Page 47 of Pucked In Vegas

Spoiler alert: they're all bad.

We make our way through the event space that's been entirely transformed since I saw it yesterday.

Even I have to admit… Cassie's workisfucking incredible.

Everything is perfect, from the lighting to the banners to the way the whole space flows. She's transformed a generic hotel event room into hockey heaven.

And there she is.

Standing near the registration table in a crisp pink blazer and heels, hair pulled back in a bun, clipboard in hand. She's in full work mode, gesturing to crew members, checking items off her list and looking damn amazing doing it.

She's magnificent.

And she's about to discover I'm not just some random guy she hooked up with in Vegas. She's about to learn the answer to the question I know was on the tip of her tongue last night.

I'm a hockey player. I'm her father's prize draft pick.

And I'm everything she hates.

"Cassie!" Mike calls out, his voice booming across the room.

She turns, and for a split second, the mask slips. I see her eyes widen, see the color drain from her face as she registers that I'm standing next to her father.

Then she straightens and I'll be fucked if that mask doesn't just snap back into place like nothing happened. No accidental marriage. No amazing sex.

Nothing.

"Sweetheart, come meet your future star player!" Mike continues, oblivious to the tension crackling between us.

Cassie approaches with careful steps. Her eyes never leave mine, and I can practically see her brain working, trying to figure out how to handle this.

"Jackson Holt," Mike says proudly, "meet my daughter, Cassie Hawthorne. The woman who will announce you to the world tonight."

We stand there, staring at each other while Mike beams proudly between us. The annulment papers in my pocket feel like they weigh a thousand pounds.

"Nice to meet you," Cassie says carefully, extending her hand like we're strangers.

"The pleasure's all mine," I reply, taking her hand and holding it just a second too long.

Mike claps me on the shoulder again. "Cassie's the best in the business. She could plan a wedding in a chapel and make it look like a fairy tale."

I nearly choke.

Cassie's face goes pale, but her smile never wavers.

"That's... quite a compliment, Dad."

"Well, you two will have plenty of time to get acquainted," Mike says. "Don't tell anyone, Hotshot, but I'm hoping Cassie will come home and handle our player relations events. So play nice, won't you? You'll be seeing each other regularly."

I am so fucking screwed.

Chapter Twelve

Cassie

Two hours until showtime, and I'm barking orders like a drill sergeant on a caffeine high.

"Move that ice sculpture three inches to the left," I call out to the crew, gesturing with my clipboard. "And someone please tell me why the uplighting in section C looks like a disco threw up."

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