Page 11 of The Hockey Contract

I could hear Olivia's clipped tones through the speaker, though not her exact words. Leo's expression grew increasingly annoyed.

"I told you, he's busy that day... No, I can't reschedule... Because I'm his agent, and I make those decisions..." His voice rose. "Well, if you'd bothered to check with me before committing him to that charity thing..."

Their conversation continued in this vein for several minutes, tension evident in every exchange. By the time Leo hung up, his face was flushed with irritation.

"Trouble in paradise?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What? No. Just work stuff." He took a long pull of his beer. "Olivia thinks she can book you for appearances without consulting me first."

"You two seem to fight a lot for people who work together," I observed. "Something going on there I should know about?"

"Nothing worth discussing," Leo dismissed. "Now, about Sienna. I think we need to revise our offer—make it more appealing, less transactional."

We spent the next hour outlining a new approach: legal protections for Sienna, clear boundaries and expectations, and most importantly, respect for her business and independence throughout the arrangement.

"She needs to know this isn't just about you using her," Leo emphasized. "It's a partnership where you both benefit."

Later that night, I couldn't sleep. I found myself on my phone, scrolling through Grandma Rose's Bakehouse's social media posts. The photos were a stark contrast to my own carefully curated social media presence—candid shots of Sienna flour-dusted and laughing, close-ups of intricately decorated pastries, throwback images of her grandmother in the same kitchen decades earlier.

One post particularly caught my attention: Sienna explaining the history of her grandmother's apple pie recipe, passed down through generations, each woman adding her own touch while maintaining the family tradition. The passion in her words was palpable, her connection to her heritage evident in every line.

I suddenly understood more clearly why my financial offer alone hadn't been enough. This wasn't just about money for Sienna—it was about preserving something meaningful, something with heart and history.

I continued scrolling, the digital warmth of her bakery a stark contrast to my cold mansion. I imagined her here, bringing life to the sterile kitchen that I rarely used. I pictured her hands, dusted with flour, shaping dough on my immaculate countertops. The image was strangely appealing—her softness against the hard edges of my space.

I closed my eyes, letting the image of Sienna in my space, transforming it, warming it from the inside, settle in my mind as I drifted toward sleep.

My phone's ring jolted me awake early the next morning. Sienna’s number flashed on the screen.

"Hello?" I answered, voice rough with sleep.

"Jax? It's Sienna." Her voice sounded strained, like she'd been debating this call for hours. "I was wondering if we could meet to discuss your... proposal further."

I sat up immediately, fully alert. "Of course. When?"

"I close the bakery at 3:30 today. After that?"

"That works," I agreed, trying to keep my tone neutral despite the surge of satisfaction I felt. "Where would you like to meet?"

"Somewhere private," she said. "Where we won't be recognized or overheard."

"My place?" I suggested. "It's secure, away from prying eyes."

After a brief hesitation, she agreed. I texted her my address and ending the call with a promise to see her that afternoon.

I spent the morning in an uncharacteristic flurry of activity—not cleaning, exactly, since my house was always immaculate, but attempting to make the space seem less sterile, more lived-in. I moved a few things out of their perfect alignment, added some books to the coffee table, even considered buying flowers before deciding that might seem too calculated.

Why did it matter what she thought of my house? This was business. And yet, I found myself wanting Sienna to feel comfortable here, to see a glimpse of the person behind the Ice Man persona that everyone else encountered.

When my doorbell rang precisely at 4:00 PM, I realized I was actually nervous—a sensation I rarely experienced off the ice. I took a deep breath before opening the door to find Sienna standing on my doorstep, looking as uncomfortable as I felt.

"Hi," she said simply.

"Hi," I echoed, stepping back to let her in. "Come in."

As she entered, I saw her eyes widen, taking in the soaring ceilings, glass walls overlooking the water, and minimalist décor.

"Leo and Olivia are already here," I told her, leading the way to the living room. "They have some documents they want to discuss."

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