Page 25 of Unleashed

“You owe me.” Like he had from the start, his words carved into my future. “Big time owe me, and don’t you forget it. Producer notes for the bye-week episode on my desk day after tomorrow. Something big. Something that’ll carry us through the dead week into playoffs.”

Instead of diverting him, I’d just painted myself into a tighter corner.

My stomach churned. He loved reminding me how he’d “invented” my position, how I was doing producer work without the title while his name dominated the credits. Mine was buried at the bottom: “Assistant to Producer.” In a tiny font that might as well read “Desperate Sellout.”

I shifted my phone to my other ear, my free hand clenching into a fist against my thigh. I needed that credit. Needed any industry foothold I could get. What I didn’t need was Malone deciding I was expendable. Not when I was so close to escaping his influence. “I’ve got a couple of ideas, actually. For the off-week, I mean.”

He tutted when I took too long to continue, the impatient noise like sandpaper scraping the underside of my arm.

My breath whooshed in and my words rushed out. I clenched my eyes closed and said a prayer he bought it. “A profile episode on Coach Mack. Highlight his coaching style, his relationship with the team, his influences—”

“Didn’t I read somewhere he was fired from his last gig for drug use?”

“Alcohol.” The correction escaped before I could catch it. I cupped my hand around the phone, lowering my voice, my eyes on the open door. Please don’t let a player hear me talking about their beloved coach. “Rumors of alcohol. He did rehab years ago. There hasn’t been a hint of anything since.”

“Guys like that are never 100% clean. Impossible.” His tone dripped false concern. “You digging up dirt on the head coach, Lily? Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Bile burned the back of my throat. No ratings bump was worth exploiting Coach’s sobriety. After fighting to rebuild his career, his life, he deserved better than having his battles turned into entertainment. My stomach twisted as Viggy’s face flashed through my mind, his cold dismissal when I’d probed about his injury still raw. The disappointment in his eyes if he knew I was even considering an episode about Mack’s demons...

Since when did Jack Vignier’s opinion matter more than my career?

“That angle’s played out.” I forced steel into my voice. “It was covered extensively when it happened and again when he was hired in Austin.”

“Then you’re going to have to find a unique angle. None of that ‘coaching style’ and ‘relationship with the team’ bullshit, either.” Malone’s elevator chimed in the background. “Save the wholesome crap for when you land your dream job at Hallmark.”

Panic clawed up my throat. The connection would drop any second. Think fast, Sutton.

“Or we could cover Viggy.” The words hung in the air like a poison cloud I couldn’t escape. “It’s his last season and I’m pretty sure he’s hiding a significant injury.”

“Now you’re talking.” Malone’s slimy smile carried through the phone. “He’s a ratings draw, right? The captain?”

Oh God. What had I done? My throat closed up as I scrambled to bury my revelation under prettier words, each one ringing hollow. I pressed my fingers to my breastbone, fighting to breathe through the vise around my chest. “We could focus on his determination—show his leadership through adversity. The team’s having their best season in years under his guidance. It’s an incredible story of—”

“Save the warm and fuzzies for Hallmark.” Malone’s voice sliced through the phone, cool and hard. “I want the dirt. Drama. Team captain hiding an injury during a playoff push? That’s not heartwarming, that’s selfish. Putting his legacy ahead of the team’s success. Lying to medical staff, to management—”

“That’s not what’s happening.” The words shot out before I could hold them back. My throat tightened, the crack in my voice betraying me. “He’s playing through pain because the team needs him. It’s the hockey culture. Because—”

“Because his ego won’t let him sit down?” Malone’s laugh scraped my nerves raw. “Because he’d rather tank the team’s shot at the Cup than admit he’s on his last legs? That’s the headline, Lily. That’s whatsells. Not some puffed-up fairy tale aboutleadership.”

“No, you don’t understand—”

“I understandexactlywhat’ll keep your little show trending.” His voice dropped, low, dangerous, like ice thawing just enough to drown you. “The deception. The cost. The fallout when it all comes crashing down. That’s the story.”

I tightened my grip on the phone. My pulse hammered behind my ribs, my brain scrambling for an angle,anyangle that wouldn’t rip Viggy apart.

“You still want to be noticed, don’t you?” Malone added, sly and knowing, the words soft enough to twist like a knife. “Then make him bleed. Make it hurt.”

The line went dead. The sound of my shallow breath loud in the silence of the room.

The phone slipped from my numb fingers, clattering against my desk. Each breath scraped my throat raw, bile rising as Malone’s words echoed in my head.

Make him bleed.

I’d just made a colossal mistake. Massive. Like a hideous neon sign I couldn’t avoid, the word “idiot” lit up my brain. No, that was too kind a word. I was worse than an idiot.

I was a traitor.

I’d tried to backpedal, to salvage something meaningful from my slip, but I’d only given Malone more ammunition. My stuttered attempt to redirect toward Jack’s strength, his dedication, simply revealed more vulnerabilities for Malone to exploit.

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