Flash Marriage To The Billionaire Hockey Star

Amaya Turner POV:

"Amaya, you have always been a sensible girl, so do not make me regret bringing you here tonight," Carlene Lane said, her voice dropping into a low warning as I reached our window table at L'Espalier.

I pressed my lips together and smoothed down the skirt of my plain black dress. The heavy scent of expensive French perfume and roasted meat in the dining room made my stomach twist.

Carlene sat with her golden-brown hair pinned into a stiff bun, her sharp eyes scanning my outfit with obvious distaste.

Ever since my foster father Richard passed away two years ago, my life in the Lane household had gone from warm to suffocating. To Carlene, I was no longer the daughter her husband had loved. I was a threat.

"Why does it have to be tonight, Carlene?" I asked quietly, pulling out the chair across from her. "I just finished my final interview at Vanguard PR this afternoon. I barely had time to change."

"Because Brodie signs his NHL rookie contract in three days and comes home to Boston next week," Carlene said, leaning across the white tablecloth so the neighboring tables would not hear.

"I want you settled and spoken for before my son walks through that front door. Davey Gardner is a rising star in finance. Do not ruin this."

There it was. The real reason she was rushing to marry me off. Because Brodie and I had grown up under the same roof and used to be close, Carlene was terrified I would try to latch onto her golden-boy son now that he was about to become a wealthy pro athlete.

"I have told you a dozen times, I do not think of Brodie that way," I said, my chest tightening.

"Save it. Keep your mouth shut, smile, and let Davey take the lead," she snapped, instantly switching to a bright, fake smile as a man in a loud pinstriped suit swaggered over to our table.

Davey Gardner did not even wait to be introduced before dropping heavily into the seat beside me. His eyes dragged over my face and body like he was pricing a used car, a smug smirk curling the corner of his mouth.

"So this is Amaya," Davey said, not bothering to lower his voice. "A little plain, Carlene, just like you warned me. Still, she looks quiet enough."

Carlene chuckled softly, picking up her purse. "She was raised to be obedient, Davey. Now, you two get to know each other. I am going to step to the powder room and give you some privacy."

She practically fled the table, leaving me trapped.

The second she disappeared, Davey snapped his fingers at the sommelier and ordered a four-hundred-dollar bottle of Bordeaux without asking what I wanted. When the waiter walked away, Davey leaned back, draping an arm over the back of his chair and twisting the gold Rolex on his wrist.

"Let's not waste each other's time with small talk, sweetheart," Davey said, his tone dripping with condescension. "I am a busy man. The only reason I agreed to meet a foster girl with zero family backing is because Carlene promised to introduce me to Brodie's new NHL sports agent next week."

I stared at him, the pieces clicking into place. "This isn't a date to you. It's a networking favor."

Davey let out a short, nasal laugh. "Obviously. If I need to get access to pro-hockey money through Brodie's circle, I need a compliant wife on my arm anyway. You get a guy making six figures on State Street, and Carlene gets you out of her house so you cannot sink your claws into her son. Everyone wins."

My hands balled into tight fists under the table, my nails biting into my palms. That was why he wasn't even pretending to be polite. In his mind, I was already bought and paid for-a stray dog Carlene was paying him to take to the pound.

"Carlene also mentioned you are looking for a job in public relations?" he continued, leaning his elbows on the table and looking amused.

"Yes. I interviewed with Vanguard PR today," I replied, fighting to keep my voice steady.

Davey snorted and shook his head. "Forget about it. PR is just running around after rich men and pouring drinks at hotel bars. I am not having my future wife embarrassing me by selling smiles in public. Once we are engaged, you stay home, cook, and host dinner parties for my clients."

"Mr. Gardner, I think you have a serious misunderstanding of both my career and my interest in marrying you," I said, my voice dropping ten degrees.

Davey's smile vanished. His eyes narrowed, gleaming with sudden malice. He clearly had not expected the "helpless foster girl" to talk back to him.

"Drop the high-and-mighty act, Amaya," he sneered, picking up his water glass.

"Carlene told me everything about you. You have been living off the Lane family's charity since you were ten. You are only acting tough because you are still holding out hope for Brodie, aren't you?"

At the mention of Brodie, a wave of pure disgust washed over me.

"What, still dreaming of becoming a hockey wife?" Davey laughed loudly, drawing stares from the couples at the nearby tables.

