“Cap.” Logan's voice cuts through the chatter. He approaches with Alex and Jake. “This is some setup. Makes our usual team dinners look like casual Friday.”
“This new event planner doesn't mess around,” Alex adds, gesturing at the room.
Hearing Harper being praised for all her hard work sends a rush of satisfaction through me. She deserves every single compliment she’ll get tonight.
I scan the room and spot more of my teammates scattered throughout the crowd. In a corner near the bar, I catch sight of Novak leaning close to a striking blonde in a cocktail dress.
I tell myself that Novak is an adult and what he does in his private life is none of my business. Still, I hope that this season, he'll behave himself and keep the team's image clean.
Servers weave between guests with champagne and hors d'oeuvres. The sound of conversation and laughter mingles with a jazz quartet playing in the corner. Everything is perfect, and I’m so fucking proud of Harper.
And then I see her.
She’s standing at the far end of the room, deep in conversation with someone holding a camera.
She looks stunning in a floor-length green dress that hugs her body, which I've spent the last ten days trying not to think about. Her hair is pulled up in some intricate style that exposes the elegant line of her neck.
She glances up, doing a double take when she sees me, and the crowded room is suddenly empty. A small smile plays at her lips, and my heart skips a beat at the way it makes her eyes sparkle under the lights. I want to go to her. Tell her how magnificent everything is, how magnificentsheis. But I don’t. She’s busy, and now isn’t the time. She gives me a subtle nod before turning back to the photographer.
“Cole.” Jennifer appears at my elbow, dressed in a navy cocktail gown that coordinates with the evening's color scheme. “You clean up nice.”
“Thanks.” I accept a champagne flute from a passing server, though I'm not planning to drink much. I need to stay sharp for my speech. “The place looks incredible.”
“Doesn't it? Harper and her team have outdone themselves.” Jennifer follows my gaze toward Harper, who's now directing two servers rearranging something on the display table. “She's been here since six this morning, making sure every detail is perfect.”
Of course, she has.
“Cole Maddox.” A booming voice interrupts my thoughts. Thomas Moore, one of our major sponsors, approaches with his hand extended. “Ready for the season, Captain?”
And just like that, I'm pulled into corporate schmoozing. Handshakes and small talk and discussions about playoff chances. I play my part, oozing charm as the face of the Renegades.
But throughout the evening, my attention keeps drifting back to Harper.
Each time I see her, that dress does something to my concentration. The way it skims her curves, the flash of her long legs when she walks, the elegant line of her bare shoulders.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the evening's MC announces, “please take your seats for dinner.”
I make my way to the head table, where Jennifer has strategically placed me between two major donors and across from a sports reporter. Harper's seat is three tables away. Too fucking far.
I make conversation with the reporter about our upcoming season while keeping one eye on Harper's table.
She's barely touching her food. That pisses me off.
“Cole?” The reporter is looking at me expectantly. “Your thoughts on the power play changes this season?”
“We've made some adjustments that I think will pay dividends,” I say, pulling my attention back to the conversation. But even as I discuss hockey strategy and team dynamics, part of my mind stays fixed on Harper’s movements.
Three hours later, only a smattering of guests are left. The evening was a complete success, all thanks to Harper and her team.
I loosen my bow tie and wander toward the balcony, needing fresh air after hours of recycled conversation and forced smiles.
I find Harper there, leaning against the railing with a glass of water in her hands. She's kicked off her heels and her elegant updo has come slightly undone, a few strands of dark hair framing her face.
“Mind if I join you?” I ask, stepping out onto the balcony.
She turns and gives me a tired smile. “It's a free balcony.”
“How are you feeling?”
