Page 10 of The Hockey Pact

"Of him," I clarified. "The team warned us about his operations. He targets people in difficult situations."

Riley glanced around to ensure no one were within earshot, then lowered her voice. "He's been... persistent. Offering me a 'special financing package' forHat Trick." She made air quotes around the words, her distaste evident.

"His loans always come with strings," I said carefully.

“Oh, I've gathered that much,” she said, her voice low. “The interest rate alone is highway robbery, and I have the distinct impression that the ‘additional terms’he keeps mentioning involve more than mere financial commitments.”

The implication made my jaw tighten involuntarily. "You're not considering it, are you?"

Riley looked away, her momentary silence more concerning than any answer she could have given.

"Riley," I said, my voice low and urgent. "Guys like that—"

"I know," she interrupted, meeting my eyes again. "But when you're drowning and someone offers a rope, sometimes you don't immediately question what's on the other end."

The raw honesty in her voice hit me harder than I expected. Before I could respond, one of her part-time staff called her name, needing her attention for a minor crisis involving the chafing dishes.

"Duty calls," she said with a forced smile. "Catch you when the event starts?"

I nodded, watching her walk away with a strange tightness in my chest.

The gala itself was predictably tedious—the same speeches about community commitment and educational opportunities that featured at every charity event, the same wealthy donors congratulating themselves for their generosity, the same professional schmoozing that was part of my job as one of the team's stars.

I dutifully worked the room, posing for photos, signing autographs, and making small talk with sponsors. All the while, I found my gaze repeatedly drawn to Riley, who was managing the catering with impressive efficiency.

Her food was the highlight of the evening—innovative, hockey-themed appetizers that drew enthusiastic praise even from the most jaded socialites. I overhead snippets of conversations about the "charming little restaurant near the arena" and mentally calculated how many of these people might actually follow through on their declarations to visitHat Trickonce the event was over.

As the evening wound down, I made my way back to the catering area where Riley and Zoe were beginning to pack up equipment.

"Need a hand?" I offered, loosening my tie.

Riley looked up, surprise evident on her tired face. "Don't you have... I don't know, important people to talk to?"

"I've met my quota of handshakes and fake smiles for the night," I said with a wry smile. "Besides, this seems more useful."

"In that case, these trays couldn't care less if you're famous," she said, pushing an empty equipment case toward me. "They just want to go back to the restaurant in one piece."

I found myself enjoying the simple task of helping break down the catering station. It was refreshing to do something practical and immediate, with clear results, rather than navigating the murky waters of team politics and public relations.

Max appeared as we were loading the last items into Riley's catering van, immediately engaging Zoe in what had become their standard bickering.

"There's my favorite chef who isn't impressed by my athletic prowess," he declared, reaching for a heavy cooler that Zoe was struggling to lift.

"I can manage," she said stiffly, though she did allow him to take one handle while she took the other.

"Of course you can," Max agreed amicably. "But why should you have to when there are perfectly functional hockey players standing around?"

"Because most hockey players I've met think helping means standing around looking pretty while others do the work," Zoe retorted.

"I'm devastated by your low opinion of my profession," Max said, clutching his chest dramatically with his free hand. "Truly wounded. I may never recover."

"You'll survive," Zoe said dryly, though I caught the smile she tried to suppress.

As they continued loading equipment, I turned to Riley. "Can I buy you a drink? You look like you could use one after the long night."

She hesitated, glancing at the nearly packed van. "I should really get this stuff back to the restaurant..."

"Zoe and I can handle the rest," Max interjected, clearly eavesdropping. "Right, Chef Unimpressed?"

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