Page 126 of Lucky Laces
I tick that victory onto my side of the board.I don’t think I’ve ever seen him anything but cocky.
So I press my advantage.“I will not tolerate sexual harassment on my team—in any form—between players, directed toward my staff, or toward me.”
His mouth curves into a smirk, cocky snapping right back into place.“Oh, but it’s okay to fuck one of your players?”
That urge for murder by pen comes roaring back.
“My relationship with Hudson is none of your business,” I grit out.“Except to say—and this is theonlything I’ll ever say to you about it—it’s between two consenting adults and management is aware of it, so we can put systems in place to make sure it’s fair for you and the rest of the team.”
“You mean so your boyfriend doesn’t get preferential treatment?”
They’re sharp words, still intended to piss me off.
Yet, for the first time, I feel like I’m finally seeing a glimpse of the man beneath all that asshole.
Another victorious tick on my side of the board.
He’s just an insecure bully.
And he’s scared.
“Right now I’m more worried about why you seem so determined to blow up the team when it’s the first time in your career that you’re on the roster of a contender for the Cup.A career I don’t think I have to remind you is on its leeward slide, so you may never get another chance at winning it all.”
His brows drag together, but I see the venom in his eyes.
And I get in front of it.
“You’re not dressing out tonight,” I tell him.
He pushes off the wall, anger flashing across his face.“What the fuck?”
“Think about what you’re doing,” I say calmly.“Think about where you want to be.If that’s hefting the Cup by my side then you need to get your fucking head in the game.If it’s continuing to do this same shit time and again then it won’t be with this team—I don’t care how many concessions I have to make to get you off my roster.”
“This is bullshit,” he snaps, moving toward me.
“Bullshit or not”—I shrug carelessly—“I have the power to doexactlythat.”
He stops in front of me, breathing heavily, fury in every line of his taut body.
Even though my pulse speeds up, I just stare up at him calmly.“We’re done here.”
A long furious look, a microscopic shift of his body that has me tensing.
Then he’s spinning on his heel and storming from the room.
Sighing, I rub my forehead, waiting for my pulse to steady, and when it does, I look up and see Jean-Michel leaning against the opposite wall, eyes full of rage, his jaw clenched.
“You good?”he asks tightly.
I know he’s here because someone alerted him and those protective instincts of his were triggered.
Same as I know and register—a good thing because my already hanging-on-by-a-thread temper doesn’t snap—he didn’t interject himself into the conversation with Pat because he knows I’m good at my job and can handle myself and he was giving me the space to do exactly that.
Same as I know, if Pat had gotten physical, hewouldhave stepped in.
I’m just glad he didn’t need to.
And because of all that, I give him the truth.
