“We are?” Naomi whispers as they hustle out of range.
“Yep. Due for a break fromthatman before I throat-punch him.”
Naomi suppresses a snort as they descend the stairs. “What was that even about? You ran that meeting like a machine.”
“He doesn’t like it when I don’t defer to his…whatever. Authority.”
They reach a long corridor lined with framed Whalers jerseys, the air noticeably cooler. Naomi pulls her blazer tighter over her chest.
“Where are we going, anyway?” she asks.
“To meet Jesse,” Mila says. “Come on. You’ll like him.”
They push through a door to ice level. The smell hits first—sweat, rubber, and cold. Naomi blinks as her eyes adjust to the bright lights, catching movement at the edge of the rink.
A tall guy with sandy brown curls emerges from a tunnel, helmet under his arm, his caramel eyes warm and ridiculously earnest. His face lights up when he spots Mila, and he makes his way over, his gait heavy and careful in his skates.
Cute hockey boy alert.
“Mila!” he calls, stretching his long arms out for a hug.
Naomi steps aside as he wraps Mila in his arms. Her face disappears into his chest, then reemerges with a grimace.
“Ugh. Jesse. You reek.”
He grins like she complimented him. “You say that every time.”
“Because your jersey is a biohazard.”
He shrugs, unbothered, and turns to Naomi, bright-eyed and buzzing with uncontainable energy. “Hey! You must be Naomi. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Naomi blinks. “You have?”
“Yeah. Mila says you’re scary smart and like, freakishly good at writing stuff that makes people spend money.”
Mila nods sagely. “All true.” She gestures to the tall, grinning guy beside her. “Naomi, this is Jesse Mitchell. He’s Natalie’s little brother.”
Naomi’s met Mila’s best friend, Natalie Mitchell, once or twice at events. Jesse’s one of the reasons Mila landed this account. Her insider knowledge was crucial in making a good first impression on the team’s owner.
“I don’t think you can call me little anymore,” Jesse says with a lopsided grin.
She doesn’t miss a beat. “I used to bribe you with Goldfish crackers. You don’t get a say.”
Naomi snorts, then immediately regrets it. Jesse's cheeky grin sends a flutter of awareness through her belly that pools low and insistent. He's tall, broad-shouldered, clearly lives in the gym...and definitely notlittleanywhere that counts.
Okay, ew. Dial it back.
He’s like...a golden retriever in human form. A sexy one, yes, but still. He’s younger. The last thing Naomi needs is to thirst after someone who would call her “ma’am” on instinct.
Jesse turns to Naomi, enthusiasm dialed to eleven. “This ticket campaign you guys are running? Straight fire.”
Naomi blinks, momentarily stunned, then laughs. “Um. Thanks?”
He nods so hard his curls bounce. “For real. Y’all are killing it.”
Okay, he’s ridiculously sweet. He’s got that kind of earnest, over-the-top enthusiasm, with a touch of himbo energy. It’s apleasant change after an hour with Richard sucking the air out of the room.
They’re still chatting by the rink entrance when Jesse cocks his head, eyes darting to the hallway. His tone flips from cheerful to serious. “Yo, move it back, guys. Tall’s coming through.”
