Page 92 of Triplets for the Pucking Playboys
She looks at Finn, then Grey, then back at me, searching for any sign of weakness. “You want to make this official? Fine. Let’s do it by the book.” She reaches for her laptop, but Grey is faster. He slaps the lid closed, pinning her hand underneath.
“We already did,” he says. “GM’s on his way up.”
Finn checks his phone, then grins. “And legal. And HR. You’ll have a full house.”
Talia jerks her hand back, clutching it to her chest. “You can’t do this. You’re just players. You don’t run shit.”
“Maybe not,” I say, “but we know how to win when it counts.”
There’s a knock at the door, sharp and official. The GM enters, flanked by two legal reps in suits so dark they seem to absorb light. The first lawyer is stone-faced, hair slicked to the side in a style that screams billable hour. The second is a woman with silver glasses and the kind of stare that could strip paint off an SUV.
The GM wastes no time. “Talia,” he says, voice so flat it could be a threat, “we have some questions about your handling of the Moretti file.”
She snaps into full crisis mode. “They’ve been threatening me,” she says, pointing at us. “They recorded me without my permission?—”
The silver-glasses lawyer cuts her off. “We’re aware of the recording. Our concern is the content.”
The first suit sits, opening a thick folder. “Do you deny orchestrating surveillance of a contracted medical professional on non-club time?”
Talia tries for outrage, but it lands hollow. “I was investigating an ethics complaint. It’s standard protocol.”
The lawyer reads from the folder. “You authorized the use of theStorm Frontcamera crew to monitor Sage Moretti outside of scheduled events. You accessed and distributed confidential health disclosures without patient consent. You reportedMoretti to the league for ‘misconduct’ without consulting the medical director. These are all actionable violations under league and team policy.”
The words hit like pucks to the teeth. Talia’s hands begin to shake. “I was just following up on rumors?—”
The GM holds up a palm. “You weren’t. And you know it. We have three separate sources who confirm you targeted Moretti for personal reasons.” He looks at us, then back at her. “You’re on leave effective immediately, pending a formal investigation.”
Talia goes pale. “You can’t just?—”
The silver-glasses lawyer stands, gathering the evidence into a tidy bundle. “Security will escort you to your office. Please surrender your credentials and any Storm property before leaving the building.”
For a second, I think Talia might explode. Her lips tremble, her jaw works side to side, and her eyes dart to every corner of the room as if searching for an escape hatch.
She settles for venom. “You’ll all regret this,” she hisses. “The league won’t protect you. They never do.”
The GM sighs, as if he’s been waiting years for this. “We’ll take our chances.”
A security guard appears at the door. He’s young, bored, and twice the size of Finn. “Ma’am?” he says, voice gentle as a warning.
Talia stands, smooths her skirt, and tries to look unbroken. She picks up her purse, slings it over her shoulder, and walks out without looking back.
The legal team files out behind her, then the GM, who pauses in the doorway. “Thank you,” he says, almost too low to hear. “We’ll clean up the rest.”
He leaves, and the three of us are alone again. Finn lets out a long, slow breath. Grey cracks his knuckles, once for each finger.
I pull the tape from my collar, the residue sticky and satisfying. “Is it over?” Finn asks.
I shake my head. “Not for her. Not for us. But for Sage?” I think of her, wherever she is, alone or not. “It’s a start.”
Grey grins. “Let’s go get her.”
We leave the office, the air outside bright and new.
33
SAGE
Iwake to the distant percussion of a delivery truck hammering at the curb, one of those city sounds that comes on with the sun and then stays all day, vibrating the windowpanes. My body is a clock set to the wrong time zone: 7:41 a.m. by the phone, but my muscles insist it’s predawn and there’s a shift to prepare for. I lie there, eyes open, and wait for the internal calendar to catch up to the real world. It never does.
