Off-Limits Play (Renegades Ice Hockey Romance #1)

Chapter 1

Harper

I stare at my laptop screen where our financial spreadsheet mocks me with its sea of red numbers, and wonder if there's a tactful way to tell my team we're basically screwed.

“How are we looking for this month?” I ask, trying not to sound as desperate as I feel.

The silence in my SoHo conference room is thick enough to bottle and sell as a premium product. Which, considering our current financial state, isn't the worst business idea I've had lately.

“I've confirmed three events for November,” Jessica says. She's our senior events coordinator and my right-hand person for the past five years, but I don't know how much longer I'll be able to afford her. “The Whitman anniversary party, the tech startup launch, and the gallery opening.”

I do quick math in my head, which is never a good sign when you're supposed to be a successful business owner. “That's what, maybe thirty thousand total?”

“Twenty-eight,” Amber, our administrative manager, says quietly.

Twenty-eight thousand dollars. Our monthly overhead is fifty-five thousand. Even my liberal arts degree can handle that brutal equation.

“Right.” I take a sip of my now-cold coffee, and the bitterness of it fills my mouth. “What about the Henderson wedding?”

James winces. “They went with Platinum Events.”

We can’t compete with the likes of Platinum Events, with their army of coordinators and unlimited budget.

Even after five years of grinding to build Hayes & Company Events from nothing, we're still small fish in an ocean of corporate event giants.

Our client list is limited to small corporate gatherings and the occasional gallery opening, which pays just enough to keep our office lights on for another month.

“They said they needed a larger team for an event of this magnitude,” James adds, with a defeated shrug.

I look around at my team. Three incredibly talented people who've stuck with me through two recessions and a global pandemic.

And I might have to let one of them go.

The thought makes my stomach twist.

“What if we sublease part of the office?” Amber suggests, because she's twenty-three and still believes in miracles.

“No.” I smile to soften my tone. “We're not there yet.”

But we are. Amber is saving for her wedding to her college sweetheart. James is supporting his mom after her stroke last year. Jessica is drowning in student loans from her fancy event management degree.

And here I am, their fearless leader, about to captain this ship straight into an iceberg. “Look,” I say, forcing confidence I don't feel into my voice. “It's September. Fall season is always busy. Something big will come through.”

Jessica shoots me a skeptical look. “Harper, I've already reached out to all our usual corporate contacts. Everyone is cutting event budgets for the rest of the year.”

“Then we find new contacts.” I'm grasping at straws, and we all know it, but sometimes hope is all you have. “We pivot. We innovate. We—”

My phone rings, cutting off what was going to be an inspiring speech about perseverance. It’s an unknown number with a NYC area code.

I almost don't answer. Unknown numbers in Manhattan are usually either telemarketers or landlords, and I'm not in the mood for either. But desperate times and all that. “Hayes & Company, this is Harper.”

“Ms. Hayes? This is Jennifer McCall from the New York Renegades.”

I sit up straighter, nearly knocking over my sad coffee. Why would the Renegades be calling me? The only connection I have with them is Cole, the captain of the team, and my brother’s best friend.

Oh, yes, and the fact that we pitched to be their events coordinator this season, knowing very well that there was no chance we would get it. I know they already gave out that contract, so why are they calling me?

“Could you come to our arena offices this afternoon? We have a business proposition that might interest you.”

Business proposition. Those are my two favorite words in the English language, right after ‘open bar’ and ‘unlimited budget.’

“Of course,” I reply, trying to sound professional, and not like someone whose business checking account is currently crying. “What time works best for you?”

“How soon can you be here?”

I check my watch. “I can be there in an hour.” My heart is thumping wildly, caught between the urge to believe this is about the contract and the fear of setting myself up for disappointment.

“Perfect. Ask for me at the executive offices on the third floor.” She hangs up, and I stare at my phone, frozen in shock.

“Harper?” Jessica's voice snaps me back to reality. “Who was that?”

