Page 52 of Captain's Claim

My heart skips.

"So we're using it, running with the momentum," Big Mike continues, that corporate gleam in his eyes growing brighter. "We're making you the face of something bigger."

"I'm sorry, what?" I blink rapidly, trying to process his words.

"I've set up an interview for you. One of the kids from Blake's youth program. We're still gonna do it how you wanted. Just a little different. Real touching story – exactly the kind of content we need and something I know you'll be perfect for."

The blood drains from my face. Blake's program. The one thing he's been adamantly protecting from exactly this kind of exposure.

And now, because of one viral moment between us... I've got no choice but to expose it.

Because suddenly, they wantmein front of the camera.

"Mr. Hawthorne, I don't think—"

"You wanted to make an impact, right?" He claps a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Well, here's your shot. Don't fuck it up."

He strides away, leaving me frozen in place, my cocktail buzz completely evaporated.

Through the glass of the corporate box, I can see Blake across the arena, surrounded by his teammates, completely unaware that we've just accidentally handed corporate exactly what they wanted – a way into his carefully guarded world.

Shit. What have I done?

Chapter Thirteen

Sophia

Ishould be strategizing for the most important interview of my career.

I should be preparing a bulletproof plan for corporate approval of something other than Blake's precious youth program.

I should beanywherebut here.

Natalie's hand is pressing into my back, herding me into Ridgeview Tavern as I try to forget about my phone buzzing at an alarmingly increasing rate in my bag.

Oh God. Why did he have to blow me a kiss? What the hell was he thinking?!

The bar is packed with hockey players, rowdy fans, and enough testosterone to make my ovaries file for an early retirement.

The place iselectric.

Swear to God, the entire town has packed inside. Gray and green jerseys are everywhere, tables pushed together toaccommodate the rowdy, half-drunk crowd. The thick scent in the air is moist with beer, wood polish and something deep-fried.

And at the center of it all?

Eli - the legendary Iron Wall himself - standing on a damn chair, leading the Icehawks' team chant at full, deafening volume.

His booming voice carries over the din, and even the most reserved fans are jumping to their feet to join in. The entire bar erupts, boots stomping, glasses slamming, voices booming in unison as Eli pumps his fists. The sheer force of the chant is rattling the fucking neon beer signs hanging over the bar it's that loud.

Beer sloshes from mugs, spilling onto the sticky floor, the volume absolutely unbelievable.

"I can practically feel the floor vibrating beneath my heels." Spit flies from my mouth and hits Natalie on the cheek as I try to raise my voice over the noise.

Natalie wipes her cheek with two fingers, grimacing. “Fantastic. Five seconds in and I’ve already been spat on.”

I wince. “Sorry, I—”

A guy in an Icehawks jersey barrels past us, his beer sloshing dangerously close to my coat. Natalie steps in front of me like a bodyguard.

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