Chapter Fifteen Billie Hartley
The Agent Had Airport Energy
Billie Hartley had dealt with many men who believed their urgency outranked everyone else’s reality, but Mason Reed’s agent entered Harbour Ice Centre with a suitcase, a tailored jacket, and the expression of a man who had never once been humbled by rental skates.
Billie disliked him immediately.
Not dramatically.
Professionally.
The kind of dislike that arrived with a neat label, supporting evidence, and space on a whiteboard.
Gabe Mercer stood in the front lobby near the check-in counter, one hand wrapped around the handle of a black carry-on, the other holding a phone he had probably used to ruin people’s afternoons across several time zones.
He was tall, polished, clean-shaven, and North American in the exact way Mason was not.
Mason looked like a man who could laugh at himself if the right child insulted him.
Gabe looked like he had once expensed a smile.
Harper stood behind the counter, phone lowered but eyes sharp.
Evie was beside her, both hands on the skate rental keyboard as if prepared to defend the building with outdated software.
Nate and Theo had appeared near the hallway because apparently the team possessed an emergency chaos alarm. Coach Alby stood in the rink doorway with a coffee and a face that said he had not approved this guest, this energy, or possibly the entire profession of agenting.
Mason stopped a few metres from Gabe.
Billie stopped beside him.
Not behind him.
Beside.
Gabe noticed.
Of course he noticed.
His gaze flicked from Mason to Billie and back again, fast enough to be rude and careful enough to be intentional.
“Mason,” Gabe said. “You look exhausted.”
Billie’s brows lifted.
Opening with criticism.
Bold choice in her rink.
Mason’s jaw tightened. “Good to see you too.”
Gabe’s mouth moved into something that probably counted as a smile in contract negotiations. “I flew here because you stopped answering calls.”
“I answered one.”
“You hung up on me.”
“You were talking about Billie like she was a problem.”
The lobby went silent.
So, Mason was doing this immediately.
Interesting.
Terrifying.
Billie inhaled slowly through her nose and reminded herself that witnesses reduced homicide risk.
Gabe’s gaze shifted to her. “Ms Hartley.”
“Billie.”
“Billie,” he said smoothly. “I hope you understand this is not personal.”
“That sentence has never made anything less personal.”
Nate whispered, “Oh, she’s on.”
Theo whispered, “Quiet.”
Gabe’s eyes tightened slightly, but his smile remained. “My job is to protect Mason’s career.”
“Great,” Billie said. “Our job is to protect this rink, Friday’s fundraiser, our staff, our junior families, our sponsor agreement, and Mason’s knee from avoidable stupidity. So far, that includes several outside voices who think public pressure is a strategy.”
Harper made a tiny noise behind the counter.
Mason looked at Billie.
She did not look back.
If she looked back, she might care too visibly.
Gabe set his suitcase upright. “I understand the fundraiser has value. That’s not why I’m here.”
“No,” Billie said. “You’re here because your temporary narrative became public and now looks less controlled than you intended.”
The agent’s smile finally slipped.
A fraction.
Worth it.
Mason said quietly, “Billie.”
She looked at him.
His face was careful.
Not warning her off exactly.
More like asking if she wanted to spend this much of herself in the lobby.
No.
She did not.
But Gabe Mercer had walked into Harbour Ice Centre with a suitcase full of assumptions and a quote that had made her feel like a decorative obstacle in Mason’s career path. Billie could be professional. She could also be accurate.
Gabe recovered fast. “The quote was unfortunate.”
“Convenient word,” Billie said.
“It was not meant to diminish your rink.”
“It did.”
“Or you.”
“It did that too.”
Mason’s expression sharpened.
Gabe’s eyes moved to him. “Mase, can we speak privately?”
“No,” Mason said.
The word landed hard.
Billie’s head turned before she could stop it.
Gabe stared. “No?”
Mason stood tall, weight careful but steady, eyes locked on his agent. “Not yet. You came into Billie’s rink after feeding media enough language to make the sponsor campaign harder and her position worse. You can speak here first.”
The lobby seemed to hold its breath.
Billie’s did something inconvenient in her chest.
Gabe’s jaw flexed. “You need to think very carefully.”
“I am.”
“Are you? Because from where I’m standing, you are making decisions in the middle of a viral crush, a charity spectacle, and a comeback that is already being treated like a joke.”
Nate muttered, “I don’t like this guy.”
Alby said, “Nobody asked you to whisper truth.”
Billie folded her arms. “Friday’s event has raised over fourteen thousand dollars before the sponsor match, sold out the sponsor dinner, earned local coverage, and moved public sentiment from mockery to community support. If that is your definition of a joke, I’d hate to see your serious work.”
