Page 67 of Pucking My Bad Boy Boss
I frown, not liking where this is going. "What are you implying?"
“I’m done implying,” he says. “I believe your marriage is a farce. And I’m going to make it known, one way or another.”
Anger flares within me. "You're threatening me?"
"It's not a threat, it's a proposition," Jason replies smoothly. "Think about it. End this charade with Dom. And maybe... consider a real relationship. One with someone who can appreciate you fully."
His insinuation sends a chill down my spine. "You mean... with you?"
He smiles, but it's cold and calculating. "Why not? We have history, Bella. And I can offer you stability, a real partnership."
I shake my head in disbelief. "I don't believe this. You're trying to blackmail me into a relationship?"
"Blackmail is such a harsh word," he says with a shrug. "I prefer to think of it as guiding you towards a better choice. You have until the speeches tonight. Make the right decision, Bella."
He begins to turn, glancing over his shoulder for one parting shot.
"Oh, and you'd be surprised at what you can learn just by keeping your ears open in these cozy little cabins. It's amazing the secrets they can reveal, especially about... certain deceptions."
His words hang in the air, heavy with implication. The idea that he's been eavesdropping, that he knows about our fake engagement, sends a wave of panic through me. I stand there, speechless, as he walks away with a self-satisfied smirk, leaving me to grapple with the enormity of what he's just implied.
With that, he turns and walks away, leaving me standing there, reeling from the encounter. How could I possibly expose the truth about my and Dom's relationship without causing a scandal? And what would that mean for the Apex Arena, for Dom's career... for my own?
I feel trapped, caught in a web of Jason's making. The idea of succumbing to his manipulations repulses me, but the alternative could bring everything crashing down. I need to think, to plan, but time is running out.
As I watch Jason's retreating figure, a sense of dread settles over me. Tonight's speeches could change everything, and I'm not sure I'm ready for the consequences.
36
Dom
Theeveningdescendsonthe training camp, bringing with it a buzz of anticipation and an unexpected flurry of activity. I've been so caught up in the day's events that I haven't had a chance to catch up with Isabella. But as the hour for the evening speeches approaches, I feel a knot of unease tighten in my gut. Something's off, and I can't quite put my finger on it.
The event tonight is more than just a casual gathering; it's a significant joint conference between the Silver Blades and the StarPucks. The main cabin, usually echoing with the sound of skates and pucks, has been transformed into a venue befitting the occasion. Rows of chairs face a small, makeshift stage, and banners of both teams hang proudly in the background.
As I weave through the crowd, I can sense the electric mix of excitement and nervous energy. Tonight's event isn't just a celebration of the training camp's success; it's a platform for some key members of both teams to make speeches, highlighting the camaraderie and competitive spirit fostered over the weekend so far. There's also an undercurrent of anticipation for the rest of the season ahead, a chance to set the tone for what's to come.
Rick, the Silver Blades' manager, and a couple of the senior players are slated to speak, along with Isabella and some of the StarPucks' leadership. It's a moment for motivational words and team-building sentiment, a capstone to the intense training we've all undergone.
I should be focusing on the speeches, perhaps even practicing my own speech, but my mind is elsewhere. I'm scanning the crowd for Isabella, hoping to catch her eye, to gauge her mood. But she's nowhere to be seen. Instead, my gaze lands on Jason Sinclair, chatting amiably with a group of investors. His smile looks fake, and there's something calculated about his demeanor that sets me on edge.
The hall is more crowded than I expected, buzzing with journalists and even a few notable faces from the investment team behind Apex Arena. The air is charged with excitement and expectation, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside me. As I scan the room, my eyes land on Isabella. She's across the hall, her posture rigid, her expression a mix of conflict and stress. Next to her now, almost like a shadow, is Jason Sinclair, looking far too smug for my liking. Something about the way he's watching her sets off alarm bells in my head.
I start to make my way over to Isabella, intent on getting to the bottom of whatever's going on. But before I can reach her, the press descends on me like vultures, their questions a cacophony of curiosity and intrusion. They're all eager to hear about Apex Arena, and of course, the engagement. I plaster on my best public smile, answering their inquiries with practiced ease, but my attention is divided, my gaze continually drifting back to Isabella.
As I parry questions about the arena's features and the impact it'll have on the league, I notice Jason whisper something in Isabella's ear. Her reaction is subtle, but I know her well enough to see the brief flash of panic before she masks it with a neutral expression. Whatever Jason's game is, it's clear he's playing for keeps, and Isabella is caught in the middle.
The speeches are about to start, and I finally manage to extricate myself from the press. I make a beeline for Isabella, but before I can reach her, Jason steps up to the microphone. The room falls silent, all eyes on him. There's a gleam in his eye that I don't trust, a sense of triumph that has no place here. Jason, the one paying for this whole weekend, is the first one to speak.
Jason clears his throat, commanding the attention of the room with an ease that speaks of years in the limelight. "I want to take a moment to talk about the values that drive us in this sport," he begins, his voice smooth and practiced. "Teamwork, integrity, honesty. These aren't just words; they're the pillars upon which we build our careers and our lives."
I shift uncomfortably, sensing the direction this is heading. There's a deliberate cadence to his speech, a buildup that feels more theatrical than genuine. The room listens intently, hanging on his every word, unaware of the undercurrents swirling beneath the surface.
"As we stand here today, celebrating the success of this training camp and looking ahead to a promising season, it's vital we remember the importance of these values." Jason pauses, his gaze sweeping across the room before settling pointedly on Isabella and me. "Integrity and honesty. Without them, what do we have? Just a hollow shell of what could have been a meaningful pursuit."
The cold dread in my stomach grows heavier, a sinking realization of what's coming next. Jason's words, laced with insinuation, hang in the air, a prelude to the storm about to break.
"And speaking of honesty," Jason continues, his gaze locking with mine. "I think it's important that we address the elephant in the room. The so-called engagement between Dom Steele and Isabella Carrington."
