Chapter 2

Jenna Flynn POV:

Twenty minutes later, the Uber dropped me off at my rundown apartment building. After a hot shower, I sat on my worn fabric sofa wrapped in a bathrobe, my thumb rubbing the edge of my phone as I stared at the name Hughes Mitchell on the screen.

Before I could figure out how he knew, my phone blared with a harsh ringtone. The caller ID showed my father, Cleave Hubbard.

I hit answer, and Cleave's gravelly Rust Belt roar blasted through the speaker.

"Jenna! You got some nerve blocking your mother! Get your ass back here and pay for your brother's house!"

"I made myself clear," I said, keeping my voice flat. "I have no money, and you aren't getting another dime from me."

"You ungrateful little slut! If we hadn't raised you, you'd have died in a ditch!"

His shouting made my eardrums ache. I ended the call and slammed the phone face-down on the coffee table, my chest heaving.

Two steady, measured knocks sounded at my front door.

I slid into my slippers, walked to the door, and looked through the peephole. My breath caught.

Standing in the dim hallway was a man well over six feet tall in a tailored black suit, the overhead light casting sharp shadows along his jawline.

I took a deep breath, turned the deadbolt, and pulled the door open, tilting my head back to look at the legendary NHL captain, billionaire head of the MSE Sports Empire, and the man who had legally adopted Gary.

"Mr. Mitchell... Captain?"

My throat felt dry, my voice barely above a whisper.

Hughes looked down at me through minimalist rimless glasses, his steel-gray eyes calm.

"Aren't you going to invite me in, Jenna?"

I stepped aside. His Italian leather shoes clicked against my cheap laminate flooring as he walked into the cramped living room.

"I thought that text was a prank," I said, shutting the door and pouring him a glass of water at the counter to keep my hands busy.

Hughes took the glass, the hockey calluses on his long fingers brushing mine.

"I don't make boring jokes."

He set the water on the coffee table and sat down, crossing his hands over his knee.

"I heard you walked away from Gary with a twenty-five-million-dollar check."

"I earned every cent," I said, digging my nails into my palms as I met his gaze. "If you're here as his adoptive father to demand it back, you're wasting your time."

The corner of Hughes's mouth lifted fractionally.

"Demand it back? Since that idiot can't control his lower half, he deserves to pay the price."

I blinked, caught off guard by the cold contempt in his voice toward his own adopted son.

"I'm here for a deal worth far more than twenty-five million." Hughes pushed his rimless glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"What kind of deal?" I took half a step back until my spine touched the cool plaster wall.

"Marry me."

His tone was as level as if he were discussing the weather. My lungs locked up.

"Are you kidding me? I'm your adopted son's ex-girlfriend!"

"That doesn't matter to me."

Hughes stood up, his tall frame blocking the ceiling light and casting a shadow over me.

"The elders in my family are breathing down my neck to settle down. I need a wife, and you check every box—you're smart, gorgeous, with an elite degree and a stellar resume." His steel-gray eyes darkened as he took a slow step closer, the heat of his gaze pinning me against the wall. "More importantly, you intrigue me, Jenna. I admire a woman with a clear head and real ambition. You know how to leverage every resource at your disposal, and walking away from a breakup with your ex willingly handing over twenty-five million proves you have the exact teeth required to be Mrs. Mitchell. Marry me, and you'll get everything you want—money, resources, status, and the sweet satisfaction of getting back at Gary."

Every word hit my exact weak spot.

"As for Gary..." Hughes's eyes turned ice-cold. "He doesn't even have the right to object."

I bit down on my lower lip, my pulse hammering against my ribs as he pulled a bound document from his inside jacket pocket and held it out.

"A two-year marriage contract. Ten million a month in allowance, plus priority bidding rights on all new arena projects under MSE."

I took the heavy folder, my eyes locking onto the words "priority bidding rights."

"Will I be a satisfactory second party?" I looked up at him.

Hughes held my gaze for a long beat before speaking in a low voice.

"You will be the only Mrs. Mitchell."

He turned toward the door, pausing with his hand on the brass knob.

"Tomorrow morning at ten, Boston City Hall. Bring your ID. I don't like waiting."