Page 2 of Checking It Twice
“You okay?”
He looks up again. The mask slips for just a moment—long enough for me to catch something tired and frustrated underneath.
“Family stuff.” He shoves the phone into his bag. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
Family stuff. Right before Christmas. In my line of work, that’s code for money problems, relationship drama, or both.
“If you need—”
“I’m good.” He stands, slinging his bag over his shoulder. The movement brings him closer, and I catch the scent of his soapmixed with something mouthwateringly male. Clean, warm, distracting as hell. Something that makes my body respond in ways I absolutely do not have time for.
Professional.Boundaries. Remember what happened last time.
“Chase actually picked something decent,” I say, falling into step beside him. “Something about second chances.”
Mitch lets out a short laugh. It doesn’t sound amused. “Perfect timing.”
There’s that edge again. Like he’s holding something back with both hands.
I want to push. To dig deeper. To ask why his smile feels like armor today. But coordinating PR events doesn’t give me the right to play therapist to moody hockey players.
So why do I have the sinking feeling that Mitchell Drake is about to become very much my problem?
“Clare!” Lucy’s voice echoes down the hallway, heels clicking against polished concrete. Even at 10 AM on a Monday, she looks like she stepped off a magazine cover. Blazer tailored to perfection, not a hair out of place. “How’s my favorite book club coordinator?”
“Caffeinated and ready for disaster.”
Lucy’s smile is sharp. Knowing. “Good. I need to steal you after this. We’ve got a situation brewing with the spring charity gala.”
Of course we do.
“What kind of situation?”
“The kind that requires your special brand of diplomatic creativity.” Her gaze flicks to Mitch, who’s gone rigid beside me. I catch myself fighting the urge to step in front of him. Shield him. Ridiculous, considering he’s six-three and built like a tank. But the urge is there anyway. “Plus, I think we need to discuss some personnel adjustments for the holiday PR schedule.”
My stomach drops. Personnel adjustments usually mean damage control. And damage control usually means—
“Is there something I should know about?”
Lucy’s expression shifts to pure innocence. Which means trouble. Big trouble.
“Nothing that can’t wait until after book club. Go coordinate your literary discussion.”
She clicks away, leaving me alone with Mitch and a growing sense of dread.
“Personnel adjustments?” I mutter.
Mitch’s jaw works like he’s chewing glass. “Don’t worry about it.”
But I am worrying about it. Because when hockey players tell you not to worry, that’s usually when you should start planning for the apocalypse.
I study his profile as we reach the conference room door. The sharp line of his jaw. The tension radiating from his shoulders. The way his hands are clenched into loose fists.
Something is definitely wrong with Mitchell Drake.
And I have the sinking feeling that whatever it is, it’s about to become my business whether I want it to or not.
I push open the conference room door to find only four guys waiting—Ty Novak sprawled in his chair like he owns the place, Chase Remington and Bennett Wilder already deep in conversation, and Mitchell, who quietly takes a seat at the far end of the table. His phone is face down now, but that tension is still radiating from his shoulders.
