chapter 9

“Congratulations, Ms. Mitchell. You are officially divorced.” Emma stared at the document in her hands, the embossed seal of Suffolk County Court catching the light. After weeks of waiting, months of limbo, and one very awkward coffee shop reconciliation attempt, it was done. She was no longer Emma Reynolds. “How do you feel?” asked Diane, her shark of a lawyer. “Lighter,” Emma answered honestly. “Like I put down a heavy bag I’ve been carrying too long.” “Good analogy.” Diane gathered her papers. “And excellent timing. The non-disclosure agreement expires today as well.” “Meaning I can finally tell people who I really am.” “Exactly. Though given your ex-husband’s prominence, I’d recommend a strategic approach.” Emma smiled. “Already in progress.” “You can’t wear that.” Lisa Chen, PR director extraordinaire, shook her head firmly at Emma’s navy suit. “It’s too... assistant-y.” “It’s Armani,” Emma protested. “And it says ‘I take notes for important men.’ We need ’I am the important person.’” Lisa rifled through the garment rack they’d brought to the conference room. “This one. Red commands attention.” Emma eyed the scarlet blazer skeptically. “Isn’t it a bit... much?” “You’re about to announce you’re a billionaire’s granddaughter and the new co-owner of a professional hockey franchise.” Lisa thrust the hanger at her. “A bit much is exactly what we need.” Two hours of wardrobe decisions, makeup consultations, and talking points later, Emma headed to Alek’s office with the final press announcement draft. She knocked lightly on his door. “Enter.” Alek sat behind his desk, phone pressed to his ear, looking harried. He waved her in, holding up one finger in the universal “just a minute” gesture. “Yes, I understand the cap implications,” he was saying. “But his performance metrics don’t justify the salary... No, I’m not questioning your evaluation, Coach, I’m questioning the ROI... Fine. We’ll discuss it tomorrow.” He hung up with a sigh, then looked at Emma properly. His expression immediately softened. “You look different.” Emma touched her newly styled hair self-consciously. “Lisa’s team got to me. Too much?” “No. You look...” he paused, searching for the right word. “Like yourself. But more so.” “That might be the nicest compliment I’ve ever received.” She handed him the folder. “The final press release. We’re set for Monday after the home game.” Alek skimmed the document. “Straight to the point. I like it.” “My grandfather thinks we should have a reception afterward. Private event for staff, players, key sponsors.” “Good idea.” Alek closed the folder. “So... it’s official? The divorce?” Emma nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. “As of two hours ago.” Something changed in Alek’s eyes—a spark of heat quickly controlled. “Congratulations.” “Thank you.” They looked at each other, both hyperaware of what this milestone meant for them personally. Three weeks of careful distance, professional emails, and group meetings had done nothing to dim the chemistry between them. Alek cleared his throat. “We should celebrate.” “We should,” Emma agreed carefully. “Professionally, of course. A business dinner to mark this important transition in our working relationship.” Emma bit back a smile. “Of course. Very professional.” “My place? Tonight?” His voice was casual, but his eyes were anything but. “I’ll bring wine.” A knock at the door interrupted the moment. Lisa poked her head in. “Sorry to interrupt. Mr. Mitchell is on line one for Ms. Carter—I mean, Ms. Mitchell.” Emma picked up Alek’s desk phone, pressing the blinking button. “Grandpa? What’s up?” “Emmy.” Her grandfather’s voice sounded strange. “Need you to come to the house.” “Now? I’m in a meeting about the announcement—” “Please.” The single word, so uncharacteristic of her normally commanding grandfather, sent a chill down her spine. “I’ll be right there.” She hung up, already reaching for her purse. “Something’s wrong. He sounded... off.” Alek stood immediately. “I’ll drive you.” “You don’t have to—” “I know.” He grabbed his keys. “Let’s go.” Franklin Mitchell’s mansion in Beacon Hill normally radiated old-money stability. Today, it was awash in flashing lights from an ambulance and paramedic vehicle parked in the circular driveway. Emma was out of Alek’s SUV before he’d fully stopped, running toward the front door where Walter, her grandfather’s assistant, stood ashen-faced. “What happened?” she demanded. “Collapsed during a conference call.” Walter’s voice shook. “Clutched his left arm. I called 911.” Inside, paramedics clustered around the study where her grandfather conducted business from home. Emma pushed through, Alek close behind her. Franklin lay on a stretcher, oxygen mask over his face, looking impossibly small and frail. His eyes found Emma’s, and he reached out a hand. “I’m here, Grandpa.” She took his hand, squeezing gently. “I’m here.” “Minor cardiac event,” a paramedic explained. “We’re taking him to Mass General for tests.” “I’m coming with you,” Emma said firmly. “Family only in the ambulance, ma’am.” “I’m his granddaughter.” The paramedic nodded. “You can ride with us. We’re leaving now.” Emma turned to Alek, suddenly uncertain. “I should go with him.” “Of course you should.” Alek touched her shoulder briefly. “I’ll follow in my car.” “You don’t have