"Wake up! NHL players change women faster than they change hockey sticks. Do you really think a rising star like Brodie wants his parents' charity case warming his bed? To guys in that league, a girl with no name and no money is nothing more than a cheap toy to pass the time in the locker room."

The whispers and side-eyes from the neighboring diners burned against my skin like hot grease. Davey leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a nasty hiss.

"Be grateful I am willing to take Carlene's leftovers off her hands. Marry me, do as you are told, and at least you will have a roof over your head when she changes the locks next week."

Ten years of biting my tongue under Carlene's roof, ten years of swallowing insults to keep the peace for my late foster father's sake-something inside my head finally snapped.

I stood up so fast my wooden chair scraped violently against the hardwood floor. The surrounding tables went dead silent.

"What the hell are you doing? Sit down!" Davey barked, his face flushing red at the sudden attention.

Before he could blink, I picked up my glass of ice water and threw the entire contents straight into his smug face.

Ice cubes bounced off his nose and clattered onto his silk tie. Water dripped from his gelled hair and chin as his mouth fell open like a gasping fish.

"My job does not require selling smiles, Mr. Gardner," I said clearly, looking down at him in the quiet dining room. "And I would rather sleep on a park bench in January than share a roof with trash like you."

Davey wiped his eyes and shot to his feet, knocking his napkin to the floor, his face turning a terrifying shade of purple.

"You crazy bitch!" he roared, spitting water. "Do you know who you just humiliated? I will make sure Carlene cuts off every cent and throws you onto the street tonight!"

For the first time in two years, I could actually breathe. I grabbed my cheap wool coat from the back of the chair, turned my back on his screaming, and marched toward the exit.

Just as I stepped into the dim, carpeted hallway outside the dining room, Carlene rushed out of the restroom, her heels clicking frantically.

"Amaya! Have you lost your mind?" she hissed, stepping into my path with her face twisted in rage. "I heard shouting all the way down the hall! What did you do?"

"I rejected defective goods, Carlene. Tell your son's agent to find someone else," I said coldly, moving to brush past her.

Carlene trembled with fury and raised her hand to slap me across the face. I stared dead into her eyes without flinching, and her hand froze mid-air.

Before she could speak, heavy footsteps pounded on the floorboards behind me. Davey lunged out of the dining room, his suit soaked and his eyes bloodshot, clamping his hand around my wrist like an iron vise.

"You think you can splash me and walk out of here, you little tramp?" he snarled, yanking me backward. "You are not going anywhere tonight!"

Amaya Turner POV:

I twisted my arm hard to break free from Davey's grip, but the humiliation in the dining room had turned him feral. His fingers dug into the bones of my wrist, bruising the skin.

Carlene didn't lift a finger to help me. Instead, she glared at me and barked, "Amaya, stop making a scene and apologize to Davey right this second! Look at what you did to his suit!"

A sharp ache shot up my arm, making me gasp. I drove my heel down toward Davey's leather shoe, but he yanked his foot back just in time and twisted my arm harder.

"Apologize? Not a chance!" I gritted my teeth, glaring into his blotchy, furious face. "Let go of me right now, or I'm screaming for security and calling the police!"

Davey let out a nasty laugh and yanked me a step closer to his wet chest, his sour breath hitting my face.

"The police? Do you really think Boston cops care about a lover's quarrel?" he sneered. "Carlene already agreed to this match. Tonight, I'm going to teach you some manners in the back of my car."

"Get your hands off me! I already have a boyfriend!"

The desperate lie tore out of my throat before I could think.

The hallway went dead silent. Both Carlene and Davey froze.

Carlene narrowed her eyes first, her gaze razor-sharp and full of suspicion. "What nonsense are you spouting now? You spend every single day either locked in that attic room or running to job interviews. Where on earth would you get a boyfriend?"

Davey recovered a second later and barked out a mocking laugh, though he finally loosened his grip enough for me to wrench my bruised wrist free.

"A boyfriend? Who, Brodie?" Davey wiped a drop of water off his chin, looking thoroughly disgusted. "Stop flattering yourself, Amaya. Everyone knows you're just desperate to climb into your foster brother's bed."

My back hit the cold patterned wallpaper of the corridor. I rubbed my throbbing wrist against my chest, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"It's not Brodie!" I panted, my voice trembling with rage. "I wouldn't touch Brodie-or you-with a ten-foot pole! My boyfriend is a hundred times the man you'll ever be!"

Davey crossed his arms over his damp pinstriped jacket, looking entertained as he blocked my exit.

