Chapter 15
The mirror didn't lie. I had changed outfits three times, finally settling on a sleek, pencil skirt and silk shell in Slashers teal with a fitted black blazer.
Professional, yet feminine. My makeup was flawless – smoky eyes, subtle contour, a sheer gloss that made my lips look fuller.
I'd even spent twenty minutes curling my hair into perfect waves, a far cry from my usual sleek ponytail for games.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered to my reflection as I fastened small diamond studs to my ears. "You're the PR director, not a trophy girlfriend."
But as I slipped the sapphire ring onto my finger, I couldn't deny the truth any longer. I wasn't dressing for the cameras or the Redline executives. I was dressing for Cam.
I bit my lip, studying my reflection. Did he even notice these things? Did he care how I looked? The memory of his appreciative gaze when I'd worn that blue sundress at the beach house suggested he did. The thought sent a flutter through my stomach that I refused to analyze.
My phone buzzed on the counter.
CAM: Ready to watch me embarrass Montreal tonight, Cupcake Queen?
I felt a treacherous smile spread across my face as I typed back.
ME: Don't jinx it. And yes, I expect nothing less than total domination. Redline execs will be watching from box 3.
CAM: Roger that. Hitting the ice extra hard for you tonight.
ME: For Redline, you mean.
His response came almost immediately.
CAM: Sure. Let's go with that.
I set my phone down, warmth spreading through my chest. With one last glance in the mirror, I grabbed my tablet and headed out.
Tonight was crucial, not just for the team, but for Cam's Redline deal.
The executives would be watching his performance closely, evaluating whether their multimillion-dollar investment in hockey's reformed heartthrob would be worthwhile.
And here I was, the architect of this entire charade, wearing his ring and trying desperately not to reveal how real my feelings had become.
Ninety minutes before puck drop, I stood in the media control room, watching the clock tick down as my to-do list remained stubbornly unfinished.
The energy in the arena was already building, a special electricity unique to season openers.
This year felt different, though. More significant. More personal.
"Hey, boss." Katie, my assistant, appeared in the doorway, tablet in hand. "ESPN wants to know if they can get an exclusive with Cam after the game, regardless of the outcome."
"Tell them he's scheduled for the standard post-game press conference only," I replied, straightening my blazer. "No exclusives tonight. I need to keep the Redline people happy, which means equal access for all media."
"Got it. Also, Coach Sully wants to confirm you've briefed the newbs on media protocol."
I nodded. "Blackwood and Petrovich are both clear on the talking points. And make sure everyone sticks to the 'no comment' line about the Ottawa trade rumors." If I got two whole words out of Blackwood tonight I'd consider it a win.
The overhead speaker crackled. "Media check commencing in five minutes."
Right. Work. The thing I was supposed to be focusing on.
As Katie hurried off, I took a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. I could do this. I was Lana Decker, youngest PR Director in the league. I'd built my career on maintaining composure in high-pressure situations.
So why did the thought of seeing Cam in action tonight make my heart race like I was sixteen again?
An hour later, I stood in the executive suite, supervising the final preparations.
The catering staff arranged elegant platters of hors d'oeuvres while bartenders stocked premium spirits.
Every detail was meticulously planned, from the branded napkins to the overflowing gift bags filled with Slashers merch.
"Lana, sweetheart!" My mother's voice carried across the suite like a bell.
I turned to find my parents entering, my mother radiant in a custom-tailored teal dress with subtle black Slashers accents, my father looking distinguished in his gray blazer and the Slashers tie Zayne had given him when he got drafted.
"Mom? Dad? I thought you were watching from Marcus's box tonight." I hurried over to embrace them, genuinely surprised to see them in the VIP area instead of the GM's box.
"We were," my father explained, his eyes crinkling with amusement, "but your mother insisted we be moved to this box instead."
"I told Marcus we needed to support Cameron with these sneaker people," my mother said, waving her hand excitedly. "And besides, we wanted to sit with you."
"You mean you wanted to meddle," I corrected with a knowing smile.
My mother patted my cheek. "I prefer to call it 'supportive participation.' You know we'd never miss Zayne's season opener, sweetheart. This year we just have two reasons to celebrate."
