Chapter 12
Baptiste
Last night was incredible, one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time.
Being with Harper felt right, like we’ve known each other forever.
I already knew I was attracted to her, but seeing her in that dress was the last straw.
Suddenly, it was like everything I always wanted was just under my nose, within my grasp.
But the way she reacted when I suggested sharing that silent auction win showed me how far from reach it still is.
I ended up winning the eco-resort vacation, but it looks like I’ll be going on my own.
I’m waiting for the valet to bring my car around when a black sedan parked in front of the hotel draws my eye.
One of the windows is down, and a guy is leaning back in his seat, watching the hotel door.
There’s something familiar about him. He must sense me staring, because his gaze finds mine.
That’s when I remember exactly where I’ve seen him before. Last night’s gala.
When he was talking to Harper.
Leaning in a bit too close for my liking.
His gaze is cold, almost defiant. Then, he slides up his window, and the car drives off.
What the heck was that?
I’m sure it was the same guy. Harper said he was just someone she knows, but for the rest of the night, she seemed different. Quieter. More closed off. Like she was holding something back.
“Your car is here, Mr. Marchand,” the valet says, and judging from his tight grimace, it’s probably not the first time he’s told me.
“Sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “Spaced out. Thank you.”
I give him a tip and step into my car. During the entire drive, all I can think about is that guy, and the weird feeling in my stomach follows me even as I reach the locker rooms.
I fall into conversation with the guys, laughing when it’s expected and nodding at the right moments, but my head’s not really there. Finally, I pull my phone out and text Harper, asking her to meet me before the game. She says that she’ll be right over, and that puts me just a bit more at ease.
“So,” Miles says, tapping me with his glove. “How was the charity thing last night? Went with Harper, right?”
I open my mouth to deny it, but Adler is faster.
“Don’t even try to lie. We saw you.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, I went with her, and it was nice. I won an eco-resort vacation in Bora Bora.”
“Good for you, man,” Hawthorne says. “Aria and I were talking about Bora Bora for our honeymoon.”
The conversation shifts to Tahiti and how turquoise the lagoon is there. And just when I think I’m out of the woods, Miles opens his mouth again.
“And are you still pretending you aren’t dating, or that you guys are not even friends, or is that ridiculous charade finally over?”
“Stop it,” I say, though my cheeks are searing with heat. “I told you, we’re not dating. We’re just hanging out. She’s alone here in DC and, well, you all have your wives anyway.”
“How’s that different from New York?” Beaumont asks, tapping his stick against the floor.
I throw him a warning glare, but luckily, I’m saved from answering when Coach Sully Paul enters the room.
Truth is, there’s no difference between now and when we’re home. Even if I like the girls, it does feel lonely sometimes being the only single guy. And I can’t deny that I wish I had someone too.
Really, the only change is that now, that someone looks like a feisty investigative journalist.
Harper texts me that she arrived at the arena, and I meet her near the VIP entrance.
“Hey,” I say as soon as I spot her. “I need to talk to you.” She scrunches her eyebrows in confusion, but before she can ask what’s going on, I take her by the arm, guiding her toward a quieter corner away from the flow of the crowd.
“What, no teasing me about my outfit?” She twirls a little.
Stopping, I really look at her for the first time.
I was so caught up in this whole thing, I didn’t notice she’s wearing my jersey.
Number two has never looked as hot as it does slapped on her back.
I swallow hard. Even if it’s not my usual New York jersey—and she’s definitely not my girlfriend—it still kickstarts a frantic dance in my stomach.
She arches an eyebrow. “Well?”
I clear my throat, grinning despite myself. “Looks like you have a favorite player.”
“No, I have a player who forced me to come here wearing his jersey,” she says, jabbing a finger at my chest.
I catch her hand before she can pull it back. “As if anyone could force you to do anything.”
Her smirk falters, just the faintest shift, as our eyes meet. We stay like that for what feels like forever—her hand in mine, the roaring clamor of the arena fading into the background. I’m painfully aware of how close she is, how easily she could step away, and how much I don’t want her to.