"Oh, really? A hundred times better than me? Then where is he, princess? Call him up right now. Let's see what kind of loser would actually claim Carlene's charity case."

"Amaya, stop lying right now," Carlene threatened, stepping in close to my other side so I was completely boxed in.

"If you made up a fake man just to ruin the arrangement I worked so hard to set up for you, don't bother coming back to Cambridge tonight. I will throw every last one of your bags onto the curb before midnight!"

Cold sweat broke out across my palms. I had fifty-two dollars in my checking account, nowhere to go in the freezing cold, and no boyfriend coming through that door to save me.

Davey saw the panic flash across my face and grinned uglily. "That's what I thought. Just a pathetic liar. Now come here-"

At that exact moment, the heavy mahogany doors of the private VIP dining room at the end of the hall swung open. Low, deep male voices drifted out into the corridor.

I turned my head instinctively.

Walking toward us under the warm glow of the wall sconces was a man in a custom-tailored black three-piece suit.

He stood well over six-foot-two, with the broad, powerful shoulders of a pro athlete and a commanding presence that made the narrow hallway feel suffocatingly small. As he drew closer, the light caught the sharp cut of his jaw, high cheekbones, and a faint, pale scar slicing through his right eyebrow.

Knox Leonard.

He was my late foster father Richard's greatest hockey prodigy, the alternate captain of Boston's NHL team, and the billionaire head of Apex Capital.

I hadn't seen him since Richard's funeral two years ago, where he had stood in the pouring rain in a black coat, too untouchable and intimidating for me to say more than two words to.

Knox had one hand shoved casually into his trouser pocket, his dark brows drawn together in slight impatience as he listened to thesuited assistant walking half a step behind him.

Beside me, Davey reached out his meaty hand to grab my shoulder again. "Quit stalling and walk, Amaya!"

Panic completely short-circuited my brain. Driven by pure survival instinct, I ducked under Davey's arm and bolted forward, running straight toward the most dangerous, untouchable man in Boston.

"Knox!" I cried out, my voice cracking.

Everyone in the hallway froze.

Knox stopped dead in his tracks. His piercing, gray-blue eyes shifted from his assistant and locked straight onto my face.

His assistant immediately stepped forward with an arm raised to intercept me, thinking I was some crazed fan, but Knox lifted a hand, halting him without breaking eye contact with me.

Before I could lose my nerve, I ran right up to Knox's chest and grabbed the crisp sleeve of his tailored suit jacket with trembling fingers. Up close, the heat radiating off his tall frame and the sharp scent of cedarwood and winter mint hit me all at once.

"Honey, your meeting finally ended," I blurted out, loud enough for the whole corridor to hear. "I've been waiting for you outside."

Knox's rock-solid arm stiffened beneath my fingertips. He slowly looked down at my pale knuckles clutching his expensive wool sleeve, then back up to my terrified eyes, his expression dark and completely unreadable.

Behind me, Davey let out a shrill, barking laugh. "Amaya, are you seriously grabbing some random guy in the hallway and calling him 'honey'? How pathetic can you get?"

Carlene hurried forward, her heels clicking as she bowed her head apologetically toward Knox, not yet recognizing his face in the dim hallway light. "Sir, I am terribly sorry! My foster daughter is having a tantrum because I arranged a date for her. Let go of the gentleman's coat this instant, Amaya!"

My fingers were shaking so badly I could barely hold onto his fabric. If Knox shook me off right now and said he didn't know me, Davey would drag me out to the parking lot and Carlene would lock me out in the cold.

I tilted my head up, staring straight into Knox's cold gray-blue eyes. My throat burned as I whispered so quietly only he could hear over the pounding in my ears, "For Coach Richard's sake... please. Help me."

Knox didn't say a word.

His sharp gaze dropped from my desperate eyes straight down to my right wrist, where ugly red finger marks were already blooming against my pale skin. Then, his eyes cut slowly past my shoulder, taking in Davey's dripping wet suit and Carlene's twisted, furious face in two seconds flat.

Every second of his silence felt like a heavy stone pressing down on my chest. My heart sank to my stomach. We were practically strangers. Why would a billionaire NHL star get involved in my messy family drama? I braced myself for the humiliation of him stepping back and brushing my hand away.

Instead, Knox slowly turned his wrist. His large, calloused hand closed firmly around mine, his warm fingers carefully avoiding the fresh bruises Davey had left on my skin.

With a single effortless pull, he drew me half a step behind the shield of his broad shoulders and leveled a stare at Davey that could freeze blood.

