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Turns out, Dennis also decided to leave L.A. and move to London. He was traded to a British team, the Islington Sentinels—the London Ice King’s closest rivals— as their captain. I moved to London to make a fresh start; the last thing I wanted was to see my cheating ex here. And since he's the captain of the closest competitor to the Ice Kings, chances are, I’m going to run into to him again. It feels like a bad dream.
Nathan was at the bar and attended to Dennis right away. Not that it stopped him from glaring at Rick and promising to press charges, despite the fact he's the one in the wrong. He's the one who touched me without permission; Rick was only defending me. But when has logic ever stopped Dennis from acting in an impulsive fashion? It’s one of the reasons I left him.
"Thankfully, you didn’t break his nose," Edward snaps from his position behind the desk.
"Too bad I didn’t," Rick growls.
He’s seated in one of the chairs facing the desk. I’m on the chair next to him, attempting to bind his lacerated fingers. I tighten the bandage, and he winces. I pay no heed and tug on the dressing. He flinches again but doesn’t protest.
I scowl up at him. "You’re aware this is a PR nightmare. Hopefully, no one caught it on camera and—" My phone vibrates, as do Rick’s and Edward’s. I release Rick’s hand, pull out my phone and scroll the notifications that have popped up on my social media feeds. "Shit."
"Fuck!" Edward stares at his phone.
Only Rick seems unperturbed. He leans back in his chair and places his ankle over the knee of his other leg.
"You’re all over social media." I wave my phone in his direction.
He glances at it and raises a shoulder. "Whoever shot it got a good angle."
"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" I glower at him.
He shakes his head. "Actually, I have more to say."
"Oh?" I tip up my chin.
"I should have thrown the motherfucker on the floor and stomped all over his hands for daring to put them on you."
I blink. A shudder of something like warmth suffuses my skin. My pussy quivers.No, no, no, I did not find this entire neanderthal act of him wanting to beat up a man for touching me arousing. I did not.I yank on the bandage so hard his shoulder muscles bunch and yet, he doesn’t protest. Stubborn asshole.
"Are you hearing yourself? This is not some street brawl. And even that would have made news, by the way, since you were involved. This involves you and one of the top athletes in the country."
"So?"
"So? This is going to wreck your career, asshole," I snap.
"He needed to be taught a lesson." His gaze narrows on me. "Why are you so concerned, anyway? I thought you don’t like me. Thought you’d be happy at my career taking a dip."
I jump to my feet. "My personal feelings don’t come into it. You’re my client. I work for the team. I’m worried about the reputation of each of you. If one of you takes a hit in the media, we all do, remember?"
He blinks at that.
"You didn’t think of that, did you?" I scowl.
"It was there at the back of my mind, but when he insulted you—?" He shakes his head. "Nope, all I wanted to do was make sure the motherfucker couldn’t speak for a very long time."
"What Dennis did was wrong.” Edward rakes his fingers through his hair. “If I were in your position, I’d beat him up, too, but fuck, if this doesn’t put us in a bind. The eyes of the media and the fans are on this team. We’re the underdog. And with the negative publicity with the journalist, then with this incident with Dennis, it’s making it too easy for people to write us off. It makes us look like amateurs, like we’re not focused on the game.”
"You’re the manager for a reason, aren’t you?" Rick lowers his chin to his chest. "I’m aware it’s not going to be easy to fix this in the media, but no way was I going to let that asshole walk away after insulting her."
Edward looks at him in frustration. "You’re called Stone for a reason. You’re the one who keeps your cool under pressure. You’re the one who thinks on your feet and doesn’t make risky decisions. You’re the one who’s supposed to set an example for the rest of the team."
"And he did—" The door to the office is pushed fully open and Finn strides in. He’s followed by Manning and Enzo, while Jagger crowds the doorway.
Realizing he failed to close the door completely, Edward snaps, "Shut the door, or do you want the rest of the club to listen to whatever bullshit you assholes are gonna spew?"
Jagger steps inside and pulls the door closed behind him.
The space had already felt crowded, thanks to Rick’s hulking presence. But now, filled with six men over six feet tall, with huge shoulders and bigger egos, it feels stifling. I resist the urge to edge toward the wall and brace myself against it for support. If I’m going to work with these guys, it’s important they respect me. Which means, now more than ever, I’m going to stand my ground.
