Page 64 of Pucking my Enemy Boss

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HOLLY

Today’s charityauction was supposed to be my golden ticket. The secret sauce. The magical event where everything aligns, people smile and throw their wallets at the items, and I sit back feeling like a successful, organized goddess in control of everything.

Except, right now, the only thing getting thrown around atthisevent is my sanity, and it’s starting to feel more like a slow-motion train wreck than anything magical.

The whole setup is there—Chicago Blizzard jerseys lined up like little soldiers, signed merch sparkling under the fluorescent lights, and tables filled with glossy memorabilia that practically scream, “Buy me for a good cause!” Except, well, there’s a problem. A big one. The people? You know, thefans? They’re not here.

And this isn’t just a case of "fashionably late" either. This is "no one bothered to show up to the party you’ve been planning forweeks" kind of late. The clock ticks, mocking me with every second. Where’s the excitement? The crowd? The sea of eager faces, waving cash and ready to snag an autographed puck like it’s the last cookie at Christmas dinner?

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Across the room, Lauren’s leaning against a table, scrolling through her phone like it’s no big deal, as if the fate of my event and, let’s be real, my entire careerisn’thanging in the balance.

“Calm down,” she says without even glancing up. “People will come.”

“Oh yeah, right,” comes the mutter, voice dripping with sarcasm. “We’ll be swimming in a sea of fans any second now. We might even need a lifeboat.”

Lauren finally looks up, eyebrows raised. “Holly, breathe. It’s early. Things will pick up.”

Early?Early? It’s not early—it’s practicallymidday, and the only thing getting picked up around here is the tumbleweed of my hopes and dreams, rolling across the empty floor. My hands fly to my hair, gripping it like maybe, just maybe, that’ll keep me from completely losing it.

Jonathan Reid’s voice rings in my head like an annoying doorbell that just won’t stop.“Your events have been solid, Holly. But we need more. The club needs more.”

More? Yeah, well,thisis more. More panic. More disaster. Morezero turnout.

Lauren walks over, her hand resting on my shoulder, her voice all Zen and chill, like I’m not currently on the verge of spontaneously combusting. “People love your events, Holly. Trust me. They’ll show up.”

“Show up when? Tomorrow?” The words come out sharper than intended, but Lauren just shrugs it off like a pro.

“You’re spiraling.”

“Of course I’m spiraling!” Hands wave dramatically, pointing at the empty tables. “We’re supposed to be swimming in Blizzard fans right now, not ... not drowning in silence!”

Lauren’s about to respond when—of course—the phone rings. And not just any phone call. Oh no. The universe, in all its twisted sense of humor, has decided it’sJakecalling.

Jake Roland.

The guy has the audacity to breathe in the same world as me after everything. Fingers hover over the decline button, a decision that takes about 0.2 seconds. Decline. Not today, Satan.

But two seconds later, it rings again. His name flashing like a neon sign screaming, “Trouble!”

Lauren’s eyebrow quirks up. “Jake?”

A huff escapes. “Ugh. Yes.”

“Didn’t you already ditch that nightmare?”

“Apparentlythe nightmare isn’t ditching me yet.” The phone rings again. Fine. This time, there’s a snarl in the voice. “What, Jake?”

“Oh, hey, Holly,” Jake’s voice oozes through the phone, that smug grin practically audible. “Just wanted to ask—are you really dating Ethan Carter?”

Eyes roll so hard it’s a wonder they don’t get stuck. “That’s none of your business.” My hiss attracts Lauren, who’s now eyeing me with concern. “If that’s all, I’m hanging up.”

But Jake chuckles, a sound that makes me want to stab a pillow—or maybe several pillows.

“Actually, there’s more, Holly. It’s about your little charity event at the Peninsula. You’re welcome to end the call, by the way.”

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