"You got a problem?" Knox asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

Davey took an instinctive half-step back, the smug grin vanishing from his face.

Knox didn't even spare him a second glance. He looked down at my stunned face, his thumb brushing once against the back of my freezing hand, and the corner of his mouth curved slightly.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, sweetheart."

Amaya Turner POV:

The air in the hallway felt like it had been sucked straight out of the room.

Stepping into the full glow of the wall sconces, Knox's face was impossible to miss. It was the same sharp, ruthless face plastered across Forbes covers, State Street financial journals, and massive NHL billboards outside TD Garden.

Davey stared at him with bulging eyes, his mouth opening and closing without a sound.

Beside him, Carlene finally recognized who she was looking at. Her carefully maintained middle-class poise shattered instantly. The color drained from her cheeks, leaving her face the shade of chalk as she took a stumbling step backward.

Knox's large palm radiated steady heat against my cold skin. Looking down from his six-foot-three height, he fixed Davey with a glacial stare.

"I asked you a question," Knox said evenly, his deep voice echoing off the narrow walls. "Do you have a problem with my girlfriend?"

Davey swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing frantically as he tried to salvage his pride in front of Carlene.

"You... you're Knox Leonard?" Davey stammered, his voice pitching high. "That's impossible! How could a nobody like her be dating someone at your level? She's playing you, Mr. Leonard! She just grabbed you off the street to get out of our date!"

Knox let out a short, humorless laugh.

Instead of answering Davey's insult, Knox let go of my hand only to slide his heavy arm firmly around my waist, pulling me flush against his hard side.

Through the thin fabric of my dress, the solid wall of his chest and the crisp scent of cedarwood and winter mint surrounded me, making my breath catch in my throat.

"Does she need your permission to date me?" Knox's tone was flat, carrying the quiet, terrifying authority of a man who could buy and sell half of Boston before breakfast.

Davey looked like he was choking on thin air. He whipped his head toward Carlene, his face red and sweating. "Carlene! Didn't you tell me she was a helpless foster girl with zero connections?"

Carlene's hands were trembling so badly she had to clasp them together in front of her stomach. She couldn't even bring herself to meet Knox's eyes.

"I... I had no idea, Knox," she stammered, her voice shaking. "Amaya never breathed a word to me! If I had known the two of you were-"

Knox narrowed his gray-blue eyes, shifting his gaze to my foster mother.

"Mrs. Lane," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "If Coach Richard were still alive to see you pimping out the girl he raised to a pathetic bottom-feeder for networking favors, he'd be disgusted."

Carlene flinched as if Knox had reached out and slapped her across the face. Her head snapped down, humiliation burning bright red across her neck.

That told me everything: Knox hadn't just walked out of that VIP room two seconds ago. He had heard enough to know exactly what Carlene was doing.

Knox looked back at Davey, his cold gaze dropping to the man's right hand.

"You put your hands on her wrist just now."

It wasn't a question. Davey instantly shoved his right hand behind his back, cold sweat beading across his forehead.

"I-I was just trying to get her to come back to the table, Mr. Leonard! I swear I didn't mean anything by it!" Davey babbled.

Knox didn't even blink. He gave a slight tilt of his chin toward the suited man standing quietly behind him.

His assistant stepped forward smoothly and held out a crisp, matte-black business card between two fingers.

"Mr. Gardner, I am chief legal counsel for Apex Capital," the assistant said in a clinical, unbothered tone.

"Regarding the physical assault you just committed against Mr. Leonard's partner, our litigation team will be contacting the managing partners at your firm at nine o'clock tomorrow morning."

At the mention of Apex Capital calling his bosses, Davey's knees visibly buckled. He didn't even dare take the card. Everyone working on State Street knew that Apex Capital held major stakes in almost every mid-sized investment firm in New England.

One phone call from Knox's legal team wouldn't just get Davey fired-it would get him blacklisted from the entire East Coast finance industry.

"No, Mr. Leonard, please! It was a massive misunderstanding!" Davey's voice cracked in sheer panic as he bowed his head repeatedly. "I'm sorry! Miss Turner, I'm sorry, I was out of line! Please don't call my firm!"

Knox's fingers tightened fractionally against my waist, his thumb resting right over my hipbone.

"Get out of my sight before I have hotel security break the hand you touched her with," Knox said quietly.

Davey didn't wait another half-second. Leaving his expensive coat and his dignity behind in the dining room, he spun around and bolted down the hallway, scrambling so fast on the polished floor that he slammed his shoulder hard into the corner wall before disappearing toward the lobby exit.

