Page 22 of Bar Down

She nodded, eyes dropping to her coffee. "He's connected to Darby & Darby somehow. The messages implied he has Westfield's ear."

"That's a major threat to your position."

"To both our positions," she corrected, looking up sharply. "His version of analytics leaves no room for your approach any more than my narrative strategies."

Her insight surprised him—she understood his methods better than he'd realized. Her lips parted slightly as she spoke, and he caught himself wondering how they'd taste.

"What's his endgame?" Marcus asked, shifting in his seat to hide his reaction to her.

"Control. Power. Finishing what he started in Boston." She met his eyes directly. "And making sure I don't get in his way."

"Get in the way of what exactly?"

"I'm not sure yet. But whatever Darby & Darby's restructuring plans involve, Reed could be pulling strings behind the scenes." She leaned forward, close enough that he caught the scent of her perfume—subtle vanilla with something darker underneath. "That's why our community programs presentation matters so much. We need to show them that Reed's either/or approach is fundamentally flawed."

Marcus nodded, immediately seeing the play. "The presentation is solid. Your additions yesterday made it bulletproof."

"It's not just about the presentation," she said, hesitating before continuing more quietly. "It's about whether I can ask you to stand with me against Reed when I know what he's capable of doing. He could ruin your career."

The question hung between them, loaded with implications beyond their professional alliance. Marcus met her eyes directly, unflinching.

"Let him try."

"Marcus."

"No." His voice hardened. "In hockey, you never leave your partner exposed. Reed's tactics work by picking off people one by one. Together, we're harder to take down."

"That's very logical," she said with a small smile. "But this isn't just about logic. People who stood by me in Boston lost everything. I can't be responsible for that happening to you too."

"You're assuming my position is vulnerable like theirs was," he pointed out. "My analytics include elements pure numbers miss, creating value traditional systems can't match. Plus, I'm essential to our defensive scheme. Trying to remove me would tank team performance in ways ownership can't afford."

His blunt assessment wasn't arrogance—just the same clear-eyed evaluation he'd apply to any opponent's weakness.

Stephanie studied him, her teeth catching her lower lip in a way that made his blood run hot. "You've already gamed this out, haven't you?"

"Like any opponent's strategy."

"And our alliance factors into your gameplan?"

"Increasingly," he acknowledged, holding her gaze with an intensity that went well beyond professional interest.

She weighed his words, searching for hidden meanings. Finding none—because Marcus didn't play those games off the ice—she finally nodded.

"Okay. Alliance it is," she said. "But we need to be smart about this. Reed is watching us both."

"Agreed. Keep it professional in public. Minimal digital communication. Use secure channels for anything sensitive."

A laugh escaped her, the sound hitting him low in the gut. "I was thinking more like 'be careful what we say around others,' but your spy-movie version works too."

Their eyes met, an understanding passing between them that needed no words. For the first time since Reed's messages, Stephanie visibly relaxed, the tension in her shoulders easing.

"Toronto's next on the road trip," Marcus said, switching to tactical planning while trying not to fixate on the way her blouse gaped slightly when she leaned forward. "Three games in four nights."

"We leave Thursday morning," she confirmed. "We can work on the presentation while we’re there."

"It shouldn’t be all work though. My sister Amara lives in Toronto. She's been asking to meet you since I mentioned our professional situation."

Stephanie blinked at this unexpected turn. "Your sister wants to meet me?"

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