Page 92 of Pucking the Team

“Alex?” Her trembling voice fills my ear. “Any news?”

“Working on it, angel,” I soothe. “Natalie’s on the case. We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise. No one hurts my girl and gets away with it.”

Hours blur together as I bury myself in game tapes, trying to distract from the excruciating wait. Natalie’s a genius, but digital forensics takes time. With each passing minute, my knee bounces faster, jaw clenched tight enough to crack molars.

A knock startles me from my brooding. Natalie slips inside, a triumphant glint in her eyes that gets my blood pounding.

“Tell me you found the bastard.” I sit up straighter, laser-focused.

She grins. “Even better. I found the bitch.” Sliding a folder across my desk, she taps the damning evidence. “Alison’s the leak. These IP logs prove it.”

White hot rage boils through my veins as I process her words.

Alison.

That conniving, heartless fucking snake.

She’s had it out from Emma from the beginning for absolutely no reason. Knowing what I know now, I’d even bet that she was the one who defaced Emma’s cubicle.

I snatch up Natalie’s report, scanning the technical jargon. It’s all there in black and white—irrefutable proof of Alison’s treachery. My mind races with the implications.

“This is huge, Nat.” I meet her steady gaze, rage coursing through me. “You may have just saved Emma’s career. I can’t thank you enough.”

She waves off my praise with a smirk. “I live for these juicy takedowns. Alison picked the wrong person to screw with.”

Damn right, she did.

Nobody messes with my family and gets away clean.

I’m on my feet in an instant, folder clutched tight. “I’ve gotta get this to Vincent ASAP. We need to make this right.”

“Go get ’em, tiger.” Natalie winks as I brush past. “Take that asshole down.”

Stalking through the halls, I dial the cell number for Vincent, our general manager. He picks up on the first ring.

“Alex? What’s going on?”

“I need a meeting. Now,” I growl. “Someone has been fucking with our team, and I’ve got proof that you’re gonna want to see.”

“My office,” he commands. “Ten minutes.”

As I end the call, a cruel smile curves my lips. Alison better watch her back.

Alex Ivanov is coming for her.

I stride into Vincent’s office like a man on a mission, Natalie’s damning report practically smoking in my hands. The general manager looks up from his cluttered desk, steel gray eyes sharp beneath bushy brows.

Vincent Dale is an imposing figure, even seated—broad shoulders straining his tailored suit, the lines of his craggy face etched by decades in the league’s trenches. His mere presence demands respect, a throwback to the old days when titans of the game called the shots.

“Alex,” he greets me gruffly, motioning to the chair across from him. “I trust you have good reason for the urgency?”

“See for yourself, boss.” I slap the folder down, photos and data spilling across the polished mahogany. “I’m sure you heard all about the paparazzi articles on Lukas Dvorak last week, the ones that implied he was having a threesome relationship with Ryan Thompson and our social media manager, Emma.”

Vincent gives me an appraising look. “Yes, HR has been keeping me up-to-date on the situation. From my understanding, it’s not just an implication—Lukas actually is in a relationship with Ryan and Emma, and a couple of others.”

He stops and purses his lips, looking at me expectantly.

It’s now or never, I guess. I take a fortifying breath. “That’s right, sir. I’m also a part of the relationship, as is Slade Harrison.”

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