Gabe’s gaze cut to her again. “And what happens when Mason aggravates his knee in front of cameras?”
Sophie’s voice came from the corridor. “He won’t.”
Everyone turned.
Sophie Chen walked into the lobby with her tablet tucked under one arm, calm as a scalpel. She stopped on Mason’s other side, not quite beside him the way Billie was, but close enough that the message was clear.
Medical authority had arrived.
Gabe looked at her. “You’re the physio?”
“Yes.”
“You cleared him for Friday?”
“With restrictions.”
“Restrictions don’t protect an athlete from adrenaline.”
“No,” Sophie said. “Good boundaries do. We’re using both.”
Gabe blinked.
Billie nearly smiled.
Nearly.
Gabe turned back to Mason. “You’re surrounded by people telling you exactly what you want to hear.”
Mason let out a short laugh. “Have you met Billie?”
The corner of Sophie’s mouth moved.
Harper coughed.
Billie looked at Mason. “Do not involve me in your defence unless the sentence is accurate.”
“It was very accurate.”
“Unfortunately.”
Gabe dragged one hand through his hair. The polished surface cracked enough to reveal fatigue underneath. Long flight. Real worry. Maybe not villainy, then.
Annoying.
Billie preferred simple villains. They were easier to seat away from emergency exits.
“Mason,” Gabe said, lower now. “You have no idea how fast this can turn. Right now, they love the humbled import. They love the rink romance thing. They love Tall Regret and Ice Queen and all the cute little lines. But when they get bored, they’ll look for blood.
Your injury. Your last team. Your attitude.
Whether you’re washed. Whether she’s using you.
Whether you’re using her. This is not a safe story. ”
Billie’s stomach tightened.
Because he was not wrong.
That was deeply irritating.
Mason’s face stayed steady. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes,” he said. “And you made it less safe when you fed them temporary.”
Gabe looked away.
Just for a moment.
There.
Guilt, maybe.
Not enough.
Billie said, “Did you speak directly to PuckSideDoor?”
Gabe’s eyes returned to her. “No.”
“Indirectly?”
“My assistant sent a background note to a media contact list. PuckSideDoor must have received it from someone on that chain.”
Harper’s head snapped up. “A media contact list?”
Gabe looked over. “Standard career-management distribution.”
Harper’s smile was lethal. “Fascinating phrase for gossip compost.”
Nate whispered, “I love her.”
Theo said, “We all know.”
Gabe ignored them. “The note did not mention Billie beyond stating that the charity campaign involved rink management.”
“Did it describe Sydney as temporary?” Billie asked.
Gabe paused.
Mason’s expression darkened.
Gabe said, “It described Sydney as a short-term strategic placement.”
Billie laughed once. “That is temporary with a finance degree.”
Harper whispered, “Writing that down.”
“No,” Billie said without turning.
Harper lowered her phone.
Gabe’s voice hardened. “You all seem very comfortable joking about something that affects Mason’s livelihood.”
Billie’s laugh vanished. “We joke because otherwise Nate starts talking.”
“Hey,” Nate said.
She ignored him. “We also have had to manage your media note, an anonymous attack, a stolen private photo, a banned former staff member trying to buy seats under fake names, Luca D’Amato arriving unscheduled with media, and a sold-out fundraiser that is supposed to help children afford hockey gear.
So yes, sometimes we make jokes. Then we do the work. ”
Mason’s eyes were on her again.
Too warm.
Too much.
Gabe looked at her for a long moment.
This time, his expression changed.
Not softened. Recalibrated.
Like he had finally realised Billie was not a charming local complication, but the person holding the entire campaign together while everyone else discovered gravity.
Good.
Took him long enough.
Gabe exhaled. “I apologise for the media note.”
The lobby went quiet.
Mason looked genuinely surprised.
Billie did not blink. “To whom?”
Gabe’s mouth tightened.
Mason’s eyebrows rose faintly.
Gabe looked at Billie. “To you. To Harbour Ice Centre. And to the Blades staff managing the fallout.”
Billie nodded once. “Accepted as a first step.”
Nate whispered, “There are steps.”
Theo whispered back, “There are always steps.”
Gabe glanced toward them, then back to Mason. “Can we speak privately now?”
Mason looked at Billie.
She hated that he did.
Not because she disliked being considered.
Because consideration made her feel included in a decision she had no right to influence.
“This is your career,” Billie said.
His eyes stayed on hers.
“I know.”
“Then speak to your agent.”
