Page 40 of Wild Card 13

“I hate both of you already,” I informed them.

“That’s fine,” Bea snickered quickly. “We brought caffeine.”

Freya dropped dramatically into one of the chairs across from my desk wearing black leggings, an oversized cream hoodie, and enough gold jewelry to somehow still look put together despite clearly functioning on sports medicine department exhaustion.

Meanwhile Bea somehow looked polished enough to walk directly into a press conference despite it being barely eight-thirty. Camel wool coat. Dark trousers. Hair smooth and glossy around her shoulders. Gold hoops catching softly beneath the office lighting.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “You’re annoyingly pretty for this early.”

“I suffer for beauty,” she replied gravely before stealing half a sticky bun directly out of the box. “And Alois wakes up way too early in the morning. I have so much more time now.”

Freya reached for a peach hand pie, scattering powdered sugar across the sleeve of her hoodie in the process. She looked down at it. Looked at Bea. Then looked back at the powdered sugar. “Tell me again why a man who's suspended still has to come to work.”

Bea carefully peeled apart a sticky bun before answering. “Because he's Alois.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is, unfortunately, the answer.”

Freya pointed the hand pie at her. “You know what? Fair.”

I laughed into my coffee.

Outside my office, the executive corridor had started sparking with game-day energy. Arena staff moved quickly between departments carrying clipboards, equipment manifests, laptops, and enough coffee to sustain a small military operation. Somewhere farther down the hallway, somebody was arguing passionately about sponsor placement.

The game wasn't for hours.

The building was already awake.

Bea rolled her eyes. “He tried to argue with security yesterday.”

“About?” I asked.

“Whether being suspended should exempt him from media obligations.”

Freya snorted. “That feels very on brand.”

“He said—and I am quoting directly—‘If I cannot play hockey, then I should not have to discuss hockey.’”

“That is objectively funny.”

“It was not funny in the moment.”

“It was a little funny.”

Bea finally smiled. “A little.”

The smile lingered for exactly half a second before her eyes landed on me.

Damn it.

I took another sip of coffee. Too late. She'd already noticed.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.” She shrugged.

“Bea.”