“Um,” she says finally, taking her hand back. “So, why did you summon me here? I have a hockey game to attend, you know.”
“Right.” I shake my head, forcing myself back into focus. “Do you know who I saw in front of the hotel earlier? In the backseat of a black sedan with tinted windows, like some kind of mafia boss?”
She glances at the floor, then back at me. “No, who?”
“The guy from last night.”
She cocks her head to the side. “Who?”
“Harper, don’t lie to me. I got a vibe about that guy, and now he’s hanging out in front of our hotel? That can’t be a coincidence.”
She shrugs, wiping nonexistent dirt off her pants and avoiding my eyes. “He’s probably looking for a room.”
I blow out a breath. “Do you really think I’m that dumb?”
She levels me with a stare, chin lifting slightly, but I’m not backing down. Finally, she exhales, her shoulders dropping.
“Fine. Yes, I agree it’s pretty weird. But anyway, there’s nothing we can do about it. Just focus on your game.”
“There’s more going on here, I know it. Tell me what it’s all about,” I say quietly. “Please.”
She darts her eyes back and forth, scanning the corridor, probably to make sure we’re not being overheard.
“Remember when I said one of my exes went to prison?” she asks in a low voice, and my blood runs cold. “Well, that was him yesterday. Victor Pike. And side note, I’m the one who put him behind bars.”
Scratch that. All the blood just drained from my body. “What?”
“Well, I’m an investigative journalist. Exposing scandals is kind of my thing.
And when it turned out I was dating a smuggler of endangered species for rich people, I had to expose him.
I stayed with him, gathered everything I had on his side hustle, and we connected him to a large-scale international wildlife trafficking network.
The feds eventually took the whole thing down.
Victor was sentenced to seven years, and I got an award for my work a few months later. ”
My breath comes shallow. I knew the scene I witnessed in front of the hotel felt straight out of a movie, but I wasn’t prepared for this.
“You dated a criminal and put him in prison.”
“Yes. Well, I didn’t know he was a criminal when we started dating, but yes.”
“And now he’s out.”
She sighs. “Apparently, he was granted early release for good behavior. I called my boss this morning, and she confirmed it. They got the notification last week, but she didn’t want to tell me—afraid it would distract me from my work here.”
“But that’s not safe,” I shoot back, unable to hide the panic seeping into my voice. “He can’t just be out. What if he wants revenge? You should be in witness protection or something.”
She chuckles softly, and somehow the sound eases the tightness in my chest, if only just a bit.
“Don’t worry. I’m used to this kind of thing.
He’s not the first guy I put behind bars, nor will he be the last. And I’m not afraid of him—especially since I’m pretty sure he’s already moved onto another scheme.
Animal smuggling wasn’t his only endeavor, but it’s the only one the feds could prove.
I know Victor. His taste for money is stronger than anything else. ”
I drill her with a hard stare. “Is that supposed to make me feel less worried?”
“He doesn’t care about me,” she says. “He’s not going to risk his freedom by coming after me if he’s running another scheme.”
“Are you going to investigate him?” I ask under my breath. By now, I know her well enough that I’m certain she won’t be able to resist.
“I wish,” she admits. “I can’t right now, or I’ll end my career. But maybe my boss will be interested once I’m back in New York.”
I hope not. I really, really hope not.
“Anyway, don’t worry about me,” she says, tapping my arm lightly. “I’ve been doing this for ten years now. I know how to take care of myself.” She claps her hands. “Well, I’m out. I want to hit the buffet before I join the girls at my front-row seat. Break a leg. Or a stick—whatever.”
She flashes me a smile and waves before spinning on her heel.
As her footsteps recede, I swallow to wet my dry throat.
Talking to her had the exact opposite effect I was hoping for.
If anything, my nerves are even more raw.
The idea that something bad could happen to Harper suddenly feels very real, and the worry it triggers only highlights the fact that I’m falling for her. Even if the feelings aren’t mutual.