“The Renegades,” I say slowly, still processing. “They want to see me. Today.”

Jessica's eyes widen. “But didn't they already give their events contract to Signature Events?”

“Yeah,” I say, grabbing my coat and portfolio. “Which makes this very interesting.”

I spend the fifteen-minute Uber ride alternately checking my reflection in my phone camera and trying not to hyperventilate.

“Madison Square Garden,” the driver announces, pulling up to the iconic entrance.

Navy blue and silver banners hang from the exterior walls, with splashes of crimson red in the team logos, that seem to pulse with energy even in daylight.

I flash my ID at the security checkpoint, explaining that I have a meeting with Jennifer McCall. The guard, a mountain of a man with kind eyes, checks his list and waves me through the metal detector.

“Executive offices are on the third floor,” he says, handing me a visitor's badge. “Elevators are past the gift shop, but if you want to see the arena floor, there's a shortcut through the main concourse.”

I've been in plenty of arenas over the years, an occupational hazard of having a brother who's played everything from junior hockey to the NHL.

But Madison Square Garden is different. Even empty, it has this raw power that makes the hair on your arms stand up.

I'm walking past the players' entrance, trying not to gawk like a tourist, when I see him.

Cole Maddox.

My breath catches in my throat. The last time I saw him, I was fifteen and he was this impossibly cool eighteen-year-old visiting Brett during summer break.

He's definitely filled out since our teenage years. He's all lean muscle and broad shoulders now. The strong jawline and high cheekbones have sharpened with age, and even from this distance, I can see those piercing steel-blue eyes that used to make me stammer whenever he looked my way.

He was hot as a teenager, but now he’s freaking gorgeous, and my body hums with awareness. God, I thought I'd outgrown this ridiculous attraction.

Our eyes meet, and for a second, time does that annoying thing where everything slows down. But there’s no recognition in his eyes, and he looks away.

For about half a second, I consider walking over and reintroducing myself.

Hi, Cole. Remember me? Brett's annoying little sister, who used to follow you around like a lost puppy?

Yeah, that's not happening.

Instead, I adjust my purse strap and head toward the elevators like a mature, professional adult, who definitely isn’t still ogling her brother's best friend.

Jennifer McCall greets me at the reception. She’s a pretty, dark-haired woman in her forties with a brisk manner that suggests she doesn't suffer fools. My kind of woman.

“Ms. Hayes, thank you for coming so quickly,” she says, leading me down a hallway lined with championship banners and photographs of Renegades legends. “I'll get straight to the point. Signature Events backed out of our season contract this morning.”

I keep my expression neutral, but inside, I'm doing cartwheels.

“Some kind of internal restructuring crisis,” Jennifer continues as we enter a conference room that overlooks the arena.

“That's unfortunate,” I say, insincerely.

“For them, yes. For us, it's a disaster. We need someone who can hit the ground running with three weeks until our season opener.”

She slides a folder across the polished conference table.

“I'll be honest with you, Ms. Hayes. Normally, we wouldn't go with such a small events company for a contract of this magnitude.

But after the disappointment with Signature Events, we're willing to take a chance on someone who might actually care about delivering quality work.”

I was right. This woman definitely doesn't pull any punches.

“I appreciate your candor, Ms. McCall,” I say, meeting her direct gaze.

“And I can assure you that Hayes & Company won't let you down.

We might be small, but we're dedicated, and we'll fight for every detail to make sure your events exceed expectations. Thank you for giving us this opportunity.”

I open the folder and almost choke on my own saliva.

$2.2 million.

Two point two million dollars for a season's worth of events.

That's more money than Hayes & Company has ever made.

“The timeline is aggressive,” Jennifer continues, not noticing that I've temporarily lost the ability to form words.

“Season kickoff gala in three weeks, then eleven more major events through playoffs. Corporate sponsors, high-net-worth donors, media events, charity fundraisers. Think you can handle it?”

