I had been waiting for the man’s smile to diminish. For something in my rant to finally click in his mind. For him to back down from this fight, which I refuse to let him win.
But it doesn’t happen. That smile turns cheshire in size now. Like he finally got something from me that he has been waiting for.
“I had hoped you would say that,” he says, pushing up from the chair. He doesn’t leave, though. No. He leans against the desk, bending down so his face is right in front of mine. Without thinking, I inhale, trying to catch any scent off of him. So far, he and his two pack mates have been enigmas to me. Their scent is bland, covered up with scent neutralizing spray. One that makes my nose tickle.
“Fine. Have it your way. Stay. But you know what that means, don’t you, Gilmore?” When I say nothing, he leans in closer,his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of my neck. “We are going to have so much fun together. You’ll see.”
I remain glued to my spot, my mouth open slightly as all thoughts remain lost on me. Nothing escapes my lips. No response. No statement to tell him where to go. Which would be Hell if I had control of myself right now. But I don’t. I have nothing. Nothing but a shaky breath that he notices.
Eventually I shake my head, shrugging off the spell he had me under. Shock. That’s what it was. Baffled by his sheer fucking audacity.
“That’s Miss Gilmore to you,” I demand but it falls flat. Terribly so.
“See you soon,Coach.”
Motherfucker.
Holden fucking Woods wasn’t nearly as harmless as I had assumed. And I have a feeling he’s made that exact same mistake. Because he might be a wolf in Beta’s clothing, but I’ve spent my entire life learning how to fucking hunt. And he’s just made the mistake of showing me his teeth. Now, all that remains is to see which one of us bites harder.
Chapter Seven
Lennon
It’s been three days since Holden cornered me in my office, looked me dead in the eyes, and all but promised me trouble. I’ve been on edge ever since. The feel of his breath on my neck has me all over the place and I don’t like that he’s rattled me. He left me with nothing but a racing heart and questions I refuse to answer for myself. What’s worse? He’s practically ignored me ever since. Not entirely, he still answers when spoken to on the ice. He does drills. Calls me Coach with that same sarcastic drawl that makes me want to knock him on his ass, but the lingering smiles?
Gone.
If I weren’t witness to him being present, I’d be left to question whether I imagined the whole thing the other night.
Things have been going as smoothly as I could have hoped with the team. There’s little to no pushback and they seem to be taking my input on board, which makes all of this so much easier. The media have been here for most of the day, interviewing the team both individually and together while we prepare for our next game against the Jaguars. Veronica hasspent the better part of six hours herding millionaire hockey players around like an exhausted sheepdog, all while somehow looking fabulous doing it. The woman deserves a raise. Or a medal. Possibly both.
I’m currently hiding out in my office, trying to get through the mountain of paperwork on my desk while simultaneously reviewing notes from the team’s physiotherapist, Bennett Mercer. The man is a miracle worker. Half the report in front of me is less a list of injuries and more a collection of things the players have been trying to hide and mend themselves in their own time. Sore shoulders. Tight hips. Bruised ribs. An aggravated wrist that apparently ‘wasn’t worth mentioning’ because they didn’t want to miss practice. They take this seriously. They want to play. They want to win. They don’t want to let their teammates down. But they need to be transparent if they want long careers. Hockey is brutal enough without them causing permanent damage because they’re too stubborn to admit something hurts. Not that I can tell them that. They know better, well… at least I think they do. Still, I’m grateful Dad had the foresight to employ two rotating team doctors alongside Bennett. It means they can work together to keep the boys healthy and make hockey careers last, rather than just patching them together long enough to survive another game. That kind of planning is one of the reasons the Cardinals have become what they are. Dad always believed in looking after the players first. Championships came second.
I finish reviewing the last of Bennett’s notes, placing the file back in the pile that seems to grow faster than I can get through it. I’m done. I’ve stayed back every night this week. I deserve one evening where I get to eat greasy food and watch trash television in my underwear. Grabbing my keys, I kill the lights in my office and step out into the hallway. The arena is eerily quiet, all the players are in the locker room cleaning up after the shortpractice they squeezed in once they were finished with their interviews. Their voices carry faintly down the corridor, mixed with the occasional burst of laughter and the unmistakable sound of Holden’s obnoxious cackle. I smile despite myself. Idiot. Locking my office, I tuck my bag beneath my arm and turn the corner. Straight into a wall. A very warm, very broad wall.
Strong hands wrap around my waist before I can stumble backward, steadying me. My gasp gets caught in my throat as I find myself pressed against the equipment manager.
His brown eyes widen slightly, darkening as his grip tightens. Not enough to hurt, but enough that I feel his touch everywhere. His mouth parts slightly before all traces of whatever emotion I just saw vanishes. For a second, neither of us moves or speaks. It’s strange. Like we’re both waiting for something. My pulse kicks, and eventually, I clear my throat.
“Sorry,” I murmur, stepping back. “I should watch where I’m going.”
My voice is the opposite of confident, and I inwardly scold myself because I don’t want to inflate his Alpha ego by proving to him I’m like every other Omega. While there is nothing wrong with that, pretty soon I’ll be his boss, and I don’t want him to think he can walk all over me. Dominic blinks, his thick lashes framing his confused, dark gaze as his hands slowly fall away.
“Yeah,” he says, his deep voice low and gravelly. “You really should.”
Uh…Okay.
His eyes flick over my shoulder toward the hallway before settling back on me.
“Would've hated for you to hurt yourself.” I laugh awkwardly because what the hell do I say to that? Everything he says or does feels ominous, and it only makes me nervous.
“Pretty sure my ego is the only thing bruised.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Mm.”
That’s all he says.
Man, he’s intense. His eyes roll over me, and my skin pricks in response.
