Page 34 of Pucking My Bad Boy Boss
As she walks by, our proximity allows me to catch a hint of her scent—something floral and crisp, the kind of fragrance that lingers in your senses, inviting you to breathe deeper. It's a small, intimate detail that feels oddly significant in the context of our arrangement.
“You coming with?” she asks, gesturing to the elevator.
“Nah. Gonna have a nightcap at the bar. Take care.”
In that moment, all I want is to kiss herhard, to take her by the hips and pull her against me. I push the thought away as she steps into the elevator, the enigmatic smile on her face the last thing I see before the doors shut.
Moments later I’m at the bar with a drink, thinking about tomorrow, about the Space Needle and the ring and the woman who’s just walked out of my penthouse. It’s all a game, a play, a strategy—but as I look out at the lights of the city, I can’t shake the feeling that with Isabella, it’s always been something more.
17
Isabella
Standinginfrontofthe full-length mirror in my apartment, I take a deep breath, still somewhat in disbelief at the scene about to unfold. Today, I’m stepping into a role I never scripted for myself—the soon-to-be-fiancée of Dom Steele, in a performance that will fool the city, the media, and hopefully, his investors.
It's for the StarPucks, I remind myself. The Apex Arena is the game-changer we need, the key to elevating my team to heights previously just dreamt of.
I adjust my outfit, a choice that’s both strategic and symbolic. I’ve opted for a chic, form-fitting navy blue dress that falls just above the knee, professional yet elegant, its simplicity a counterbalance to the complexity of today’s charade. The neckline is modest, the sleeves three-quarter. It’s paired with nude heels that add just the right amount of sophistication without trying too hard. My hair is styled in a sleek, no-nonsense bun, a few strands artfully framing my face—professional, yet with a hint of softness.
Jewelry is minimal, just a pair of understated diamond earrings and a thin silver bracelet. Makeup is classic, enhancing my features without being overpowering. I need to look like myself, the Isabella Carrington the public knows, yet ready for a moment that will be splashed across the front pages.
I take one last look in the mirror, my reflection steady. The woman staring back at me is poised, composed, ready for battle. Yet, there’s a tremor of something else beneath the surface—a flicker of excitement, a dash of apprehension, a pinch of something that feels dangerously like anticipation.
I grab my clutch, a small, elegant affair that contains just the essentials. As I step out of my apartment, I feel the weight of the moment settle on my shoulders. The cool corridor of my building is a stark contrast to the warmth of the day outside, a symbolic transition from my personal haven into the unpredictable world that awaits.
The drive to the Space Needle is a blur, the city passing by in a whirl of colors and sounds. My mind races with thoughts of the proposal, the reactions, the repercussions. But through it all, there’s a singular focus—the StarPucks, my team, our future. This faux engagement is a small price to pay for the success that access to Apex Stadium will bring.
As the car pulls up to the bustling vicinity of the Space Needle, my phone buzzes with an incoming message. It's from Dom.
Change of plans. Meet me at Chihuly Garden and Glass, the text reads. I frown, confusion knitting my brows together. We had meticulously planned this out—a simple proposal at the Space Needle, enough to be seen but not enough to cause a spectacle.
Reluctantly, I steer my car towards the new location Dom has specified. As I approach the Chihuly Garden and Glass, I'm immediately struck by its unique and visually striking setting. This place is a world away from the straightforward, low-key spot we had initially discussed for our fake proposal.
The Chihuly Garden is nestled in the heart of the city, a renowned art exhibit known for its vibrant and whimsical glass sculptures. The garden itself is a vivid tapestry of color and light, with large, organic forms of glass rising amidst the lush greenery. Each sculpture is an intricate dance of color and form, catching the sunlight and transforming it into a kaleidoscope of hues that paint the surroundings with a dreamlike quality.
“Oh, you’vegotto be freaking kidding me.” The words tumble out of my mouth as I take in the sight at the garden.
Stepping out of the car, the scene before me is nothing short of overwhelming. The area is swarming with people, and my heart sinks as I spot the throng of reporters and photographers. Cameras flash like lightning in a summer storm, and the murmur of the crowd rolls over me like thunder.
This is no intimate proposal.
As I weave through the crowd, the reality of what Dom has planned begins to set in. I had expected some onlookers, perhaps a few discreetly taken photos, but this... this is a media circus. I spot banners with the Silver Blades and StarPucks logos fluttering in the breeze, and a stage set up with two chairs and a microphone.
My steps falter as the full implication of Dom’s change of plan hits me. This isn’t just a proposal; it’s a press conference, a public spectacle designed to capture headlines and create buzz. A sinking feeling settles in my stomach. Dom has taken control of the narrative in a way I hadn't anticipated, turning our faux engagement into a grand declaration.
As I approach the designated spot for our publicized 'proposal,' I immediately spot Dom. He's standing there, his posture relaxed, exuding an air of casual authority, but his eyes are alert, scanning the crowd. He's dressed in business casual, but it's the kind of outfit that on him looks effortlessly sophisticated.
He's wearing a pair of well-fitted dark jeans, the kind that subtly accentuate his athletic build without being too informal. Paired with the jeans is a crisp, white button-down shirt, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his forearms and the intricate tattoo work that snakes its way up his skin. The shirt is tailored perfectly to his form, highlighting the breadth of his shoulders and the lean strength of his torso.
His footwear completes the ensemble—a pair of sleek, dark leather shoes, stylish yet understated.
As I take him in, I can't help but be struck by how hot he looks. The outfit is a perfect blend of casual and professional, showcasing his sense of style without trying too hard. It suits him incredibly well, complementing his confident demeanor.
But it's not just the clothes. As his gaze finds mine across the distance, there's an intensity in his eyes that adds another layer to his appeal. Despite the public spectacle he's orchestrated, there's a flicker of something genuine in his expression—perhaps an apology for the surprise or an acknowledgment of the intricate game we're playing.
I square my shoulders, drawing upon every ounce of my professional poise. This might not be the scenario I prepared for, but I’m not about to let it throw me off.
The cameras turn towards me, the crowd hushes, and all eyes are on us as we prepare to step into our roles. This is it—the moment of truth, played out on a stage far grander than I ever imagined.