Can I handle it? Lady, for $2.2 million, I would plan a wedding reception on Mars during a meteor shower.

“Oh yes. A hundred percent sure,” I say, trying not to grin like a fool. And just like that, Hayes & Company goes from near bankruptcy to the big leagues.

“Excellent. I'll have contracts drawn up immediately. Oh, and Harper?”

“Yes?”

“Welcome to the Renegades family.”

Back at the office, I gather Jessica, James, and Amber around the conference table and watch their faces transform from resignation to shock to pure elation, as I explain our new reality.

“Three weeks,” Jessica repeats, already pulling up vendor contacts on her laptop. “For a season kickoff gala.”

“At the Rainbow Room,” I add, consulting the preliminary notes Jennifer gave me. “Five hundred guests, including major sponsors and media.”

James whistles. “That's ambitious.”

“That's impossible,” Amber corrects, but she's grinning as she says it.

“No,” I say firmly, “that's our job now.”

We spend the next four hours diving into logistics. Jessica calls caterers while James tackles venue coordination. Amber creates spreadsheets for everything from guest lists to timeline management.

The room hums with focused intensity. We're all running on pure adrenaline.

By six o'clock, we have a skeleton of a plan. It's rough, it's ambitious, and it's going to require everything we've got in our arsenal. But for the first time in years, I'm not worried about finances.

The drive home through Manhattan traffic gives me time to process what just happened. My phone buzzes with a call from Brett, and I almost answer before thinking better of it.

I'm dying to tell him about the contract, but I know my brother. Within five minutes, he’ll be calling half the team to tell them to keep an eye on his little sister.

No. I've worked too hard to build my reputation on merit alone to have it overshadowed by nepotism accusations now. I'll tell him once I'm settled, once I've proven I can handle this.

I'm still buzzing with excitement until I unlock my apartment door and step into an inch of water.

“Oh, fuck.”

I stare in disbelief at my hardwood floor, which is completely submerged. My beautiful Persian rug, the one I saved for six months to buy, is completely ruined.

My phone rings just as the first tears of frustration threaten to spill over. It’s Brett again. “Hey,” I answer, wading through the disaster zone that used to be my living room.

Why would this happen to me, of all days? I get the biggest contract of my life, and I come home to a disaster. I should be celebrating with champagne right now, not coming home to a soggy mess.

“Hey, Stubbs. I’ve missed you. How was your day?”

Usually, that nickname makes me smile. Brett coined it because of my stubborn refusal to let him help my career, including his repeated offers to connect me with potential clients.

I survey the destruction around me. “Eventful. My apartment is currently flooded.”

“What? How bad?”

“Biblical,” I say, grabbing my laptop from the kitchen counter, grateful I left it there this morning. “I need to find somewhere to stay tonight.”

“Jesus, Harper. What about Ariel?”

“Can't. Her deadbeat boyfriend is already crashing there indefinitely.” I wade back toward the door. “I'll figure something out.”

“I wish I were closer, but—wait, how about Cole? He’s less than fifteen minutes from you.”

I nearly drop my laptop. “Cole?”

“Stay with him. He's got that huge penthouse, and honestly, Harper, you're like a sister to him. It's the perfect solution.”

“Absolutely not. I am not staying with Cole Maddox.”

“Why not? You guys used to get along great when we were kids.”

That was before I developed a massive crush on him that made me act like an idiot every time he was around. “I'll get a hotel,” I say firmly.

“Harper, don't be ridiculous. Just call Cole.”

“I'm not calling him.”

Brett sighs. “Fine. Look, I know a contractor who specializes in emergency water damage repair. Let me text you his number. His name is Noah Ward. He’s good and fast.”

“Thank you,” I say, relieved that he's dropping the Cole suggestion.

After he hangs up, I stand in my flooded apartment, water seeping into my shoes, and contemplate my options. I’ll have to sleep in a hotel tonight, but if Noah is as fast as my brother says, I should be back in my apartment in a day or two.