She hated that Harper had heard it.
She hated that the first thing she wanted to do was prove him wrong by making herself even less important.
“Meeting room,” Billie said.
Her voice was too calm.
Mason nodded.
Harper whispered, “I’ll handle the post.”
Billie walked ahead, shoulders straight, heart hammering like she had just sprinted the length of the rink.
Mason followed.
The moment they were inside the meeting room, Billie closed the door.
Not slammed.
Closed.
Controlled.
That took more effort.
“You don’t get to psychoanalyse me because someone on the internet got creative,” she said.
Mason stood on the other side of the table. “I know.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because I’m worried.”
“I didn’t ask you to be.”
“I know that too.”
“You knowing things does not make them acceptable.”
“No. But pretending you’re fine does not make you fine.”
Billie laughed once. “This from the man who answers every knee question with fine.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m familiar with the brand.”
The honesty hit too hard.
She turned away and faced the whiteboard.
DO NOT LET THE HOT MEN RUIN THE FUNDRAISER still sat in fading marker under a list of donor-station requirements.
Ridiculous.
Accurate.
Her fingers curled at her sides. “This event cannot become about me.”
“It already is partly about you.”
“No.”
“Billie.”
“No.” She turned back. “The rink matters. The fund matters. The kids matter. Sophie being protected matters. Your apology matters. Luca not turning this into a circus matters. I am the person making sure those things happen. I am not the story.”
Mason’s face softened, and it nearly undid her.
“I don’t think you are the story,” he said. “I think you’re the person everyone keeps relying on to hold the story together.”
Billie swallowed.
Too close.
He was too close, even across the table.
“You can’t say things like that,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know what to do with them.”
The truth escaped before she could stop it.
The room went silent.
Mason stared at her, all the fight leaving his face.