I felt a headache forming behind my eyes. "Mom, please don't call him Cameron. And please, please don't mention the wedding to the Redline executives. This deal is really important to Cam and the team."
My mother gave me a knowing smile. "I'm not going to embarrass you, Lana. I'm just here to support my future son-in-law. And your brother, of course."
Before I could spiral further, Coco breezed in, looking effortlessly chic in fitted jeans and a stylish Slashers jersey knotted at her waist, her auburn hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail.
"Diana! Frank! What a lovely surprise," she exclaimed, embracing my parents warmly. She turned to me with a grin that held a hint of mischief. "Quite the family affair tonight, huh?"
"Apparently." I forced a smile, mentally rearranging my plans for the evening. With my parents here, the pressure to maintain our "engagement" performance had just doubled. The sapphire ring on my finger suddenly felt a whole lot heavier.
"You look amazing," Coco whispered, linking her arm through mine as we walked toward the window. "That's not your usual game-day outfit."
"Just trying to make a good impression on the Redline people," I replied automatically.
"Mmm-hmm," she hummed skeptically. "And the extra mascara and that lipstick you only wear on dates has nothing to do with a certain number 22?"
I felt heat rise to my cheeks but was saved from responding when Coco gasped, pointing to the ice below.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see the arena slowly filling with fans. The energy was palpable, even from inside the box. On the ice below, players had begun to emerge for warm-ups, their skates cutting crisp patterns across the fresh surface.
My eyes automatically found Cam, unmistakable even from this distance.
He moved with fluid grace, his tall frame powerful yet agile as he worked through his pre-game routine.
The way he handled the puck, like an extension of himself, was mesmerizing.
Each stride showcased the athletic perfection of his body, the result of countless hours of training and natural talent.
God, I could watch him play all night.
As if sensing my gaze, he glanced up toward the executive boxes. Even from this distance, I felt the intensity of his eyes as our gazes locked briefly before he returned to his drills.
"He looks ready," my father commented, coming to stand beside me. "Focused."
"He's been working on that adjustment you guys talked about at the beach house," I replied automatically. "Said it made a big difference."
My father nodded with approval, almost imperceptibly to the untrained eye, which was Frank Decker's way of showing he was impressed. "Good. It'll create more shooting lanes, against Montreal's defensive system."
The suite began to fill with executives, media partners, and VIP guests. "Knock 'em dead, sweetheart," my dad whispered with a kiss to my temple. I slipped into professional mode, making introductions and ensuring everything ran smoothly.
"Mr. and Mrs. Decker, may I introduce James Whitley and Vanessa Cheng from Redline Athletics," I said smoothly, leading my parents toward the executives. "They're here discussing a potential partnership with Cam."
"Wonderful to meet you," my mother said warmly, extending her hand with the elegance of a woman who'd spent decades in hockey's social circles. "We're so excited about Cameron's opportunity. He was just telling us about it at our beach house last weekend."
Two seconds, and my mom had already inserted herself into the mix.
I managed not to wince as Vanessa's eyebrows raised slightly. "Cam spent the weekend with the Deckers, did he? How lovely."
"Frank Decker," my father said, extending his hand. "Former Minnesota North Stars, now just a retired old man who likes to give unsolicited advice to his kids."
"Frank Decker?" James Whitley's expression shifted from polite interest to genuine excitement. "The Frank Decker? Stanley Cup winner, Hall of Fame inductee? What an honor!"
"That's ancient history," my father demurred, though I knew he was always pleased by the recognition.
"Hardly! Your defensive strategies revolutionized the game. And now your son, following in your footsteps. That's quite a legacy."
"Both my sons," my father corrected. "Drake's an assistant coach for San Jose. And my daughter here is making her own mark in hockey, just in a different arena."
I felt a rush of warmth at my father's pride, even as the conversation shifted to the upcoming game. Throughout it all, part of my attention remained fixed on the ice below, where Cam was preparing to take center stage.
My parents were hockey royalty – Frank Decker, Hall of Fame player and coach, and Diana, longtime presence in hockey charity circles. Their embrace of Cam as a future in-law would only strengthen his new image.