"Okay, so it happened. And now we have to deal with it." He shuts his laptop, like he can't bear to look at the photo anymore. "Fortunately, the press doesn't seem to know who you are yet.”
"What do you want me to do?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
"It stops now. Whatever this is between you and Barnesy, it's over. You request reassignment from his case—cite a conflict of interest, say you don't think you're making progress with him, whatever you need to. We'll bring in another psychologist from outside if necessary."
"And if people figure out it was me in the photo?"
"We say it was taken out of context. Two team members having a professional conversation." He sighs heavily. "But Elena, if anyone on the management team figures out what was really going on between you two... I won't be able to protect you. Not from this."
The threat hangs in the air between us. My father has always been my champion, my safety net. But there are limits to what even he can do.
"I understand," I say.
"Do you? Because I'm not sure you grasp how serious this is. It's not just about your job here. If word gets out that you were involved with a client, you could lose your license."
My eyes burn with unshed tears. "I said I understand."
Dad finally sits back down, the anger draining from him, leaving only weary disappointment. "I never thought I'd have to have this conversation with you, Elena. You've always been so sensible, so focused."
"I'm sorry," I whisper, and I mean it. Sorry for disappointing him. Sorry for jeopardizing everything. Sorry for the mess I've created. But beneath all that, there's a part of me that isn't sorry at all—the part that remembers how it feels to be in Nate's arms, to see the vulnerability beneath his arrogance, to feel wholly alive for the first time in years.
"Sorry doesn't fix this," Dad says. "Actions do. Separate yourself from him. Today."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
"I need to get to a meeting. We'll talk more later." He stands, and as I rise to leave, he adds, "And Elena? Take off that necklace. At least until this blows over."
I reach up and unclasp the necklace, the silver warm from my skin as I place it in my pocket. It feels like surrendering a piece of myself.
I walk out of his office, forcing myself to hold my head high. But inside, I'm crumbling, caught between duty and desire, between the person I've always been and the woman Nate makes me want to be.
Chapter 15
Nate
Islide my gear bag off my shoulder and drop onto the bench in the locker room. Sleep didn't come easy last night, not with Elena's face burned into my brain. I keep thinking about our last session and how she shut me down when I told her how I felt about her.
"Hey, Barnesy!" McCoy's voice cuts through the locker room chatter. He's grinning like he just scored in overtime. "Didn't know you were such a celebrity these days."
I glance up while reaching for my practice jersey. "What are you talking about, man?"
"Don't play dumb." He shoves his phone in my face. "You're internet famous, baby."
The screen is too close to my eyes, but I can make out a headline and what looks like a dark, grainy photo. I snatch the phone from his hand, my stomach dropping as I read: "CHICAGO BLADES BAD BOY'S LATEST CONQUEST."
"What the fuck is this?" I mutter, though I already know.
The photo is shit quality—obviously taken at night from a distance. It shows me and a woman walking in what I recognizeas the training facility parking lot. My head is bent toward her, and she's looking up at me, laughing.
It's Elena. Without question.
"So?" McCoy drops onto the bench beside me, nudging my shoulder. "Who's the mystery woman? PR girl? That new nutritionist with the ass to die for?"
I zoom in on Elena's face, studying it carefully. Her features are obscured by shadows, the image too pixelated to make out any details beyond the vague outline of her face. The only distinguishing feature is a small glint at her throat—her necklace, the one I've seen her touch when she's nervous.
"Nobody's going to recognize her from this garbage," I say, handing the phone back to McCoy. My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
"So you admit there is a her." McCoy's grin widens.
