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“That isn’t threatening at all,” I say, pointing it out to Miles, who by the way, hasn't smiled once since he woke up.

Miles looks up and groans nervously. “So Big Mike enjoys subtlety then."

I bump his shoulder and try to win a smile. Although, he's actually kind of cute when he's all nervous and quiet.

"You'll be fine. Just listen to what he wants, and we go from there." I tighten my grip on his hand as we enter the silent stands. “Although, I still don’t understand why I’ve been summoned to a hockey meeting. My professional qualifications at the resort consist mainly of preventing athletes from drinking before breakfast.”

Miles stops beside the glass and pulls me closer. “Big Mike said this concerns both of us. And after yesterday, I’m not walking into another life-changing meeting without you beside me.”

My heart performs a deeply inconvenient little flip.

“Good,” I say, leaning up to peck a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Somebody needs to stop you rejecting any more million-dollar contracts before coffee.”

“Awwww… How touching,” a voice booms from a speaker somewhere above us. “Now stop making out in my arena and get upstairs before I charge you for private arena access.”

I look toward the executive suites.

Big Mike is standing behind the railing in a bright red suit, holding a coffee cup large enough to hydrate an entire professional hockey team. Beside him, Darcy Madden checks something on her tablet while a broad dark-haired man in a Snow Leopards quarter-zip watches us from behind the glass.

"Shit." Miles exhales through his nose. “This should be fun.”

We take the private elevator upstairs, where the doors open directly into Suite Six. The room overlooks the arena through an entire wall of glass, with deep leather seats arranged near the railing and a polished timber table loaded with coffee, pastries and miniature Christmas stockings containing Snow Leopards merchandise.

Apparently, career ambushes come with croissants in Chilmore.

Darcy sits near the window, dressed nicely as always. Beside her stands the gruff looking man from the railing, and now that we’re closer, I recognize his face from the enormous banners hanging outside the arena.

He's Samuel Voss. Captain of the Chilmore Snow Leopards and one of the most recognizable hockey players in town. He looks considerably more intimidating without twenty feet of advertising space surrounding his head.

A silver-haired woman near the table introduces herself as the Snow Leopards’ director of hockey operations, which means every person in this suite possesses a legitimate reason to discuss professional hockey.

Except me.

I’m still here because I once prevented Aidan from attending a team breakfast in festive boxer shorts.

Darcy’s presence doesn’t make much more sense. From all I know about her, she normally works for the Beachside Bears and is only in Chilmore to help her father launch Madden Mistletoe Resort.

Yet she’s sitting beside the Snow Leopards’ captain with her tablet ready and an expression suggesting she knows considerably more about this meeting than I do.

Every other person in the room keeps looking at Miles.

Darcy keeps glancing at me.

I take a nervous sip of coffee and immediately burn my tongue.

Big Mike points toward the chairs. “Finally, you made it. Now sit. We have a lot to discuss.”

“Good morning to you too,” I say beneath my breath.

“It was a good morning until I discovered Miles Stratton rejected a guaranteed NHL contract without possessing another offer.” Big Mike lowers himself into the chair opposite us and fixes Miles with a stare. “So before we discuss anything else, I need to know whether that was bravery, stupidity or a previously undiagnosed head injury.”

Miles sits beside me and blows out a long breath. “Could be all three, sir.”

“Excellent," Big Mike booms with a laugh. "I like it. Exactly what every employer wants to hear!”

Darcy reaches for a croissant but says nothing, leaving the hockey interrogation to the people who actually work inside this arena.

I hide my smile behind my coffee while Miles leans forward, his forearms resting across his thighs. His knee bounces beneath the table before he forces it still.