Of course, it is.
"Let me ask the obvious question," I say. "Is it worth forcing players who don't want to be there onto the ice? Best-case scenario, they sulk. Worst-case, they tank the game on purpose."
"If they were anyone else, I'd say no," Mia says immediately. "But they're our best line. By far. And we… embarrassingly have no proper bench. Three replacement guys are injured, and everyone else is beer-league at best."
"And if you brought in ringers?" I ask. "Borrowed players from out of town?"
"The festival board would mutiny. The town would riot. I'm not exaggerating." She groans quietly. "Naomi, you haven't seen the way people talk about this pack. Half the town's single omegas write them love letters, and the other half pretend they're above it while stalking their practice schedule. They think they're untouchable."
"Hence the audacity to pull this stunt," I mutter.
"Exactly." Her voice tightens. "And hence why I need you. This game has happened every year for seventy-three years, Naomi. It's not just tradition, it's the heartbeat of our winter festival. The thing that pulls everyone together when it's freezing and dark and we all need a reason to get out of the house. It's part of what holds this community together."
My fingers tighten around the edge of the counter. Three hockey players think they can hold that hostage because they're used to getting whatever they want.
"So you want me to make this more trouble than it's worth for them," I say.
"Something like that." She sounds almost amused despite the situation. "Good thing, as an official festival sponsor, I can justify flying my best lawyer in to fix it."
"Then book me on the first flight," I say. "And send me everything. Contracts, player files, their politely worded tantrum... If they've so much as texted someone a complaint about this, I want screenshots."
"You're a lifesaver, Naomi. Thank you." The relief in her voice is palpable. "Just… don't underestimate them, okay? Thesearen't corporate suits you can intimidate with precedent. They're athletes who've been told they're gods since they first laced up their skates."
"I prefer it when they're cocky," I say, feeling a familiar spark of challenge. "Makes it more satisfying when they're forced into submission."
"There she is," Mia says, a smile creeping into her voice. "The fixer."
I groan. "Please don't call me that."
Chapter two
Naomi
My suitcase catches on every crack in the sidewalk.
Main Street opens up in front of me and…wow.
The buildings are all heritage architecture with red brick. Every door has an evergreen wreath tied with crimson velvet, and white lights swoop from lamppost to lamppost in neat little arcs.
A couple, an alpha and an omega, walks past holding hands, their knit hats matching right down to the pom-poms.
They smile at me, I smile back, and they glance away a beat too fast.
Heat creeps up my face.
Did I just smile like the Grinch who's come to steal Christmas..?
I let out a breath. Two minutes in town and I already stand out…
I quicken my pace and spot my hotel at the corner of Main and Third. A sign swings gently above the door: “The Grand Hotel - Est. 1887” in gold leaf that catches the light.
A brass bell chimes when I push through the door, and warmth hits me in a wave.
The lobby smells like December. Pine from the massive Christmas tree taking up half the sitting area, cinnamon from something baking somewhere, wood smoke from a fire crackling in the chimney, and vanilla from beeswax candles lined up on the mantle.
"Ms. Quinn!" A beta woman appears from behind the desk, silver hair in a neat bun, smile lines carved deep. "Right on time. I'm Dorothy."
"Please call me Naomi," I say, unwinding my scarf from around my neck.
