Page 6 of The Hockey Contract

"It's crazy," I insisted. "Besides, why would she agree to something like that?"

Finn gave me a pointed look. "One hundred and fifty thousand reasons, I'd say."

That night, I sat in my home office, staring at my email. Another rejection from a potential endorsement opportunity, this one a sportswear brand concerned about my "compatibility with their family-friendly values." The same old story.

Almost without thinking, I opened my laptop and typed "Grandma Rose's Bakehouse" into the search bar. The bakery's website appeared, featuring a warm, inviting storefront with vintage signage. I clicked through to the "About" page and found myself looking at a photo of Sienna, flour on her cheek, grinning as she held up a tray of pastries. The caption read: "Owner Sienna Williams continues her grandmother's legacy of bringing homemade joy to Seattle, one pastry at a time."

There were more photos: Sienna with an elderly woman I assumed was her grandmother, Sienna teaching a children's baking class, Sienna with her golden retriever. In every image, she radiated a warmth and authenticity that I recognized was entirely absent from my own public persona.

I scrolled through the bakery's social media, reading Sienna's passionate posts about family recipes and baking traditions. There was something captivating about her evident love for her work, her heritage. It was so different from my own calculated career path.

As I closed my laptop, Leo's words echoed in my mind. A mutually beneficial situation. Could it actually work? The idea was still absurd, but I couldn't deny the potential advantages for both of us. She would save her bakery; I would secure the endorsement deal and reshape my public image.

I tried to imagine Sienna in my house, in my life, even just for a few months. The thought of her warm presence in my cold, sterile space was oddly appealing. I pictured her in my unused kitchen, flour dusting the countertops, the scent of baking filling the empty rooms. I ran a hand absently down my chest, a flicker of heat rising within me at the thought of her touch, of the soft press of her body against mine.

I closed my eyes, letting the image settle. Three months wasn't that long. And it would be strictly business—a transaction benefiting us both.

My decision half-formed, I finally fell asleep, only to be awakened early the next morning by my phone ringing with an unknown number.

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

"Is this Jax?" a familiar female voice asked.

I sat up straight. "Sienna?"

"Yeah, it's me. The baker you've collided with twice now." She sounded nervous but determined. "I was wondering if we could meet. To discuss your proposition."

I blinked in confusion. "My what?"

"Your agent came to my bakery yesterday," she explained. "He mentioned a potential arrangement that might benefit us both. Something about an endorsement deal and my loan situation."

Leo, of course. The man never could wait for my decisions.

"I see," I said cautiously. "And you're interested in discussing this?"

"I'm interested in hearing more details," she clarified. "Before I make any decisions."

"That's fair." I glanced at the clock, and it was 7:15 AM. "When and where would you like to meet?"

"Somewhere I trust," she said immediately. "How about my bakery?"

Chapter 3: Sienna

The foreclosure notice seemed to be mocking me from its spot on my desk. I'd re-read it so many times, I could probably recite it from memory. Even with the temporary viral boost to business the previous week, the reality remained the same: I needed $150,000 in three months, or Grandma Rose's Bakehouse would be nothing but a memory. Jax's agent, Leo, had approached me the other day, talking vaguely about some arrangement that would benefit both Jax and me, but they were still just words, not actual help. I had tried reaching other banks for loans and explored other solutions, but all led to dead ends.

I arrived at the bakery well before sunrise, finding comfort in the familiar ritual of turning on the lights, preheating the ovens, and measuring ingredients for the day's first batch of pastries. The early morning hours were my favorite, just me and Grandma Rose's recipes, the quiet meditation of kneading dough and rolling pastry.

Today, however, I couldn't shake my anxiety. I had a wedding consultation scheduled, with a potential large order that could help chip away at my mountain of debt. I needed everything to be perfect.

I was elbow-deep in buttercream when Chloe burst through the back door, two coffee cups in hand.

"You look like you've been here since the dawn of time," she announced, setting a cup beside me. "Please tell me you at least went home to sleep."

I accepted the coffee gratefully. "I slept. A little."

"Liar." She studied my face. "The bags under your eyes have bags."

"Thanks for that assessment," I said dryly. "Just what every girl wants to hear before a consultation with a bride-to-be."

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