Page 8 of Bar Down

"Just calling the play as I see it," he said, but the smile lingered. "So, do we have an agreement?"

Stephanie extended her hand across the table. "Strategic alliance it is, Spreadsheets."

His hand enveloped hers, strong and calloused from years of hockey sticks and workouts. The contact lasted longer than strictly necessary, his thumb briefly brushing over her wrist where her pulse jumped traitorously. Heat radiated up her arm at the contact.

"First order of business," she said, withdrawing her hand and reaching for her tablet, hoping he hadn't noticed the flush in her cheeks, "damage control with the team. The players are spooked."

Marcus nodded. "Kane was already texting agents during the meeting. Chenny looks like he did before Game 7 last season."

"You track anxiety signs?"

"I track everything that affects the score." He said it so matter-of-factly that Stephanie couldn't even find it in herself to be properly outraged.

"We need to get ahead of the rumor mill," she continued. "Perhaps a team dinner? Something off-site, casual, where they can ask questions without the new ownership hovering."

"Neutral ice makes everyone skate freer," Marcus agreed. "Kane's place would work best. The boys already treat it like the locker room."

Stephanie typed notes. "I'll talk to Allison. The captain's girlfriend typically hosts team gatherings."

"I'll pull together dirt on Darby & Darby's previous moves. Guys will want real talk, not just PR lines."

She glanced up, a retort about the value of "PR lines" on her lips, but stopped when she saw his expression. He wasn't dismissing her approach—he was complementing it with his own.

Maybe this alliance wasn't doomed after all. Maybe there was something between them beyond professional friction and reluctant attraction.

"One more thing," Marcus said, his tone shifting slightly. "Westfield specifically mentioned player development tracking I've only shared with Coach Vicky and Kane. Nobody else should have those numbers."

Stephanie frowned. "You think someone's been in your system?"

"I know they have. And given Westfield's knowledge of my approach, they've been watching my playbook for months."

The implications hung in the air between them. If Darby & Darby had been accessing Marcus's work without authorization, what else might they know?

"That's..." She searched for the right word.

"A major penalty," he supplied. "And it couldn't happen without inside help."

Their eyes met, mutual understanding passing between them. The ownership change wasn't just about reorganization—there were deeper, darker currents at play. Stephanie's gaze dropped briefly to his mouth, a dangerous thought crossing her mind about how those firm lips might feel against hers. She blamed the adrenaline of crisis mode, not the late-night wine fantasies she'd never admit to.

Stephanie's crisis management instincts kicked in. "This stays between us for now. We gather information before making any moves."

Marcus nodded, his expression serious. "Agreed. Though I should note that keeping secrets in a locker room never—"

"Don't," she interrupted, holding up a hand. "Some odds I'd rather not know."

For once, he didn't argue.

As they gathered their things to leave, a text notification chimed on both their phones simultaneously. Team group chat.

Kane: Party at my place tonight. Mandatory attendance. Bring booze and zero management types. Need to talk.

Stephanie met Marcus's eyes over their phones. "That was fast."

"Kane's got captain instincts for a reason," Marcus said, something like respect in his voice. "He knew we'd need this."

"So, see you tonight then? For our strategic alliance debut?"

He nodded, adjusting his glasses in that way she'd come to recognize as his processing gesture. "I'll bring the numbers. You bring the story."

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