Page 90 of Unleashed

“Save it.” But her eyes held understanding rather than judgment. “Just remember why we’re here. What we promised when we left Austin. No more manufactured drama. No more compromising for a paycheck. Real stories.”

“Right.” I squared my shoulders, professional mask sliding into place. “Real stories.” I snorted. “That’s what we should have called our company instead of Three Corners Productions. ‘Real Stories’ sounds so much better. And maybe I need the constant reminder.”

“Stop it. You don’t need the reminder. Take a deep breath. I should have poured half a bottle of wine down your throat before we came.”

“Right.” I squared my shoulders, ignoring her wine comment. “Real stories about real people. Not clickbait.”

Like the one I’d tried to tell about Jack in that final episode. The one he hadn’t even watched.

Through the glass, Malone’s presentation seemed to be winding down. Jasper Pendleton—imposing even when seated—nodded along while Etienne Trasier, the Renegades’ head coach, scribbled notes. I shivered. The kind of men who could make or break careers with a single decision. If we disappointed them, word would spread fast and work would dry up in a heartbeat.

My pulse kicked up again. Everything we’d built in Three Corners came down to the next few minutes. Our reputation for honest storytelling versus Malone’s glossy manipulation. Real stories versus manufactured drama.

Except, I reminded myself, we were doing okay without this deal. Would doing a program for the Renegades move us along faster? Absolutely. Was it integral to our future? No. I shoved away the insidious little whisper that said, if he wanted, Jasper Pendleton could wreck any project we set our mind to, hockey or otherwise. It’d taken 3.2 seconds to understand that in the Three Corners region, what the Pendletons wanted, the Pendletons got.

Assuming Jack didn’t torpedo the whole thing just by existing in the same zip code.

“Ready?” Adele asked as Millsy motioned us toward the door.

I inhaled a small breath. Released. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Ladies.” Jasper Pendleton’s voice carried that particular timbre of old money—the kind that never needed to raise its volume to command attention. “Miller speaks highly of your work.”

I forced my fingers to steady as I connected our equipment to the room’s display system. The gleaming conference table stretched between us like a hockey rink, with Jasper at the head of the table, Etienne and Millsy on one side, Malone slouched on the side near the windows.

“We appreciate the opportunity to meet with you,” I said, my voice steadier than my fingers. Adele pulled up our presentation while I launched into our opener. “Three Corners Productions focuses on authentic storytelling. Real moments, real emotion—”

“Yes, yes.” Malone’s smooth interjection scraped against my nerves. “We’re all familiar with your particular... artistic vision.” The pause before ‘artistic’ carried enough condescension to fill an arena.

But Etienne leaned forward, his weathered face intent on our footage of Hoss’s youth team. On screen, boys and girls worked through drills, their determination evident in every movement. We’d captured the quiet moments too—the fist bumps, the celebrations, the pure joy of improvement.

“You understand the process,” Etienne said, his Quebocois accent thickening with approval. “You’re not giving just a highlight reel, but the work it takes to get there. The foundation.”

The compliment settled something in my chest. This was what we did best—capturing the quiet dedication of a kid staying late to work on his skating, the way a coach’s eyes lit up when explaining a drill, the pure satisfaction on a player’s face when muscle memory finally clicked. The moments between the moments, where real growth happened. Where passion for the game took root.

We’d spent time embedded with the youth program, learning their rhythms. Understanding why a particular drill mattered, what victory looked like in the small steps. The footage showed it all—not just the goals and celebrations, but the determination, the setbacks, the community that formed around shared dreams.

Jasper’s eyes never left the screen as we cycled through more footage. “Impressive production value for a small operation. I understand that you’re on a shoestring budget.”

“We believe quality matters. So, we’ve opted for the best equipment we could afford with minimal bells and whistles.” The words came naturally now, my earlier nerves fading as I walked them through our vision. “These kids deserve their stories told right. No manufactured drama, no—”

“Like the drama you manufactured with Jack Vignier?”

Etienne’s question slammed into my chest and stole my breath. Spots flickered in front of my eyes. Was I going to faint for the first time in my life? In here? In front of these men? In front ofMalone?

“That situation was... complicated.” My mouth went dry, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. In my peripheral vision, Malone’s smile turned predatory—the same smile he’d worn while demanding more controversy, more drama, his name splashed across the credits while I did his dirty work.

“Complicated.” Etienne’s tone stayed neutral, but his eyes held a challenge. “The most revered captain in hockey, and you used his injury to turn that episode into a smear piece. Made him look weak. Selfish.”

“Actually—” Adele started, but Malone cut her off.

“You raise a fair concern,” he said, sliding closer to the table. The absolute gall of him, positioning himself as the protector of player welfare when he’d been the one pushing for more dirt, more exposed vulnerabilities. “Given the, ah, sensitivity of these matters. The league’s reputation.” Each word landed against me like a carefully aimed shot.

Beside me, Adele’s fingers tightened on her tablet until her knuckles went white. She trembled with barely contained rage, the kind of protective fury that made her an incredible friend but could torpedo a business meeting. One sharp glance from me and she pulled back. We’d learned the hard way that in this industry, sometimes silence was the smartest strategy.

I inhaled slowly through my nose. Counted to three. Let it out. “That episode aired under Malone Productions, but I accept full responsibility for my part in it. For compromising my principles. It’s why we left—why we started our own company. To tell stories the right way.”

“Respectfully, Jasper, don’t believe that. I fired her. That’s why she’s here, trying to scrape something together.” Malone’s voice dripped false concern. “You think anyone believes you care about integrity? You’re here for the paycheck.” He gestured to the screen where our youth footage still played. “Pretty pictures and noble intentions don’t erase past choices, Ms. Sutton.

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