It was just a damn shame that part of him found Taylor compelling and attractive. How was that even possible, when he had been so intimidated by her as a kid? When just looking at her made him feel like that bumbling, awkward, pudgy, inept teenager?
Because part of him was obviously a masochist. That had to be it.
It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he might have, quite possibly, had the tiniest crush on her when he was a kid.
A shudder went through him at the morbid memory. Yes, there was definitely a bit of a masochist buried deep inside him somewhere.
He glanced at his watch then shut down the computer and started gathering up the scattered files spread next to him. The news crew would be here any minute—time for him to start doing what he was getting paid to do.
A shout went up, the words "Heads up" echoing around him loud and clear. He turned his head, saw a dark blur hurtling toward him, and tried to duck as he swiped at the object with one hand. His reaction time was too slow and the puck clipped him on the cheekbone, a stinging punch that caused him to pull his breath in with a sharp hiss. He winced as the puck dropped to his side, knocking over the nearly full cup of coffee. Dark liquid sloshed over the files he had just gathered, drenching them and his pants leg.
"Shit." Charles reached for the paperwork, shaking as much of the spilled coffee from them as he could. His cheek burned, a stinging sensation that radiated along the entire right side of his face.
"Shit." He repeated the word, slightly louder this time, knowing he could scream it at the top of his lungs and it wouldn't help. He placed the sopping files to the side then leaned down, his hand closing around the puck resting by his feet. The urge to hurl it back toward the ice was overwhelming but he controlled it—barely.
The control nearly snapped when he saw one of the players come to a stop against the glass, her whiskey-colored eyes wide and glittering with amusement. Had it been an accident? Or had Taylor deliberately shot the puck toward him?
No, it had to have been an accident. Charles knew that if it had been deliberate, his face would hurt a lot more than it did. Even as a young kid, Taylor's shot had contained one hell of a lot of power. It had probably been a loose shot, a fluke. For all he knew, Taylor wasn't even the one responsible for it. He should have been paying better attention.
Or maybe he should have just stayed in his office to work, instead of coming out here.
He climbed to the bottom of the bleachers and stopped near the glass, bouncing the puck in his hand. Once, twice. Once more. Then he looked over at Taylor, his back teeth grinding when he noticed her wide smile and the way that smile danced in those oddly-colored eyes of hers.
She pushed the helmet back on her head and leaned against the boards, so casual and sure of herself. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Fine."
She nodded toward his face, the brightness of her smile dimming for a split-second. "You probably want to get some ice. For your cheek."
"Yeah. Probably." He loosened his grip on the puck then tossed it over the glass. Taylor leaned back and deftly snagged it out of the air, loosely cradling it in her glove as she watched him.
"You're going to have a nice shiner."
"Yeah. Probably."
She nodded then glanced to the far end of the ice. His gaze followed hers, coming to a stop on the man standing there with a heavy camera resting on his shoulder. The camera was pointed in their direction. And shit, was the guy filming?
With the way his luck had been going in the last ten minutes, probably. Great. Just what he needed.
"It's a good look on you."
Charles spun around, surprised at Taylor's words—and even more surprised at the warm smile and slow wink she sent his way. She skated off before he could even close his mouth, leaving him standing there like a slack-jawed kid.
What the hell? Had Taylor been flirting with him?
He shook his head, calling himself a fool. What kind of game was she up to? Because there was no doubt in his mind that she was up to something. Was this her way of trying to get out of the photo shoot and interview he had set up with her step-dad and uncle for Saturday?
Knowing Taylor—yes.
But it wouldn't work. He wasn't that pudgy awkward kid from all those years ago, was no longer content to step to the side and let everyone else take control.
This was his game now. He was the one in charge. And the sooner Taylor LeBlanc realized that, the better things would be.
Chapter Five
Tension threatened to suffocate him. It knotted the muscles in his shoulders and tightened his lungs, making it hard to breathe.
Maybe, if he was lucky, he really would stop breathing. Just collapse right where he was standing. That would put an end to things. No more headaches. No more struggles. No more drama.
Charles glanced over at James Murphy and squelched a sigh. As much as he might wish for it, passing out would only prolong the inevitable. Might as well just come clean and face the music.
"Things aren't going well, Chuck."
"There's still time."
Murphy's brows jerked up in surprise. His gray eyes focused on Charles, piercing and intent—and filled with obvious disbelief. Charles couldn't blame him.
"Opening night is a month away. Ticket sales are dismal. Practically nonexistent. We brought you on to help with that but so far, we haven't seen any improvement."
"It's not going to happen overnight, James. We're facing an uphill battle. You know that. It doesn't help that the game coincides with the Banners' first game."
"That's just an excuse. Their game starts at seven. The girls play at one." James looked away, his thin lips pursed in frustration. Charles could relate—he was experiencing his own frustrations.
His gaze darted back to the ice. Practice was officially over but two girls remained: Taylor and Sydney Stevens. They were shooting the puck back and forth, taking shots at the net at the end.
