Page 47 of Pucking My Bad Boy Boss
Standing there, staring at the city, I know it might sound a bit over-cautious, but hey, better safe than sorry, right? For now, it's all about keeping things professional with Dom. My heart? It's staying off-limits.
This fake engagement is a means to an end, a strategic play in the game of professional sports management. I'll get what I need from this arrangement—exposure for the StarPucks, a boost in my career—and then I'll walk away. That's the plan. No more getting lost in what might be or what could have been.
I'll harden my heart against Dom. I'll focus on my goals, on the future I'm building for myself. This engagement, this brief lapse in judgment, it's just a blip in my journey, nothing more.
With that thought anchoring me, I slip into bed and close my eyes, determined to keep my promise. Tomorrow, I'll face Dom and the world with a new resolve. I swear it.
***
The next morning, back in the familiar confines of the rink, I feel more like myself—focused, determined, ready to take on the world. The buzz of the previous night with Dom is pushed to the back of my mind as I gather the StarPucks team around me.
"Alright, guys, listen up," I begin, my voice echoing slightly in the vast space of the rink. "We've got the joint training camp with the Silver Blades coming up. It's going to be held at the Cascade Mountain Lodge, a top-notch ski resort with excellent facilities. This is a fantastic opportunity for us to learn and grow as a team."
The guys exchange excited glances, the mention of the luxury lodge sparking their interest. I can see the anticipation building in their eyes, the prospect of training in such a high-end location clearly appealing to them.
"But remember," I continue, my tone turning more serious, "this isn't a vacation. We're there to work, to hone our skills. And just because we're practicing with the Blades doesn't mean we're going to take it easy on them."
A murmur of agreement ripples through the team. I can feel their energy, their eagerness to prove themselves.
"When it comes down to it, on the rink, it's game on. We're going to show them exactly what the StarPucks are made of," I declare, my voice firm and confident.
A chorus of enthusiastic responses fills the air. "Yeah, let's show them!" one of the players shouts, and the others quickly join in, their enthusiasm infectious.
Satisfied with their reaction, I watch them disperse to start their drills, a sense of pride swelling in my chest. This team has come so far, and I know we're only going to get better.
With my spirits lifted, I head to my office to plan the logistics of the camp. But as I open the door, I'm stopped in my tracks. There, sitting casually in one of my chairs, is Jason Sinclair. His sudden, unannounced presence sends a jolt of surprise—and an unwelcome flutter of unease—through me.
"Jason," I say, my voice cool, masking the turmoil inside. "What the hell are you doing here?"
He stands up, a confident smile playing on his lips. "I thought I'd drop by, see where the magic happens. We've got a lot to discuss about the training camp, after all."
As Jason Sinclair lounges in my office chair, he exudes an air of smug self-assuredness, a trait I remember all too well from college. But now, it’s amplified by his success, a story he’s all too eager to share.
Jason leans back in the chair across from my desk, the picture of self-satisfaction. "You know, Isabella, after we went our separate ways, I dove headfirst into the tech world. Turned out to be a goldmine."
“Up.”
He pauses for a moment, as if letting me know that he’s moving on his own time. Finally, he rises out of the chair and makes his way over towards me. I put a good bit of distance between us.
I cross my arms, already bracing for the onslaught of self-aggrandizing details.
"I got in early on some startups. Maybe you've heard of them?" He lists off several companies, now giants in the tech industry, his tone casual but loaded with the intent to impress. "Those investments paid off big time. I'm talking seven, no, eight-figure returns."
He pauses, as if to ensure each word sinks in, his smile growing with every moment of my silence.
"And the perks, well, they've been nice," he continues. "I've been on more exotic vacations in the past few years than most people see in a lifetime. Bali, Maldives, you name it. And the cars…" He chuckles, a sound devoid of genuine warmth. "Let's just say I've got a collection that would make any enthusiast green with envy."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Typical Jason, always needing to brag.
"And the penthouse," he adds with a flourish, "it's in one of the most coveted buildings in the city. The view, Isabella, it's spectacular. Rivals Dom’s, I'd bet."
I freeze for a moment, a flurry of questions racing through my mind. How does he know about Dom's penthouse? The realization hits me like a ton of bricks—he must have been following me, keeping tabs not just on my career but on my personal life too. It's a disturbing thought, one that dredges up old fears and insecurities.
Trying to mask my growing unease, I fix him with a steady gaze. "How do you know where Dom lives?" I ask, my voice steady but my heart pounding.
Jason leans back, an all-too-innocent expression on his face. "Oh, come on, Isabella. Steele and his infamous penthouse—it's hardly a secret. How many tabloid photos have been taken of him leading his girl-of-the-month up there?”
But his casual dismissal doesn't sit right with me. It's too convenient, too rehearsed. I can't shake off the suspicion that Jason is more involved than he's letting on, that his presence here is part of something bigger, something more calculated.
