Page 127 of Uncoachable

My breath hitches. I look from her to the phone, then back to her.

“You… you can’t,” Delaney stammers, his face turning a shade of purple that matches his silk pocket square. “I’ve been with this franchise since before you could skate.”

“And that’s exactly why you’re being relieved of your duties, effective immediately,” she says, her tone clipped and professional. “You’re a relic, Mark. And tonight, you’re just a trespasser. I’d walk away before I have to ask the valet to call the police for harassment.”

Delaney looks at me, searching for some kind of “guy to guy” solidarity, but I just stare back at him, stunned and more than a little impressed.

With a strangled sound of pure, helpless fury, he turns and stumbles toward the shadows of the street, his career ending not with a whistle, but with the pathetic scuff of his dress shoes on the concrete.

I look down at Iveline. She’s already putting her phone away, her expression shifting back to that dangerous, amused smirk.

“You fired him?” I manage to rasp. “Just now? In a gown?”

“William asked for my recommendation on how to streamline the bench for the finals,” she says. “I just told him the truth. He’s dead weight, Callahan.”

She looks up at me, her eyes dark and triumphant, and the sheer power of her makes my head spin.

“Now,” she whispers. “Get me in that car before I decide you’re a distraction too.”

34

Ivy

By the time the car pulls up outside his apartment, my pulse is racing. His is too; I can feel it in the way he stands just a little too close as we step out onto the sidewalk.

The building hums with quiet life as we enter.

The elevator ride is short, the soft whirring of the mechanics providing a rhythmic soundtrack to the heat pulsing between us. We face each other in the small space, just a few feet apart, and suddenly every inch of air matters.

“Iveline,” he says, his voice low enough to vibrate through the soles of my feet. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to forget every line we’re not supposed to cross.”

I swallow hard, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Maybe I’m tired of lines, Callahan.”

His breath catches.

I see his hands twitching, his fingers itching to trace the lines of my body.

I can’t look away, and neither can he.

When the elevator stops, I step out into the hallway, my heels clicking a sharp, frantic rhythm against the floor. My skin feels electric, humming with a need that makes it impossible to stand still. I don’t stop until I reach the door, spinning around to find him already there, crowding into my space until the heat coming off him is all I can feel.

The cool grain of the door bites into my shoulder blades.

“This is a career-ending mistake. It’s a violation of every protocol we’ve both spent years upholding. It is the definition of unprofessional.”

The words are brittle, snapping like dry glass in the air between us. My back is flat against the wood, the vibration of his heavy footsteps through the floorboards traveling straight up my spine.

I’m looking for a reason to stop, scanning the familiar lines of his face for a flicker of doubt, but there is none.

“They’ll ruin us if they find out. You know that. My father, the board, the press… they’ll tear us apart.”

He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink.

He steps further into my space, his shadow swallowing me whole, tall and predatory. He plants a hand on the door beside my head, the thump of his palm vibrating through my skull.

“You want to talk about professionalism?” His voice is a low, dangerous rumble. “Then stop acting like a coward and look at me. Look at what you’re doing to me, Iveline. Look at how much I’m shaking just being this close to you.”