Page 13 of Expose on the Ice

Ipush open the door to Corkscrew, a trendy wine bar just a stone’s throw from Baxter Arena. The warm lighting and soft jazz music create an inviting atmosphere, a stark contrast to the sterile meeting room where Knox and I had our first disastrous encounter.

The more casual location is partoneof my plan to crack his defenses.

I smooth down my navy wrap dress for what feels like the millionth time, my fingers tracing the soft fabric as I second-guess my outfit choice yet again. The neckline dips lower than I’d typically choose for an interview, teetering on the edge between professional and alluring.

I’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time convincing myself that this ensemble strikes the perfect balance – professional enough to be taken seriously as a journalist, but just relaxed enough to put Knox at ease in this informal setting.

Who are you trying to kid?

A little voice in the back of my mind whispers the truth I’ve been trying to ignore. I know exactly what I’m doing with this carefully chosen outfit. The soft drape of the fabric, the hint of skin at my collarbone, the whisper of cleavage.

Although I’m still furious at Knox, and think he’s an asshole, his eyes had lingered on mejustlong enough to suggest I might be able to lure him into my web. Although I have no doubt he has beautiful women on call, he’d shown at least some interest in me.

If I can make use of that, maybe I’ll get the answers I need.

I know I’m playing a dangerous game, toeing the line between professional integrity and encouraging a personal connection. But as I stand there, heart racing with anticipation, I can’t bring myself to regret my choice. Not yet, anyway.

Scanning the room, I spot an empty high-top near the back and make my way over. As I slide onto the stool, I catch my reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar. My dark hair falls in soft waves around my shoulders, and a hint of color stains my cheeks. Whether from the brisk walk or nerves, I can’t say.

I’ve barely had time to order a glass of Pinot Noir when the door swings open and Knox strides in. Even in casual clothes – dark jeans and a fitted henley that does nothing to hide his athletic build – he exudes an aura of intensity that draws every eye in the room.

Including mine.

Our gazes lock and, for a moment, I forget how to breathe. Then he’s moving towards me, his expression guarded but curious. He spends only the barest second looking me up and down, and in that time, I feel like he’s cataloging every inch of me, his eyes stripping me bare without touching me.

“Ms. Grant,” he says, his voice low as he takes the seat across from me.

“Please, call me Lily,” I reply, flashing him a warm smile.

“Only if you call me Carter,” he deadpans.

“I’m glad you could make it, Carter,” I say, trying the name on for size.

He doesn’t comment. Instead, he flags down the bartender and orders a whiskey, neat. As we wait for his drink, an awkward silence settles between us. I take a sip of my wine, searching for the right words to break the ice.

“Look,” I begin, setting my glass down. “I want to apologize for how things went last time. I came on too strong, and that’s on me.”

Knox’s eyes narrow slightly, but he remains silent. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, studying me.

I forge ahead. “I thought we could try a different approach today. No questions about family or your personal life. Just hockey.”

The tension in his shoulders seems to ease fractionally, his eyes searching mine as if looking for a trap. Still, he is silent.

I take his silence as a signal to keep going, then pull out my notebook. “I figured we could start with your thoughts on the season and?—”

“Hold up,” Knox interrupts, his brow furrowed. “Just like that? You’re dropping all the personal stuff?”

I meet his gaze steadily. “For now, yes. I’m heretodayto get to understand the hockey player. The rest… well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

He studies me for a long moment, as if trying to expose some hidden agenda. Finally, he gives a curt nod. “Alright then. What do you want to know?”

Walked right into my trap, I think.

I bite back a triumphant smile, not daring to show it. It isn’t much, but it’s a start. “Let’s begin with your training regimen…”

As Knox begins to speak, I feel a flutter of excitement in my chest. I’ve made a small crack in his defenses, and I intend to widen it, one question at a time, until I have a hole large enough to get what I need.

CARTER

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