Page 14 of The Hockey Contract

Jax crossed his arms. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"That if I'm going to live here, I should be able to make some changes," I said, warming to the idea. "Nothing major—just things that would make it look like a home rather than a furniture showroom. Some photos, perhaps actual food in the kitchen, maybe a throw pillow or two that isn't black, white, or gray."

"A throw pillow," he repeated flatly.

"Yes, Jax, a throw pillow. Possibly even one with a pattern. I know that's terrifying for you."

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable with the suggestion. "My house is organized exactly how I like it."

"And that's fine for a bachelor," I pointed out. "But for a happily married man? Not so much. If people visit—teammates, friends, your Perfect Home Furnishings people—they'll expect to see evidence of cohabitation."

We stared at each other for a long moment, a battle of wills.

"Fine," he finally conceded. "But my trophy room stays as is. And my bedroom. Those are off-limits for... throw pillows."

"Noted," I said, suppressing a smile at his grave tone, as though I'd suggested painting the walls neon pink rather than adding a few homey touches. "Your man cave shall remain a sacred space, free from the feminine threat of decorative items."

This time, a real smile flashed across his face, transforming his features and making my breath catch unexpectedly. He should do that more often, I thought before I could stop myself.

"I should go," I said, suddenly needing space to think. "I need to process all this, talk to my lawyer, make a final decision."

Jax nodded, stepping back. "Of course. Leo will send you the draft contracts tomorrow."

At the door, I turned back to face him. "For what it's worth, I haven't decided yet. This is... a lot to take in."

"I understand," he said simply. "Take the time you need."

As I drove away from his waterfront mansion, I couldn't shake the image of his smile, the glimpse of the man behind the Ice Man façade. I'd come expecting to make a business decision, but I was leaving with far more complicated feelings than anticipated.

This arrangement would save my bakery—that much was clear. But at what cost to my integrity, my independence, my heart? Because despite my best efforts to keep this strictly professional, there was something about Jax Harrison that pulled at me, something beyond his obvious physical appeal.

When I arrived home, Sprinkles greeted me at the door, her golden body wiggling with joy. I knelt to hug her, burying my face in her fur.

"What do you think, girl?" I murmured. "Should we move into a mansion with a grumpy hockey player to save Grandma's bakery?"

Sprinkles licked my face enthusiastically, which I chose to interpret as endorsement of the plan.

That night, I lay awake, weighing options that all seemed impossible. As dawn approached, I came to a decision. Three months of my life was a small price to pay for preserving my grandmother's legacy. I would marry Jax Harrison, fulfill my part of the bargain, and hopefully emerge with my bakery secure and my heart intact.

I just had to remember what this was, a business arrangement, nothing more. No matter how intriguing the glimpses of the real man behind the ice might be.

Chapter 6: Jax

After Sienna left, I stood in my living room, strangely unsettled. Leo was reviewing the meeting notes, a satisfied expression on his face.

"That went well," he declared, closing his folder. "She's practical, sharp—I like her. And she didn't immediately reject the idea, which is progress."

"She hasn't agreed yet," I reminded him. "She still needs to review the contracts, consult her lawyer."

"She'll agree," Leo said confidently. "She's running out of options for the bakery, and she knows it." He checked his watch. "Olivia and I need to get going—we have to fast-track those marriage license arrangements if we're really doing this."

After Leo left with Olivia, I found myself wandering through my house, seeing it through Sienna's eyes. She wasn't wrong—the place did look more like an upscale hotel than a home. I'd never given it much thought before; I was rarely here except to sleep, shower, and occasionally watch game footage.

I ended up in the kitchen, recalling the way Sienna had examined the space, her expression softening with professional appreciation. It was the first genuine enthusiasm I'd seen from her during the entire meeting, and something about it had been oddly captivating.

Despite my usual need for absolute order and privacy, I found myself unbothered by the thought of her presence, her touch on my carefully maintained home.

At team practice the next morning, I couldn't focus. Coach Miller had us running passing drills, and I missed several obvious plays, earning his whistle-sharp criticism.

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