One of the pucks hit the pipes. The noise rang out like a shot, making him jump. Had James noticed? No. The older man was too busy scowling at one of the players.
Damn Taylor. How had she done it? If things had gone according to his plans, she'd be standing on the ice right now, flanked by her step-father and her uncle, posing for the camera and answering questions.
But there were no cameras. No television crew. No reporter.
No Sonny LeBlanc or JP Larocque.
Damn her.
Charles clenched his fists, his gaze narrowing as he watched Taylor race across the ice and take a shot from between her legs. The puck hit the back of the net with a satisfying whoosh. Damn shame there was no camera crew to film it.
James released a loud sigh and fixed Charles with another piercing look. "Make it right, Chuck. No more excuses."
Charles watched the older man walk away, knowing that he had just been issued a final warning. Part of him was tempted to just throw his hands up in the air and call it quits. This was a losing battle, had been from the start.
A women's hockey team? Seriously? What had made any of them think they could make a go of this? What had made any of them think that people would even be interested?
And why the hell had he thought he'd be able to successfully promote it?
He hated losing. Hated it with a passion. And making a success of the Chesapeake Blades was nothing more than a losing battle. If he was smart, he'd walk away right now. Cut his losses and move on to something better. Something guaranteed.
Something that paid one hell of a lot better.
But he wasn't a quitter, and he never walked away from a challenge. Not since he was seventeen. He'd be damned if he started now.
He spun on his heel and stormed off to the equipment room with just one thought on his mind: success. At any cost. Taylor thought she could undermine his efforts? Maybe she had, this one time. But not anymore. If she wanted a battle, she just got one.
Taylor was the only player left by the time he returned to the ice. She
was focused on lining up a dozen pucks, her back to him when he opened the door to the rink. He took his first step, held his breath as he found his balance, then slammed the door shut and readjusted his grip on the stick. Taylor jumped and spun around, her ponytail whipping behind her. Her gaze caught his and held it for a long minute. Then her eyes widened and a disbelieving smile flashed across her face.
What did she see when she looked at him? Did he look as ridiculous as he felt, wobbling on a pair of old skates while still wearing an expensive suit? He had ditched the jacket and tie and had rolled the sleeves up his forearms but he still felt ridiculous. Over-dressed. Unprepared.
Incompetent.
He clenched his jaw and skated toward Taylor. Slow. Out of practice.
Out of his league.
Screw it. He didn't care how awkward he looked. Didn't care that she was laughing at him. Hell, it wasn't the first time. And he was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last.
"Chuckie-the-fart." She laughed and shook her head then rested her elbow on the butt end of the upright stick. "What do you think you're doing?"
He moved closer, finally finding his center of balance, feeling a small spurt of confidence shoot through him. He pinned her with a steady look, long enough that she finally looked away, the smile fading from her face.
"You think you're so fucking smart, don't you?" The language surprised him as much as it obviously surprised her. Charles didn't care, not when the sudden anger coursed through him, searing him. He moved even closer, not stopping until he was a foot away from Taylor. Her eyes widened in surprise and she slid away from him. Was she afraid? No, not Taylor—she wasn't afraid of anything. But she was smart enough to recognize his black mood.
"I'll hand it to you, Tay-Tay. That was a slick move."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you?" He moved forward again, his eyes narrowing. "Why don't I believe that?"
"I don't—"
"You know exactly what you did. Congratulations. You won that round. I never saw it coming. To go behind my back and cancel the interview? How'd you do it?"
"I didn't—"
"Oh, come off it. You did. We both know it." He paused, holding her gaze. "And so does Murphy."
A flicker of unease flashed in her eyes as she looked around. Searching for help? Or trying to figure out the best way to escape?
She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, nibbling the pink flesh for a nervous second before turning back to face him. Charles forced himself to meet her eyes, forced himself to look away from the sight of that full lower lip being nibbled by straight white teeth.
Her shoulders heaved with a deep breath. "I didn't mean—"
"Knock it off. We both know exactly what you meant. Well, congratulations. Murphy's pissed and put me on notice. Is that what you wanted? To totally derail my efforts?"
She laughed, the sound short and bitter. "Your efforts? Is that what you call using me?"
"Using you? Is that what you think?"
"It was kind of obvious there, Chuckie. I mean, pulling in my dad and uncle for your little dog-and-pony show? What else would you call it?"
"I call it doing my job." The words came out between clenched teeth. He swallowed back the spurt of anger, tightened his hands on the stick, and leaned closer. "I call it doing everything in my power to promote a team that nobody has heard of. I call it trying to make a go of this team. Of this league."
"Oh please." She laughed again and waved a hand around them. "This whole thing is a joke. You know it. I know it. So stop wasting my time, okay?"
Her words caught him by surprise. Not just the words, but the bitterness in her voice. Charles straightened, watching her for a long minute. A wisp of understanding drifted through his mind, offering him some unwanted insight. He pushed it away. The words insight and understanding had no place in his vocabulary when it came to dealing with Taylor.