“Will you be here when I’m done?”
Her breath caught.
The question was simple.
Public.
Not romantic in wording.
Still, it entered the room and changed the air.
Gabe noticed. Harper definitely noticed. Evie’s eyebrows climbed so high they were applying for roof access. Nate looked like a man physically biting down on commentary. Theo looked resigned to being near Nate’s restraint crisis.
Billie made her face professional.
“This is my rink,” she said.
Mason’s mouth curved faintly. “So yes.”
“So go.”
He nodded.
Then he and Gabe walked toward the side corridor.
Not the archive corridor. Not the physio room. The public meeting alcove by the vending machines, visible through glass, far enough for privacy but not hidden.
Good.
Mason had learned the building’s rules without being told twice.
That should not have mattered.
It did.
The moment they were out of earshot, the lobby erupted in controlled silence, which was a uniquely Harbour Ice skill.
Evie moved first. “I hate his jacket.”
Billie blinked. “That is your takeaway?”
“It fits too well. Suspicious.”
Harper nodded. “Tailored menace.”
Nate added, “Airport villain.”
Theo said, “He apologised.”
Nate shrugged. “Redemption arc pending.”
Sophie looked at Billie. “You okay?”
Billie stared at her. “I am banning that question.”
“Operational?” Sophie amended.
“Annoyed.”
“Reasonable.”
Mark walked in from the front office, phone in hand. “Security confirmed. Graham sent written approval. Also, he wants to know if Gabe Mercer needs to be added to Friday’s guest list.”
Billie looked toward the glass alcove, where Mason stood facing his agent with his arms folded, jaw tight, body still.
Gabe was talking fast.
Mason was listening.
That was all she could see.
It was enough to make her stomach twist.
“Not yet,” Billie said.
Mark nodded. “I’ll wait.”
Harper stepped closer. “Gabe showing up will become a story if anyone spots him.”
“Then don’t post him.”
“I’m not.”
“Tell staff no photos.”
“Already in the group chat.”
Evie checked her phone. “I removed three exclamation marks from the alert because Billie sounded too friendly.”
“Thank you,” Billie said.
“You’re welcome.”
Through the glass, Gabe gestured sharply.
Mason shook his head.
Billie looked away.
She had no business watching.
No business caring.
No business wondering whether the temporary line would harden again once Mason stood in front of the man whose job was to return him to the world where he had once mattered most.
Sophie’s voice came quietly beside her. “You can care and still be smart.”
Billie’s head turned.
Sophie did not look at her. She watched the rink beyond the lobby, expression calm.
“That sounded like medical advice.”
“Emotional load management.”
“I hate that.”
“I know.”
Billie folded her arms. “I am smart.”
“Yes,” Sophie said. “Sometimes smart enough to explain your feelings out of existence.”
Billie stared.
Sophie’s mouth curved slightly. “Both, remember?”
Disciplined and observant.
Treacherous.
Before Billie could answer, Harper’s phone buzzed.
Then Evie’s.
Then Mark’s.
Billie’s did not, because the universe occasionally enjoyed suspense.
Harper looked down and swore.
Billie’s pulse jumped. “What?”
Harper turned the phone.
Ryan Vale had posted again.
This time, no vague quote.
A photo.
The old staff badge.
Not the one Evie found.
A second one.
Held between two fingers in front of Harbour Ice Centre’s exterior sign.
Caption:
Funny thing about locked doors. People only notice them after someone walks through.
Billie went cold.
The post was time-stamped one minute ago.
One minute.
She looked toward the front doors.
Harper whispered, “Is he here?”
The lobby seemed to shrink.
Alby stepped toward the entrance first.
Theo moved with him.
Nate stopped joking.
Evie grabbed Max’s shoulder from where he had reappeared near the donor table and pulled him behind the skate counter.
Sophie looked toward the staff corridor.
Billie’s hand tightened around her keys.
No.
No, not today.
Not in her building.
Not with kids, staff, and a half-built event around her.
Through the glass alcove, Mason saw the shift.
His head snapped toward the lobby.
Billie looked at him.
For one suspended second, everything in the rink narrowed to that glance.
Mason knew.
He left Gabe mid-sentence and started toward her.
Gabe followed, confused. “What happened?”
Billie did not answer.
Her phone finally buzzed.
Unknown number.
A text.
UNKNOWN: Miss me?
Billie’s breath turned to ice.
Another text appeared.
UNKNOWN: Tell the Ice Queen I’m already inside.
The lights above the skate rental corridor flickered once.
Then the staff-only door at the back of the lobby clicked open.