Page 46 of Pucking my Enemy Boss

Ethan flashes, that rare, heart-stopping grin that’s been missing for far too long. “Wanna continue this later? At home?”

“Maybe,” I mumble, still breathless from the kiss.

We hear a loud ahem from behind, Lauren appears, clapping her hands and flashing a smile. “Where were you, boss lady?”

The heat in my cheeks is impossible to hide as I watch him walk away.

“See you blushing. Now I want to know what you’ve been up to.” She turns toward the direction I’m looking but I drag her away before she can see Ethan.

“Come help me.”

“Alright. And hey,” she gives me a nudge. “You nailed this event, by the way. Feeling good?”

I glance around the arena, watching as the trees take shape, the laughter and chatter filling the space. A soft, private smile, and the answer comes easier than expected.

“Better than I expected.”

And for the first time today, it feels true.

14

HOLLY

Scrolling through hashtags#BlizzardBestTreeand#HollyJollyContestbrings a smile to my face. There’s a buzz of contagious electricity around the stadium grounds, charged by laughter, holiday music, and the occasional jingle of bells tied to hockey sticks.

Weaving through the crowd and rows of decorated trees, clipboard in one hand, phone in the other, I watch with a sense of satisfaction as fans snap photos and cast their votes online with enthusiasm that rivals game night.

It’s all a strange, wonderful mix of Christmas magic and hockey madness—twinkling lights tangled with mini hockey sticks, and garlands laced with pucks— like Christmas threw up on a hockey rink, and somehow, it works.

Making the rounds, chatting with fans and business owners who’ve participated has been fulfilling. Everyone’s raving about the event, and my heart swells a little with each compliment.Okay, Holly, maybe you pulled this off.

One of the kids from a local school runs by, his tree practically drowning in glitter and miniature hockey sticks.“Miss Holly! Miss Holly! We’re winning!” He waves his phone excitedly, the screen flashing with votes piling up for his team.

It’s hard not to smile as the boy beams, eyes wide with excitement. Crouching down to his level, I ruffle his hair. “Well, you’ve got the best glitter game I’ve seen today. Your tree might blind the competition.”

The boy grins, then runs off, shouting something about adding more tinsel.Energy like that should be bottled and sold.

Lauren breezes by, radiating calm in her usual–floating on a cloud of peppermint-flavored confidence–style. “You’re killing it, Holly. Seriously.”

"Killing it,” I repeat, more to myself than her. Because let’s be real—underneath my calm-event-manager exterior, there’s a tiny little ball of panic bouncing around like a rogue Christmas ornament.

I wonder when the regular good-energy-ruining ruffle will come and it doesn’t take long. It appears in the form of the team director.

Jonathan Reid materializes from somewhere in the shadows, his perfectly pressed suit somehow standing out amid the festive chaos. He doesn’t smile—he never really does—but his neutral expression says everything. He’s impressed, or at least, not disappointed.

“Holly,” he calls over, motioning her toward him with the slightest nod. “A word?”

There’s a brief moment where the stadium and all its cheer fades, replaced by the sudden weight of Reid’s presence. Here we go.

Crossing the space between us, my clipboard gets held just a little tighter. “Jonathan. How’s it going?”

“The event is running smoothly,” he says, though it’s delivered with his usual flat tone. “Fans are engaged. Online votes are flooding in. Good work.”

It’s not a glowing review, but that rarely exists inReid-speak. But if even the Blizzards tough-to-please director has no passive-aggressive comments to throw my way, that’s a win –in anyone’s book.

“Thank you.”

“We’ve had such a good turnout from the players, too.”

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