to—” “Emma.” His voice was gentle but firm. “I’m coming. Unless you don’t want me there.” The lump in her throat made speech difficult. She managed a nod before following the stretcher out to the ambulance. The emergency room waiting area at Massachusetts General Hospital was exactly as depressing as every medical drama portrayed—uncomfortable chairs, old magazines, and the distinct smell of anxiety mixed with disinfectant. Emma sat with her head in her hands, having been shooed out of the exam room while doctors performed tests on her grandfather. Alek returned from the coffee run, placing a steaming cup in front of her. “Any news?” “Not yet.” Emma accepted the coffee gratefully. “Thanks for this. And for... being here.” Alek took the seat beside her. “Where else would I be?” “Running a hockey team? Managing the trade deadline? Living your life?” “You are part of my life.” The simplicity of his statement made her look up. “The team will survive without me for a few hours.” Emma leaned back, exhaustion washing over her. “I can’t lose him, Alek. He’s all the family I have left.” “You’re not going to lose him.” Alek’s large hand covered hers. “Franklin Mitchell is too stubborn to check out before he sees his granddaughter running his hockey team.” That earned a small smile. “True. Very on-brand for him to use emotional blackmail via heart attack.” “Exactly.” They sat in companionable silence, hands still touching, until a doctor in a white coat approached. “Family of Franklin Mitchell?” Emma stood. “I’m his granddaughter. How is he?” “Stable. It was a mild heart attack, but we caught it early. Minimal damage to the heart muscle.” The doctor consulted his tablet. “We’re admitting him overnight for observation, but the prognosis is good.” Relief made Emma’s knees weak. Alek’s steadying hand on her back kept her upright. “Can I see him?” “Briefly. He needs rest.” Emma turned to Alek. “Will you wait?” “As long as you need.” Franklin was awake when she entered his room, looking irritated at the various monitors and tubes attached to him. “This is ridiculous,” he grumbled. “I’m fine.” “You had a heart attack,” Emma reminded him, taking the chair beside his bed. “That’s not ‘fine’ by any definition.” “Minor heart attack. Barely counts.” He waved dismissively, then winced as the movement pulled his IV. “Is Aleksander still here?” Emma nodded. “In the waiting room.” “Good man.” Franklin’s expression softened. “I like him, Emmy. He’s got substance.” “We’re just colleagues, Grandpa.” “Bullshit. I may be old, but I’m not blind.” Franklin adjusted his position against the pillows. “The way he looks at you... reminds me of how I looked at your grandmother.” Emma felt her cheeks warm. “It’s complicated.” “Only because you’re making it complicated.” Franklin’s hand found hers. “Life’s too short for that nonsense, Emmy. Trust me, I just got a very pointed reminder.” “We’re taking things slow. Professional first.” “Professional is good. Slow is stupid.” He squeezed her fingers. “The announcement Monday—you’re still doing it?” “Grandpa, you’re in the hospital. We can postpone—” “Absolutely not. The plan proceeds.” Franklin’s voice regained some of its usual steel. “I’ve waited too long to see you take your rightful place.” “Your doctor said you need rest.” “I’ll rest easier knowing you’re officially in charge.” His eyes, so like her own, held hers. “Promise me, Emmy.” She sighed, recognizing the futility of arguing. “I promise. But you’re not going anywhere, understood? This is a transition, not a replacement.” “Deal.” Franklin relaxed against the pillows. “Now go tell that young man we’re still on for Monday. And then take him to dinner. Doctor’s orders.” “You’re not a doctor.” “I’m paying enough of them right now to count by proxy.” Franklin shooed her toward the door. “Go. I need my beauty sleep if I’m going to look presentable for the photographers.” Emma kissed his forehead. “I love you, you impossible old man.” “Love you too, kiddo.” In the waiting room, Alek stood as soon as he saw her, concern etched on his features. “How is he?” “Cantankerous. Bossy. Matchmaking.” Emma smiled tiredly. “So, normal.” “Good sign.” Alek’s shoulders relaxed visibly. “What’s the plan?” “They’re keeping him overnight for observation. And he insists we proceed with Monday’s announcement.” “That sounds like him.” “Also...” Emma hesitated, then decided her grandfather was right. Life was too short for unnecessary complications. “He suggested I take you to dinner. Doctor’s orders, apparently.” Alek’s mouth quirked in that almost-smile she found so endearing. “Far be it from me to contradict medical advice.” As they walked out of the hospital, his hand found the small of her back—not guiding, just connecting. The simple touch felt more intimate than their heated kiss during the snowstorm. “So,” Alek said as they reached his car, “your place or mine?” Emma looked up at him, making a decision. “Yours. And Alek?” “Hmm?” “I’m not bringing work files this time.” His smile was slow and full of promise. “Good. Because I’m not planning to talk about debt-to-equity ratios tonight.” Emma laughed, feeling lighter despite the emotional roller coaster of the day. The lines were shifting—professional to personal, colleague to... something more. Whatever happened next, at least they were finally moving forward.