Page 22 of Pucking My Bad Boy Boss
Yet, doubt nibbles at the corners of my mind. The Silver Blades are my team; I've poured my heart and soul into them for three damn seasons. Can I just walk away? And then there's Dom. Complicated, infuriating Dom. Would leaving be letting him win, or would it be claiming a victory of my own?
Jenna's unwavering "do it" echoes in my head, a mantra of encouragement or perhaps a siren call to a new chapter. The decision looms large, an Everest I've yet to climb. But one thing’s for sure: whatever I choose, it'll be on my terms. Because that's how Isabella Carrington plays the game.
***
The waiting room of Anthony Silverman’s office is an eclectic gallery, each piece a bold statement. There's a sculpture that looks like a stack of chrome pancakes in one corner and a painting that I'm pretty sure is just a series of splattered fruit across the canvas. Eccentric doesn't even begin to cover it.
I'm perched on the edge of a couch that feels more like modern art than furniture, my posture as composed as I can muster in the face of... whatever this decor is supposed to be. Then the man himself bursts through the door, a whirlwind of energy dressed in a suit that probably costs more than my car.
Anthony Silverman is a walking, talking shockwave in the most electric sense. There's something about him that screams 'self-made,' from the youthful energy that radiates off him like heat from sun-soaked pavement, to the undeniable charisma that clings to his tailored suit. He's the embodiment of success with a twist, his reputation for eccentricity as well-known as the innovative path he took to his billions.
He made his fortune by flipping the tech industry on its head, starting with an app that somehow turned people's idle doodles into viral sensations, then riding the wave into more serious ventures. It was a blend of art and technology, of genius and sheer audacity. Now, he invests in ideas that seem to come from science fiction, from space tourism to AI that composes symphonies.
And now, evidently, hockey teams.
"Isabella! Fantastic to see you!" Anthony's handshake is firm, his smile wide. He's the epitome of confidence, his demeanor as quirky as the art on his walls, but there's a sharpness in his eyes that tells you he's not just some rich eccentric. The guy's got gears turning in his head that most people can't even fathom.
"Thanks for having me, Mr. Silverman," I reply, standing to meet his energy with my own steady force.
He waves off the formality with a flick of his hand as we walk into his office, a space that's no less bizarre than the waiting room. There’s a desk that looks like it was carved from a single giant tree, and the view of Seattle through the floor-to-ceiling windows is breathtaking.
"Believe me, the pleasure is all mine. So, Isabella," he starts, leaning against his desk with a casualness that somehow doesn't clash with the setting, "what made you decide to come talk to me about the offer? Truth be told, I was starting to feel like I was getting left on read.” He flashes me a knowing smile.
I draw in a breath, ready with my reasons. "The opportunity, Mr. Silverman. It's not every day you get the chance to shape a team from the ground up. To really make your mark." I carefully skirt around the subject of Dom. No need to bring personal drama into this.
Anthony nods, his expression eager. "Exactly! That's what the StarPucks are all about. We're not just another team; we're a statement." He walks over to a strange, abstract sculpture that somehow perfectly encapsulates his vision. "I created the StarPucks here, in a city already bleeding blue and green for the Blades, because I believe in shaking things up, in challenging the status quo."
He turns, his gaze piercing. "We're independent because we don't follow the well-trodden path. We blaze our own trail, Isabella. We're about innovation, about passion, about the raw spirit of the game. And that's what I see in you. You're not afraid to take the ice by storm."
I find myself nodding, caught up in his vision. It's infectious, his belief in what the StarPucks could be, what I could be as part of it. And for the first time since this whole thing started, the thought of leaving the Silver Blades doesn't feel like a betrayal; it feels like a beginning.
Anthony’s demeanor shifts, the playful light in his eyes hardening into the sharp glint of cut diamond. This is the man who turned whimsical ideas into a technology empire, who sees through the clutter and grasps the core of what makes or breaks success.
"I want you for the job, Isabella," he says, each word deliberate, hitting the table between us like a gavel. "I've looked at the other candidates, but no one else measures up. You’ve turned mediocre plays into wins, you’ve brought the Silver Blades from the brink more than once, and your knowledge of the game is... it's unparalleled."
He's serious, and the intensity in his gaze is something I've learned to recognize—it's the look of a person who doesn't just hope for success; he expects it.
He starts laying out the offer—numbers, benefits, the kind of figures that most would jump at. But then he leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that somehow fills the room.
"But I suspect what will really seal the deal for you isn't the salary. It's the chance to be the architect, to be in charge without having to look over your shoulder. To be at the foundation of something that's set to be huge."
"You're right about that," I reply without hesitation. The idea of steering my own ship, of being the one calling all the shots—it's intoxicating.
His grin is back, spreading across his face like he's just won his own private championship. He slides a contract across the table, the paper crisp, the ink seemingly still drying, as if it's fresh from the future he's so eager to dive into.
"I'll give you all the time you need to talk to your GM and owner," he says, but the eagerness in his voice tells a different story. "But between you and me, I want you on board yesterday."
The pros and cons start a frenzied dance in my head. It's a tango of opportunity and risk, a choreography I've been practicing all my career. But as my eyes scan the contract, as I see the numbers and the title waiting to be mine, the music swells to a crescendo.
My heart races, a sprinter at the blocks, and I find myself reaching for the pen with a hand that doesn't shake. I'm ready for this. I was born for this.
With an eager smile that feels like it's lighting up the entire city of Seattle, I sign my name. Isabella Carrington, General Manager of the Seattle StarPucks. The ink on the page isn't just a signature; it's a declaration.
I slide the contract back to him, our hands brushing in the process, a transfer of energy, of destiny. I've just turned the page, and a new chapter is waiting to be written.
12
Dom
