chapter 24

Emma adjusted her earring in the full-length mirror, admiring how the diamonds caught the light. The black gown she’d chosen for tonight’s charity gala was a departure from her usual understated professional attire—backless, fitted, undeniably glamorous. “You’re staring again,” she said to Alek’s reflection as he leaned against the bedroom doorframe watching her. “Professional hazard of dating the most beautiful woman in Boston.” He crossed to stand behind her, resting his hands lightly on her bare shoulders. “You look incredible.” “So do you.” Emma turned to straighten his bow tie. Six months into their relationship, these domestic moments still gave her a quiet thrill—the easy intimacy, the shared spaces, the unguarded affection. Tonight marked their first major public appearance since Jack’s return game two weeks earlier. The annual Hockey Fights Cancer gala drew the city’s elite—team owners, players, politicians, business leaders—for a night of fundraising and strategic networking. “Ready for this?” Alek asked as they walked to the car. “First time we’re attending as an official couple rather than colleagues.” “About time.” Emma settled into the passenger seat. “I’m tired of pretending we’re just business associates who happen to leave events at the same time.” The Boston Harbor Hotel ballroom glittered with Boston’s power players when they arrived. Emma moved through the crowd with practiced ease, greeting sponsors, exchanging pleasantries with league officials, making strategic connections. Alek remained nearby, sometimes at her side for joint conversations, sometimes engaging separately with his own professional contacts. “The league’s power couple arrives,” Franklin greeted them at their assigned table, looking dapper in his tuxedo despite the oxygen tube discreetly tucked behind his ear. His health had stabilized but not improved—a concern Emma had learned to live with while treasuring their time together. “Hardly,” Emma demurred, kissing his cheek. “Just doing our jobs.” “While looking spectacular.” Franklin winked at Alek. “You’re a lucky man, Volkov.” “Believe me, I know,” Alek replied, pulling out Emma’s chair. Dinner proceeded pleasantly enough—decent food, predictable speeches, the comfortable rhythm of a high-society fundraiser. Emma found herself genuinely enjoying the evening, savoring the normalcy of attending with Alek openly at her side after months of professional distance and careful public appearances. During the silent auction portion, Emma excused herself to use the restroom. On her return, she took a detour through the display of auction items, admiring the signed memorabilia and luxury experiences on offer. “Mitchell’s granddaughter certainly knows how to fill out a dress, I’ll give her that.” The male voice came from just beyond a decorative pillar—not intended for her ears but clearly audible in the momentary lull between songs. Emma froze, recognition dawning. Board member Harrison Wilson, the Chairman’s son who had recently joined after Adams’ removal. “Old man Mitchell knew what he was doing,” another voice replied—Peterson from Marketing. “Pretty face to represent the organization while Volkov handles the actual business.” “You think they were involved before she got the position?” Wilson asked. “Had to be. Volkov’s ambitious, but he’s not stupid. Sleeping with the owner’s granddaughter is a career advancement strategy, not just a personal choice.” Emma’s cheeks burned, but professional training kept her rooted in place, concealed by the pillar. “Think she actually makes any decisions, or just nods along in meetings?” Wilson chuckled. “She’s not completely useless,” Peterson admitted reluctantly. “Some decent marketing instincts. But the financial and operational stuff? That’s all Volkov. She’s smart enough to let him handle what she doesn’t understand.” “Classic nepotism. Wouldn’t have lasted a week in the position without her name and her boyfriend.” Emma had heard enough. She stepped deliberately around the pillar, coming face-to-face with the men. Their expressions shifted instantly from amused condescension to mortified recognition. “Ms. Mitchell—” Peterson stammered. “We were just—” “Discussing my qualifications,” Emma finished calmly. “Or perceived lack thereof.” Wilson attempted recovery. “Just locker room talk, you understand. No offense intended.” “Strange,” Emma replied coolly. “I’ve been in actual locker rooms with players who manage more respectful conversation.” “We apologize for any misunderstanding,” Peterson offered weakly. “There’s no misunderstanding.” Emma maintained direct eye contact. “You believe I’m unqualified for my position and involved with Mr. Volkov for mutual advantage. Your positions are perfectly clear.” Without waiting for their response, Emma turned and walked away, maintaining composure despite the anger and humiliation churning inside her. She spotted Alek scanning the room for her and altered course to intercept him before he could see Wilson and Peterson, whose guilt would be obvious to anyone who knew them. “There you are,” Alek smiled, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “They’re about to announce the auction winners.” “I’m not feeling well,” Emma said quietly. “Would you mind if we left early?” Concern immediately replaced his smile. “Of course not. What’s wrong?” “Just a headache. Nothing serious.” She forced a small smile. “But I’d rather go before it gets worse.” They made discreet goodbyes to Franklin, who studied Emma with suspicion but didn’t press the issue. In the car, Alek reached for her hand. “Want to tell me what really happened in there?” Emma stared out the window at passing streetlights. “Am I qualified to run the Blades?” Alek’s confusion was evident. “Of course you are. Where is this coming from?” “Just answer the question. Honestly.” “You’ve increased revenue by fifteen percent in your first year. Player satisfaction metrics are at a five-year high. Season ticket renewals are up despite raised prices.” Alek squeezed her hand. “By every objective measure, you’re not just qualified—you’re excelling.” “Because of my business acumen? Or because you’ve been carrying the operational load while I handle the public-facing responsibilities?” Alek pulled the car over, putting it in park to give her his full attention. “Emma, what happened at the gala?”