Page 94 of Pucking Daddy

His mouth twitches. Almost a smile. "You've been practicing."

"Simone sent me a media prep document. Fourteen pages."

I've memorized every talking point, every pivot phrase, every way to redirect an uncomfortable question. "She's thorough."

"That's one word for it."

The car door opens. Sound rushes in—crowd noise, shouted questions, the click-whir-click of cameras.

Jaxon steps out first, then turns to offer me his hand.

I take it.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

"Coach Halberg! Over here!"

"Zara! Zara, look this way!"

"Is it true you were his daughter's nanny before the engagement?"

I keep my smile fixed as we walk the gauntlet.

Jaxon's arm wraps around my waist, anchoring me to his side.

Each step feels like walking through honey—slow, deliberate, aware of every eye tracking our progress.

Simone appears at the entrance, sleek in black with an earpiece barely visible beneath her hair. "Looking good, you two. Press line's hot tonight. I've already shut down three questions about the Garrison-Walsh thing."

"Thank you," I say, meaning it.

"Don't thank me yet. The donor crowd inside makes these photographers look friendly."

She checks her phone, frowning. "Heads up—Brantley from Sports Daily is circling. He's the one who published the rumors about a contract marriage. Keep your distance."

We push through the gilded doors and into a ballroom that looks like it has been designed by someone with an unlimited budget and a vendetta against subtlety.

Crystal chandeliers drip from the ceiling. Flower arrangements the size of small cars anchor every corner. Wait staff circulate with champagne flutes that probably cost more than my old apartment's monthly rent.

"You okay?" Jaxon's breath is warm against my ear.

"I'm fine." Overwhelmed, but fine. "Just taking it in."

"The charity supports youth hockey programs in underserved neighborhoods," he says, guiding me deeper into the crowd. "Sixty percent of every dollar raised tonight goes directly to equipment and ice time for kids who couldn't otherwise afford it."

Something softens in my chest. Of course he knows the exact percentage. Of course this is about kids who need help.

"That's why you agreed to come?"

"That's why I always come." His hand presses more firmly against my back. "Everything else is just... noise."

The next two hours are a masterclass in high-society navigation.

Jaxon introduces me to team owners and corporate sponsors, to retired players and their impeccably dressed wives.

I smile until my cheeks ache, laugh at jokes that are not funny, and answer the same questions a dozen different ways.

Somewhere around the third circuit of the room, I find myself standing with Talia Morrison while Jaxon confers with Jake about something team-related.