Page 14 of Bar Down

"Just work," she lied, hating the tremor in her voice. "Nothing that can't wait until morning."

His eyes narrowed slightly—he'd caught the shift in her demeanor. For a terrifying moment, she thought he might push the issue. Instead, he simply nodded, though his gaze remained sharp.

"Shall we?" he said, gesturing toward the door where Dmitri was now attempting to balance a beer bottle on his forehead while teammates recorded on their phones.

Stephanie moved forward on autopilot, her mind racing. If Preston Reed had connections to Darby & Darby, her position was far more precarious than she'd realized. And if he was watching her again...

She squared her shoulders, pulling Marcus's jacket tighter around her. She'd survived Reed's attempts to destroy her once. She'd built a new life, a new reputation, a new family here in New Haven.

She wouldn't lose it all again.

Not without one hell of a fight.

Chapter Four

Stephanie

Stephanie woke before her alarm. She always did when something was wrong.

The text from Preston Reed blazed in her mind. She'd deleted it immediately after returning from Kane's party, but the words had already seared themselves into her consciousness.

Old friends of mine. Mentioned you're causing trouble again.

She flung back the covers and walked to the kitchen of her one-bedroom apartment. The space was smaller than what she could afford on her PR director's salary, but its security features were top-notch, and the doorman knew never to let anyone up without her explicit permission. Safety measures she'd implemented after Boston.

She started the coffee maker—programmable, but she'd beaten it this morning—and leaned against the counter, letting the familiar smells and sounds ground her. The apartment was decorated in shades of blue and gray, with carefully arranged bookshelves and strategically placed photos that told a curated story of professional success.

What the décor didn't show: the three restraining order documents in her desk drawer, the weekly therapy sessions she still maintained, the late-night panic attacks that had finally stopped six months ago. And now, with one text message, the pressure had returned to her chest.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. A text from Chenny.

Morning Media Witch. That interview clip with Westfield just dropped. Feels...off. Should I address on my vlog? Charlie's giving me his "proceed with caution" face, but you know how impatient my followers get.

Stephanie smiled despite her stress. Charlie was Chenny's gentle pit bull mix, a certified service dog who had become an unexpected fixture at home games over the past three months. The sweet-natured dog had not only helped Chenny manage his anxiety attacks—which had once been severe enough to bench him before crucial games—but had also become the unofficial team mascot and the face of their shelter partnership program. The PR benefits alone had been substantial, but seeing the genuine difference Charlie made for Chenny was worth far more than the positive press.

Her PR instincts kicked in, shoving aside her personal anxiousness. Team first, always.

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