Page 33 of Press Your Luck

He was patronizing me.

“But why do you care about my opinion? You should tell the press, not me.” Pierce’s voice was cold and distant.

I hesitated, my fingers gripping the edge of his desk as I considered my next words. I did care about his opinion, but did I let him know that? Especially now as he regarded me with such derision?

"I want to," I admitted, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "But Todd is too happy to have the press coverage. He thinks it's good for business." I’d never intended to share this part of myself with Pierce. And yet, here I was—vulnerable, exposed, and utterly terrified of what he might say next.

Pierce let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head slightly. "Of course, he does. He'd pimp out his own mother if he thought it would turn a profit."

"Hey." I recoiled at his words. Todd might be overly focused on money, but he wasn’t without any moral compass. What was worse was the use of the wordpimp, which confirmed my suspicion that he saw me as a woman willing to sell her sexuality to achieve success. Anger boiled over. "It's easy for you to judge from your high horse, but you don't know what it's like to struggle, to fight tooth and nail just for a chance to prove yourself."

"Maybe not," Pierce conceded. "But at least I'm honest about my intentions. Can you say the same?"

I wondered if maybe we were talking about something else. Not hockey but this weird connection between us that was both exciting and infuriating.

"My intentions? Yes. I may not like the way things are right now, but I'm doing what I have to do to survive."

"Even if it means compromising your integrity?" He rose from his chair and came around the desk. I was put off guard, not sure what he was doing, but I wasn’t going to let him scare me off, either. He came close until we were almost nose-to-nose.

"Integrity doesn't pay the bills." I worked to stay cool, calm, and defiant, which was hard because this close, the air shifted, morphing into something different.

He shook his head, his blue eyes narrowing with a mixture of frustration and disappointment. "Integrity and money don't always mix, do they?" His words were like tiny daggers of judgment.

I couldn't stand his judgment any longer. "You have the luxury of judging me, Mr. Entitled Guy. Maybe you could try to see it from my perspective for once."

Pierce studied me, and for a moment, I wondered if he was going to actually try to understand.

"Every day, I deal with at least one team player asking who I slept with to get my job. Every day, people are more interested in who I'm sleeping with than my abilities as a hockey coach. Even when I win, I get no recognition for it, just more questions about my sex life."

“And you let them.” This time, his voice was softer.

“I wonder if there isn’t a woman in history who had to compromise her integrity to fight against misogyny before breaking the glass ceiling. You act like I'm doing something terrible, but all I'm trying to do is survive in a world that doesn't want me here."

His jaw clenched and unclenched as if he were struggling to find the right words. "Maybe you're right. But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

That was an odd way to frame it. It was as if he didn’t like what I had to endure. But if that was the case, wouldn’t he have been more sympathetic from the start?

"Nobody's asking you to like it. All I want is for you to try to understand."

He didn’t respond, and an uneasy silence settled between us.

"Look," he said finally. "I get it. This whole situation is unfair. But you don't do yourself any favors by indulging the press."

I narrowed my eyes, feeling the familiar sting of indignation rise within me. "Oh, so now I'm self-indulgent? You're being self-righteous, Pierce. You have no idea what it's like to be constantly scrutinized and dismissed just because I have breasts."

"Fine," he bit out, running a hand through his dark hair. "I'll admit, I haven't walked in your shoes. But that doesn't mean I can't see when someone's making things harder for themselves."

"Are you saying I should just roll over and let them walk all over me?" I demanded. "Is that what you'd do if you were in my position?"

He rolled his eyes. “You’ve already rolled over, Naomi. That’s the point.” He leaned closer, his tall frame looming over me, but I held my ground. “There's a difference between fighting for what's right and playing into their hands."

His hands settled against my arms, and for a moment, I was too stunned by the proximity of his body to form a coherent thought. The heat radiated from him. The solid strength of his chest seemed to promise comfort.

"Maybe I'm not handling this exactly the way you would," I whispered, struggling to maintain control over my hormones which were starting to fire haphazardly. "But that doesn't mean I'm wrong. It just means I'm doing the best I can with the hand I've been dealt."

Conflict played out across his face. I wondered if maybe, beneath all that anger and resentment, there was something else. Something more.

He released me, and I felt the loss acutely. “It’s your life, Naomi. I’m not telling you how to live it.”

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