Page 22 of Daddies on Ice

“As involved as it takes,” I answer, leaning back in my chair.

My voice comes out rougher than I intend as my mind conjures up other ways she could beinvolvedthat doesn’t involve business, gravel catching in my throat. “Press, community events, game nights—you’ll be there for all of it.”

Her mouth parts slightly, and for a moment, all I see is the soft curve of her lips.

She tilts her head, studying me like she’s trying to measure if I’m being fair or if I’m throwing her into the fire.

“And you’re sure it’s okay that Becky, my daughter, comes along?” she asks.

I lean back further, forcing myself to meet her eyes instead of letting my gaze drop to the line of her throat. “She can come. We’ll make it work. My granddaughter will be with me, too.”

Relief spreads over her features, softening her expression in a way that makes my chest tighten.

I should look away, I know I should, but the way her shoulders relax, the way her lips curve ever so slightly into a smile—it makes me want to say something I shouldn’t.

Like ask her out for drinks so we can get to know each other better. On a morepersonallevel. Damn it, I need to get a grip.

“You don’t have to look so surprised,” I mutter, almost to myself.

“I’m not surprised,” she counters with a soft smile. “Just…grateful. Not every boss would be that understanding.”

The way she says boss makes heat creep down my spine. I clear my throat, but it does nothing to steady me.

Her gaze lingers, steady and searching. “I just want to be sure I’m doing this right,” she says, voice low but firm. “I know what’s at stake for the team.”

I nod, forcing myself to keep it professional. “Just remember—your job isn’t to save the world in one day. Handle what’s in front of you, one mess at a time.”

The corner of her mouth curves into the faintest smile, and it shouldn’t hit me the way it does.

That little flicker of confidence—like I’d managed to ease her nerves—lands square in my chest.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and lowers her eyes back to her notes.

I shouldn’t notice the small things, but I do—the quick sweep of her lashes, the way her lips press together in thought.

It’s nothing. It should be nothing.

And yet, I can’t look away.

We move on to the team’s latest crisis—the general manager fired for embezzlement. “I’ve been thinking about the embezzlement fallout,” she says, her tone shifting, morebusiness now. She straightens in her chair, notes forgotten for the moment. “We can’t erase it, but we can redirect the story. If we put together a holiday fundraiser—something completely transparent—it would show the community and investors that the team is moving forward, not hiding.”

I arch a brow. “Transparent how?”

“All proceeds go directly to a charity. No one from the Thunderwolves touches a dime. We’d use an outside financial group to oversee it, so the public sees there’s no chance of money disappearing into someone’s pocket.”

She leans forward slightly, hands moving as she explains, her face lighting with energy. “It’s about rebuilding trust. And if the cause is local—say, children’s hospitals or youth programs—it also ties the team back to the community.”

Her excitement is contagious, but damn if I don’t notice the way her blouse shifts with her movement, or the gleam in her eyes when she’s passionate about something.

I force myself to keep my gaze locked on hers.

“It’s not a bad idea,” I say slowly, scratching my jaw. “But fundraisers can look like cheap PR stunts if we’re not careful. Especially with the press already circling like vultures.”

She doesn’t flinch. “Not if we’re clear from the start. No glossy spin, no overblown promises. Just…do the work, do it honestly, and let people see it for themselves.”

Her conviction hangs in the air between us, stronger than I expected.

I find myself studying her, the sharp mind behind the soft smile, the way she speaks with more fire than most of the guys on the team.