Chapter 2

Cori POV:

I barely made it twenty paces past the hotel's revolving glass doors when a low, aggressive engine hummed to my left.

A sleek black Land Rover Defender rolled smoothly up to the curb, cutting off my path toward the subway entrance. The tinted passenger window slid down with a quiet hiss.

Behind the steering wheel sat Duncan Ross. He wore a tailored jacket with no tie, looking every bit the relaxed executive assistant, though everyone in the front office knew he was Kurt's closest shadow.

"Morning, Miss Pittman," Duncan said, resting his wrist on the wheel. His sharp hazel eyes swept over the massive black hoodie switching against my bare knees. "The boss gave strict orders to ensure you arrived safely."

My entire body went rigid. I gripped the neckline of the sweatshirt, pulling it tight against my throat to hide the red marks on my collarbone.

"Come on, Cori. Manhattan rush-hour subway in bare legs and a man's gym wear? You want TMZ getting their hands on that picture before lunch? Hop in."

The mention of the press made the blood drain straight from my face. I swallowed my pride, walked around the open door, and climbed into the passenger seat.

The door shut with a heavy, soundproof thud. The interior smelled of rich leather and fresh espresso. Without a word, Duncan picked up a paper cup from the center console and handed it to me.

"Oat milk latte. No sugar."

My fingers tightened around the warm cardboard. He knew my exact order.

Duncan merged the Defender seamlessly into the crawling traffic of Seventh Avenue. He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the steering wheel, glancing sideways with an amused smirk.

"Hell of a celebration last night," he noted smoothly. "Some people seemed pretty attached to the VIP section. Literally attached."

I took a burning sip of the coffee. "I had too much to drink. Most of the night is a blank."

"Sure it is," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

As the car rounded the corner near Forty-Second Street, the bright red sign of a CVS Pharmacy caught my eye.

"Mr. Ross, stop here, please."

Duncan glanced at the sign, then back at me. "We're ten blocks from the arena."

"I have a migraine," I lied, keeping my eyes fixed on the glass storefront. "I need some extra-strength Tylenol, or I won't survive Axel's morning meeting."

Duncan studied my face for two excruciating seconds. He didn't challenge the excuse. He pulled the SUV to the curb and engaged the hazard lights.

"No! The arena is an easy walk from here. Thanks for the ride."

I opened the door and bolted out before he could say another word. I stood on the sidewalk and waited until the black Defender disappeared completely into the morning traffic, ensuring Duncan was out of sight.

Then I turned and pushed through the pharmacy doors.

I walked straight to the family planning aisle, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. There it was. A small, purple-and-white box of Plan B.

I grabbed it, marched to the front register, and slapped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. Ten seconds later, I was back on the windy sidewalk.

My hands shook as I ripped the cardboard open and tore through the foil backing. I didn't have water. Without any water, I forced the bitter pill down my dry throat, swallowing it dry.

It scraped roughly against my esophagus, bitter and chalky, but the sharp physical discomfort finally anchored my spiraling mind. I crumpled the empty box into a tight ball and hurled it straight into the nearest municipal trash can.

That was it. The slate was wiped clean. Nothing happened, and nothing ever would.

Ten minutes later, I walked through the service entrance of the team's arena. The smell of Zamboni exhaust, frozen ice, and rubber flooring hit me like a familiar wall. My thighs still ached with a dull throb from last night, making my stride slightly awkward, and every time I shifted my weight, unbidden flashes of Kurt's fierce, consuming heat made my knees go weak.

I hurried up the service stairs to the third floor, where the Duran Sports equipment and uniform design department was housed. I pushed open the frosted glass door, hoping to slip into my cubicle unnoticed, but I slammed directly into Chloe.

She was carrying a towering stack of synthetic jersey swatches, her blonde hair pinned in a sleek, competitive bun. She stopped dead in her tracks, her sharp green eyes raking over me from head to toe.

"Holy shit, Cori," Chloe gasped, her voice loud enough to carry across the open-plan office. "Where did you wake up? That hoodie is clearly designer, and it's definitely not yours."

My pulse spiked, but I kept my chin level. "My brother came into the city last night. I crashed on his couch in Queens and didn't have time to stop home."

Chloe's eyes narrowed. She clearly didn't buy the lie, but she had bigger fish to fry.

"Well, you better get your act together and hit the restroom. Axel is on a rampage. He's picking the final candidate for the Milan Design Summit this morning."

The Milan Summit. My breath caught. It was the most prestigious technical sportswear showcase in Europe. For an underpaid, nameless designer like me, it was the only ladder out of the shadows.

"Thanks for the heads-up," I said, sidestepping her neatly.

I ducked into the staff restroom, locked the stall, and leaned against the door. I pulled my makeup bag from my purse, grabbed my heavy-coverage concealer, and began dabbing the cream over the dark marks on my neck until the skin looked completely smooth.

I walked back out to my desk, opening my laptop to pull up the 3D render files for the alternate jersey collection.

Before the progress bar could hit one hundred percent, my desk phone let out a sharp, piercing ring.

"Cori, grab your portfolio binders and get to the main boardroom right now," our design director, Axel, barked into the receiver. "The executive suite wants to review the concepts in person."

As I hung up the phone, it vibrated violently against the desk. I glanced down at the glowing screen. A text banner from Brandyn dropped from the top:

"Babe, where are you? Dallas said you left the lounge early. I'm worried sick. Let me take you to dinner tonight, please."

A cold, mocking smirk touched my lips.