I let out a long, shaky breath I felt like I had been holding for twenty minutes.

Carlene stood frozen in the corridor, completely abandoned by her prize catch. She forced a stiff, ugly smile onto her pale face and took a hesitant step toward us.

"Knox, what a small world. It's been so long since Richard's funeral," she said, trying desperately to sound warm and maternal.

"Why didn't you tell me you and Amaya were seeing each other? Brodie is coming home next week after signing his NHL contract, we should all have a family dinner-"

"Mrs. Lane," Knox cut her off, his voice like chipped ice. "You don't need to trouble yourself with Amaya's affairs tonight. I'm taking her home."

Without waiting for her reply, he kept his arm locked around my waist and steered me past her toward the private gold-trimmed elevator at the end of the hall.

His assistant swiped a keycard, and the heavy brass doors slid shut, cutting off Carlene's stunned, livid face.

The exact second the doors closed and we were alone with his silent assistant, I realized how close I was pressed against Knox's chest.

My face went hot. I quickly stepped out from under his arm and retreated two paces, pressing my back flat against the cool metal wall of the elevator car, my heart thumping wildly against my ribs.

Knox glanced down at his now-empty arm. A dark, unreadable flicker crossed his gray-blue eyes before he slowly slid his hand back into his trouser pocket.

"Thank you, Mr. Leonard," I whispered, staring down at my bruised wrist as I rubbed it gently. "If you hadn't walked out when you did and played along... I really don't know how I would've gotten away from him."

Knox leaned his broad shoulders back against the opposite handrail, his heavy gaze pinned directly on me in the small space.

"Mr. Leonard?" he repeated, a trace of dry mockery in his deep voice. "Two minutes ago in the hallway, it was 'honey.'"

My cheeks flamed scarlet. I bit my lower lip hard, wishing the elevator floor would open up and swallow me whole. "I panicked! Davey was trying to drag me out to his car, and you were the only person in sight. I'm really sorry for using you as a shield."

Knox's dark brows drew together slightly as he looked at the red finger marks circling my pale wrist.

"When you're backed into a corner by trash like that, your first instinct is to grab a random man in a hallway instead of calling me for help?" he asked, his tone surprisingly sharp.

I blinked up at him, caught completely off guard. Why would he say that? Yes, my foster father had been his youth coach and mentor, and Knox had paid for Richard's medical bills and funeral, for which I was eternally grateful. Yet to me, Knox Leonard lived in a different stratosphere.

"I... I don't even have your private number," I mumbled honestly, my fingers curling into the cheap wool hem of my coat. "Besides, why would I bother someone as busy as you with my personal mess?"

Knox clicked his tongue in quiet annoyance, a deep frown creasing his scarred brow as if my answer had somehow irritated him.

Before he could reply, the elevator chimed and slid open into the brightly lit underground VIP parking garage. Sitting in the reserved spot right beside the elevator doors was a sleek, matte-black Aston Martin DBS, looking like a crouching beast on the concrete.

Knox stepped out of the elevator, unbuttoning his suit jacket with one hand.

"Come on. I'll drive you back to Cambridge," he said over his shoulder.

I stopped right outside the elevator doors, suddenly terrified of being trapped alone in a cramped two-seater sports car with him now that my adrenaline was wearing off.

"No, really, you've already done way too much for me tonight!" I said quickly, taking a step toward the pedestrian exit ramp. "The T station is only two blocks from here. I can just take the subway back."

Knox stopped dead beside the driver's door. He turned his head slowly, his scarred right eyebrow lifting as he looked at me in my thin black dress and cheap coat.

"The National Weather Service just issued a red-alert Nor'easter warning for Greater Boston starting in ten minutes," Knox said flatly. "Do you want to freeze to death waiting for a train that isn't coming, or are you getting in the car?"

As if on cue, my phone buzzed inside my purse with a piercing emergency weather alert, and a freezing blast of wind howled down the concrete entrance ramp of the garage, making me shiver.

Knox didn't wait for me to debate it. He walked around the hood of the car, pulled open the heavy passenger door, and stood there holding it, his cold gray-blue eyes daring me to argue with him.

Swallowing my pride and my nerves, I ducked my head, walked over, and lowered myself into the low leather bucket seat. The second Knox shut the door above me, sealing me inside the tight cabin, the rich scent of leather, cedarwood, and Knox himself swallowed me whole.