Page 21 of Pucking Them
I count eight phones.
The arctic blue walls are decorated with the Bay Rebels flaming puck logo and jerseys.
The blinds are closed over the window, shutting out the sun, as if Silas wants to be certain that we have total privacy.
I stand stiffly across the office from him in silence.
Finally, he glances up at me. “Well, sit down.”
I stalk to the wooden chair and throw myself down. “Why am I here?”
“Because you’re the captain. The heart of the team. I must admit that although Prince scores the goals and is a nice little money-spinner, you hold everyone together. The team achieve victory or fall apart on the ice because of whereyourhead is at.”
“Thanks for the analysis, but I get that from coach and my AC. Usually with a side of ass kicking.”
“I’m merely explaining why I chose you to talk with right now.” Silas steeples his hands on his desk. “The club is in financial trouble. Do you know how hard it is for a new team to survive? We must rely on concessions, sponsorships, merchandise, and media deals. The problem is that the local economy has been struggling. The truth is that we’ve always been in trouble. The upturn in success this season is the only reason that we haven’t collapsed already.”
The breath feels like it has been punched from me.
I lean my hands on the desk, however, and meet Silas’ eye. “So, what you’re telling me is that you’re shit at your job.”
It feels good to backtalk authority figures.
I have been conditioned for years not to, first by the Discipline school and then by coach.
Robyn has shown me how to stand my ground, however, no matter how much my guts are churning inside.
Silas’ eyes flash with rage. “I have not mismanaged this team.”
“The quake of fear in your voice tells a different story.”
Silas gestures at the computers on his desk. “You have no idea how hard managing a club this large is. What do you know about running a business?”
“You’d be surprised.”
He truly would.
My business portfolio is larger than his is. I own half the property in Freedom and most of the businesses, including a BDSM club.
I don’t say that.
Instead, I allow Silas to believe that I am a dumb player who barely knows more than what end of a stick to hold.
Underestimating your opponent is a rookie mistake.
Silas waves his hand dismissively. “All jocks like you know is how to hit a puck into a net. You couldn’t manage a Girl Scout cookie drive. Go on, tell me, how would you navigate salary caps and…?”
“I don’t need to. That’s what you’re paid for. But it seems that you can’t successfully sell Girl Scout cookies either, huh?”
Silas reddens. “We’ve only just received national TV contracts. We’re not one of the giants; it’s a miracle that we’re not already dead in the water. I called you in because whether this team survives or not is down to your continued success on the ice because we’re reliant on gate receipts. We’re too vulnerable. The smallest, poorest team in the NHL. Here’s an idea to help. How about you give up your salary? After all, you’re the highest paid player.”
Fury races through me.
I have played for nine years, earning my place on the team and working up to the position of captain to earn that salary.
Fuck. Him.
I force myself to sit back in my seat, crossing my legs. “Do I earn more than you?”
