I push the door open and slip inside, closing it quietly behind me. Elena sits behind her desk, hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her eyes tell me everything—they’re red rimmed and I’m certain she’s been crying at some point today.
"Hey," I say, suddenly unsure where to begin.
"I assume you've seen it." She doesn't look up from the papers on her desk, her pen moving in tight, controlled strokes.
"Yeah. McCoy showed me this morning." I take a step closer, stopping when she finally meets my gaze. "Have you?"
"My father texted me this morning with the link." Her voice is clipped. "He recognized me immediately."
Shit. That's worse than I thought. "From that garbage photo? How?"
"My necklace." Her hand rises instinctively to her throat, but the silver cross that usually rests there is gone. "My mother's cross. I always wear it."
I sink into the chair across from her desk, leaning forward.
"I'm sorry, Elena." The words feel inadequate. "I never meant for any of this to happen."
"Neither did I." She sets down her pen and finally gives me her full attention. "But it has happened, and now we need to contain it."
"The guys were asking me who was in the picture. I didn't tell them anything."
"Good." She nods curtly. "The fewer people who know, the better chance this has of blowing over."
"Do you really think that's possible?" I search her face. "Your dad already knows. If he figured it out from a necklace, others might too."
"Not necessarily," she says. "The photo is dark and grainy. My face isn't clearly visible. Most people won't make the connection unless someone points it out."
She sounds like she's trying to convince herself as much as me. I want to reach across the desk and take her hand, but there's an invisible wall between us now, more solid than ever before.
"What did your dad say?" I ask.
She closes her eyes briefly, a flash of pain crossing her features. "What you'd expect. That I've jeopardized my career. That I've crossed ethical lines. That you're..." She hesitates.
"That I'm what?" I press.
"That you're a playboy. That when this blows over, you'll move on to the next team, the next woman, and I'll be left with a ruined reputation." She delivers the words in a flat tone.
The accusation stings, but I can't exactly blame her father. My history doesn't exactly paint me as reliable boyfriend material.
"That's not true," I say quietly. "You know that's not true, right?"
Elena looks away, her composure slipping for just a second. "What I know is that I'm in danger of losing everything I've built for myself."
The guilt hits hard. I'm the one who pursued her, who kept pushing even when she tried to stay professional. I'm the reason she's in this mess.
"Let me take the fall," I say suddenly. “Please…”
Her head snaps up. "What?"
"I'll tell everyone it was one-sided. That I pursued you aggressively but you shut me down from the start. That we're just colleagues, nothing more. It'll fit with my reputation anyway—everyone expects me to be an asshole who doesn't respect the rules."
"That's ridiculous," she says, but there's a flicker of something in her eyes—hope, maybe, or surprise at my offer.
"Is it? I've got nothing to lose, Doc. Another mark on my record isn't going to make or break me. But your career?—"
"I'm not letting you take the blame for something we both did." Her voice is firm. "Besides, if we deny it now and more evidence surfaces later, it would only make things worse."
"What evidence?" I lean forward. "There's just that one photo, right?"
