Page 46 of Game Misconduct
Calm. Steady. “I used to be an Olympic-contending figure skater. Injuries were part of the deal.”
The words hang between us, heavier than the ice on my shoulder.
I study her—really study her. The steel under the polish, the edge under the silk.
It shouldn’t surprise me, but it does.
And it makes something tighten in my chest that has nothing to do with pain.
She turns before I can say anything, heels clicking on the tile as she walks away like she didn’t just strip me bare in the most dangerous way possible.
“Actually…” she says, coming back over to where I sit. “You’re the one I was looking for. We need to talk. Come to my office before you leave.”
There’s an edge in her tone making it clear this isn’t optional.
My pulse spikes for an entirely different reason. The iceburns cold, but it’s nothing compared to the heat curling low in my gut.
But I can’t let her see what she does to me, even if she wasn’t the woman who signs my paychecks.
I narrow my eyes on her. “And if I don’t?”
Her lips curve in a feline smile that has nothing to do with humor, but doesn’t respond before turning on that spiked heel and walking away.
Her heels echo down the hall, sharp and steady, leaving me with nothing but melting ice and the echo of her touch burning through my skin.
I sit there longer than I should, jaw locked, trying to smother the fire she lit with her hands on me and the command in her voice.
She doesn’t get to do this—walk in, strip me bare without touching skin, then order me upstairs like I’m one of her rookies.
But the truth? My body’s already decided.
I strip the wrap off, shoving the ice into the trash, and sling my bag over my shoulder like I’ve still got a choice.
Heading for the elevator, the burn in my shoulder feels like nothing compared to the one low in my gut.
When I get to the top floor and exit the elevator, every step to her office feels like giving in, but I don’t stop.
I can’t.
Not when part of me wants to see what she does next almost as much as I want to tell her no.
The hallway stretches out in front of me, sleek and silent, a world away from the sweat and chaos downstairs.
My boots sound too loud against the polished floor, every step dragging me deeper into her territory.
By the time her assistant comes into view, I already know I’ve crossed a line I swore I wouldn’t.
Tessa looks up from behind her desk as I step in, every inch of her composed, not a detail out of place.
“She’s expecting you.” Smooth, neutral. No judgment. But I catch the faintest twitch at her mouth, like she knows more than she lets on.
My jaw tightens. My hand fists around the strap of my bag. I shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be giving in to her pull.
But I walk forward anyway.
The office door looms, wood and glass polished to a shine. One step, and I’m in. One step, and I’m back where I swore I wouldn’t be.
My hand hesitates on the handle, breath catching against my will.