"If you think it's such a joke, why are you here?"
"Where else would I go? Where would any of us go? To some beer league? Because that's all there is."
"Then I'd think you'd want to do whatever you could to make this a success."
"Yeah." She narrowed her eyes and leaned so close he could feel the heat of exertion drifting from her body. "But on our own. You're supposed to promote the team. Not exploit me and my family."
"Is that what you're so pissed off about?"
Taylor's jaw clenched, anger flashing in those whiskey-colored eyes. He half-expected her to take a swing at him, or to say something sarcastic and biting in true Taylor-fashion. But she just shook her head and offered him a cold smile. "I'm not wasting my time talking to you. Just leave me alone."
"Or what? You going to beat me up again, Tay-Tay?"
"What are you talking about? I never beat you up."
"The hell you didn't."
She shook her head and tried to skate past him. Charles stepped to the side, blocking her. Her gaze shot to his and he held it, silently daring her to look away. The expression in her eyes was cool. Aloof. But there was something else there, too—just the tiniest bit of doubt.
"I never beat you up."
"Bullshit. You never had patience for me—or anyone else who couldn't play as well as you. And you made damn sure everyone knew it."
"That's not the same—"
"What about that time you boarded me?"
"I never—"
"Yeah, you did. I had the puck. I was trying to take a shot. You got pissed and slammed me against the boards, grabbed the puck, and skated it in."
"I wouldn't have done something like that."
"Yeah? Maybe you should think long and hard because that's exactly what you did. And you scored the winning goal."
"What's wrong with that? We won, right? That's all that matters."
"Is it? Because there was more to it than that to me."
A short, impatient rush of air left her, the sound not quite a laugh. "If you say so, Chuckie."
"I say so."
"So what? I mean, why are you even bringing this up? Why do you even care about something that might have happened twelve years ago?"
"Because you're not taking this win away from me, Taylor. Not this time."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You heard me. I have a job to do. And I will do it—at any cost. Don't get in my way. I'm not that thirteen-year-old kid you enjoyed tormenting and intimidating." And damn, had he said too much? He hadn't meant to tell her that, hadn't meant to admit to any weakness. But there wasn't any gloating in her eyes—just surprise. And maybe even a little regret.
Unless he was imagining that part.
"I, uh, I intimidated you?"
"Christ, Tay-Tay, you intimidated everyone."
"I did?"
"Yeah, you did." And shit, how had they veered so far off the subject? She opened her mouth again, no doubt to defend herself or say something else totally out of line. Charles interrupted her before she could get started.
"It's not happening again. The sooner you realize that, the better off we'll both be. I have a job to do, Taylor, and I'm telling you again, I will do it."
"Fine. Then do it. But don't use me or my family. Use the other girls. There's a lot of talent on this team. You should be focusing on that, not my dad or uncle."
"You don't get it, do you? All the talent in the world doesn't mean shit if there's nobody here to see it. I will use whatever I have to in order to get people through those doors. Understood?"
"No. I want no parts of it, Chuckie."
"You don't have a choice."
"The hell I don't." She took a deep breath and looked away. "All my life, I've had people compare me to Dad and Uncle JP. Tell me that the only reason I got anywhere was because of them. Because of my last name. Because of their connections. I'm still hearing it, even now. I don't need you making it worse."
"Making what worse?"
"Nothing. It doesn't matter." She shook her head and tried
to move past him again. He blocked her once more.
"You're right, it doesn't. You don't have a choice in this, Tay-Tay, not when Murphy is backing me up on this one."
"That's bullshit."
"Maybe. But that's life. I don't need you fighting me every step."
"I don't—"
"Which is why I have a proposition for you."
Her head whipped around so fast, Charles was surprised she didn't lose her balance and fall. "What are you talking about?"
He would have laughed at the expression of dismay and uncertainty on her face if he wasn't so serious about what he was about to say. Yes, it was ridiculous. Yes, it could seriously backfire on him. Hell, it probably would backfire on him. But he was desperate. God help him if she realized how desperate he really was.
"I'll fight you for control." Hell, that wasn't exactly how he meant for the words to come out. It was too late to take them back—although, if he was honest with himself, the blush that seared Taylor's face was worth it.
"Um—" Her mouth snapped shut and she looked around before turning back to him. He ignored the heat rushing through his body at the way her gaze slowly drifted from his skates up to the top of his head. "You want to, uh, fight for control?"
"Not the way you're thinking." Not even close. And damn, now he had to stop thinking of how Taylor's body would feel pinned under his. "A fight for control of the puck. In the corners."
"You're kidding, right?"
"No, I'm dead serious."
"You don't have a chance in hell."
"Then why are you worried?"
"I never said I was worried."
"Then what's the problem?"
"The problem is, it isn't even a fair fight. You're setting yourself up to lose."
Winning Hard Page 4