Page 91 of Triplets for the Pucking Playboys
I look away from the monitor, letting my eyes roam over the wall of plaques and diplomas she keeps just out of reach. “I trusted her,” I say, letting the words hang limp and helpless. “I thought maybe if I just kept my head down, things would shake out. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should’ve picked someone…less complicated.”
That does it. Talia perks up, like a dog hearing the can opener. She pushes her glasses up her nose, eyes suddenly hungry. “Exactly. Sage always played the victim. Every time something went wrong, she had a story. A scapegoat. Even now, she wants everyone to feel sorry for her.” Her lips curl in a little sneer, so practiced she probably wore it to bed. “You don’t really think the pregnancy was an accident, do you?”
I let my face go blank, even as my hands curl into fists under the table. “What are you saying?”
She shrugs, as if the whole thing is a foregone conclusion. “I’m saying some people are desperate enough to do anything to stay relevant. Even if it means dragging everyone down with them.” She checks her email, types a quick response, and then looks back at me with the coolness of a surgeon prepping for an amputation. “The league doesn’t want drama, Beau. They want results. If you’re smart, you’ll distance yourself now, before it’s too late.”
“Did you know?” I ask, letting my voice drop just a fraction. “About the pregnancy? About the other stuff?”
Talia takes her time, composing her answer like a thesis statement. “Of course I knew. I’m the one who flagged her for misconduct.” She says it without a hint of shame.
I nod and pray the boys are getting everything.
She keeps talking, not noticing the way my jaw has gone stone. “Don’t take it personally, Beau. I’m looking out for the team. For you. For everyone who actually wants to win. Sage made her bed, and now she gets to lie in it.”
I adjust my collar, and watch her eyes follow the movement. She thinks I’m nervous. She thinks she’s winning.
She keeps rambling, and I wait it out. After a while of talking, she reaches for her tea, takes a sip, and speaks again. “You think she told anyone when she found out?” she says, voice a touch amused. “She didn’t. She kept working, lifting equipment, skipping protocols, putting herself and everyone else at risk. I documented everything. Every skipped rest cycle. Every time she overextended and brushed it off. I knew she’d dig her own grave. I just made sure we had the paperwork ready when it happened.”
I keep my face still, let her think I’m just absorbing it.
Talia sets her mug down and opens another window on her screen, the glow of the monitor reflecting off her glasses like a visor. “The league’s not going to punish me for doing my job. I didn’t break any laws. I accessed compliance logs, flagged irregularities, compiled private footage under a staff health clause that’s been on the books for years. I didn’t even need approval. Just a signature from one of the assistant GMs, which I got—off the record, of course, but they won’t admit that now.”
She smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that makes your skin crawl. “And yes, I watched the collapse. I was the one who pulled the tape for the internal review committee before anyone elseeven knew something had gone wrong. I’ve been cleaning up behind her for months. You think that was easy? You think I enjoyed it?”
Her voice rises slightly now. “I’m not the villain here. I didn’t create the problem. I just made sure the fallout didn’t hit the people who matter.”
I wait a breath longer, long enough that the moment passes and she moves on, opening a folder markedPostseason Preplike none of this matters. Like she hasn’t just admitted to surveillance manipulation, medical privacy breaches, off-record collusion, and deliberate targeting of a staff member in medical distress.
I let the silence stretch, just long enough for her to start fidgeting with her pen. “Thanks for the heads-up,” I say, standing. “I appreciate your honesty.”
It takes less than a minute for the walls to close in. Grey pushes the door open, no knock, no warning, just the blunt force of inevitability. Talia looks up from her email, surprise flickering before the old arrogance reasserts itself. She’s about to say something—probably a dig about boundaries—when Grey holds up his phone and hits play.
The recording is crystal clear. For a heartbeat, nobody moves. Then Finn closes the door behind him. Talia’s mouth goes tight, her eyes darting between us. “What is this?” she says, trying for offense, but her voice wavers on the last syllable. “Is this some kind of intimidation?”
Grey sets the phone on her desk, playing the next excerpt.
She stares at the screen, then at us. Her fingers drum on the edge of her keyboard. “You’re recording me without consent. That’s a violation.”
I smile. “So is leaking confidential health information to the league. So is stalking a member of the medical staff. We’re all learning new things today.”
For a moment, I think she might try to muscle her way out, but then she recalculates. The mask comes back up, harder and shinier than before. “You don’t have proof,” she says. “You have a chopped recording and some rumors. HR won’t even listen?—”
Finn cuts her off, stepping forward. “We have emails. We have screenshots. We have the interview footage from theFront. It’s all backed up and time-stamped.” He leans over the desk, lowering his voice. “You’re done, Talia. You just don’t know it yet.”
The tremor in her hand gives her away. She yanks the phone cord, slams the handset into the cradle, and starts dialing. “I’ll have you all suspended by the end of the day. Do you know how many rules you just broke?” Her voice is rising, but it only makes her sound smaller.
Grey clicks the playback again. This time, it’s the part where she says,“If you’re smart, you’ll distance yourself now, before it’s too late.”The message is unmistakable: get out or get buried.
Talia’s eyes flick to the door. “Let me out,” she says to Finn, her tone half order, half plea.
He doesn’t move. “Not until you listen.”
She tries a different tack, aiming her words at me. “Beau, you’re a professional. You know what’s at stake. You let this spiral and you’ll lose everything—your contract, your endorsements, maybe your whole career. I can make this go away, but only if you play ball.”
I feel the anger all over again, hot and clean. “You ruined Sage. You tried to ruin all of us. Why?”
Talia drops the act. The venom comes easy now. “Because she was never supposed to be here,” she spits. “She lied on her resume, she cut corners, she slept her way into the program. I have to clean up the mess when people like you make bad choices. That’s my job.”
