Page 16 of Slap Shot Scandal
Weston narrows his eyes slightly. We’re opponents now, but we still have to produce results.
This should be fun.
“Fantastic. The two of you working together will make a real powerhouse. Alrighty…” Prince shoves away from the table, standing. “I’m meeting with the GM, then we’re setting up interviews for the coaching position. Meet back here at two PM for the debrief before the press conference.”
With a quick wave, he stalks out of the conference room, leaving me solo with the seething team captain.
As soon as we’re alone, Weston leans forward, palms flat on the table. Locking icy blue eyes with me, a shiver rolls down my spine.
“Just so we’re clear, Ms. Hayes—” His voice drops to a low, deep rumble. “I’ll play nice in the sandbox with you. For now, for Prince’s sake. But don’t expect me to follow along with your every little move. This is still my team.” Something dangerous and electric flickers in his deep blue eyes, goosebumps rising on my arms. “And I’m not giving up control without a fight.”
Control.
Championship teams require absolute trust and unified vision.
Exact quote from Coach Doug Hayes.
But this time, I’m not backing down. I’ve got the expertise and the strategic mind to prove it.
I match his posture, tilting forward until we’re separated by mere inches of charged air.
“Then I guess we’ll both be fighting.” I stare him down, the tension shifting between us into something I can’t quite place—and definitely shouldn’t explore.
For the sake of my career. And also my heart.
CHAPTER 5
WESTON
Harbor Hayes is one of the most infuriating women I’ve ever met.
No, strike that. She’s one of the most infuriatingpeopleI’ve ever met. Man or woman, she’s got everyone beat.
She’s peppy and optimistic and energetic and annoyingly attractive. The way she flips her golden hair over her shoulder, full of confidence. The subtle movement shouldn’t affect me, but I’ve had a hard-on half the damn morning. Sitting next to her in the small conference room, the sweet scent of her shampoo winding around me every time she moves.
Not ideal, considering I’m supposed to be hating her. Her and her relocation plan, which we’re unveiling to the media in the next fifteen minutes.
I’m used to facing reporters, answering pointed questions about the game. But today’s press conference is different—andso much worse.
The questions won’t be about moves we made on the ice, plays that didn’t go as planned.
No, the questions coming my way will be personal. About my coach and how he betrayed his team.
Did I know anything? How do I feel about it? What does this mean for the team’s future?
Questions I’d honestly rather not answer. But as Harbor pointed out, evasion sometimes isn’t the best strategy.
“You okay?” Harbor cuts her eyes at me, tiny flecks of gold sprinkled in the field of mossy green and brown.
I nod, swallowing hard over the lump in my throat. The muffled chatter of reporters drifts into the empty hallway where we’re awaiting our cue.
“I’m fine.” I force out the words, my voice gruff and scratchy.
“Here, have some water.” She whips a plastic bottle from her oversized bag and offers it to me.
I don’t fight her on it, gladly accepting the beverage. Unscrewing the lid, I take a few long sips.
“Thanks.” I tip my chin at her, my gut swirling with nerves.
