Chapter Eight
Remy
In the office, Dante has become the human embodiment of a tornado.
This isn’t about the incident anymore. It’s about control.
About who gets to have it, and who doesn’t.
I’m not sure that what he’s doing can even be called pacing at this point.
He circles behind the desk, where Sergio is in “his” chair, all the way around to the space behind the chairs where Renee, Owen, and I are sitting.
“Did you learn nothing?” he snarls at Owen. “It’s literally your first day back!”
Owen’s hands are balled into fists on his knees. He’s holding it together, but just barely. Not explosive. Contained. That’s an important distinction. “I didn’t—”
“Didn’t what? Didn’t lunge at your teammate?”
I’m new to Dante’s rants, but even I can tell that this question is rhetorical. Owen, however, sets his jaw and lifts his chin. “I didn’t do anything. I just got between him and Lenyx. Why am I the one getting in trouble when the other guy caused the problem?”
Dante bends down and gets right in Owen’s face. “Lenyx is fine. The rookie is fine. You are the one whose ass is on the line. The press is here today. I’m not going to let you drag my team’s reputation through the mud, so you need to check yourself before I fucking wreck you.”
Sergio sighs and rubs his hand across his forehead. “Dad, that’s not even a real saying.”
“Who gives a shit?” Dante snarls. “You think I won’t wreck him?
” He redirects the full force of his anger back to Owen.
“Is that what you think? That I’m going to let my son handle you with kid gloves?
I built this team. I’m the one who got us the Stanley Cup twice, and I’m the one who’s bringing the magic back.
You’re just a goalie. You’re not even a legacy player.
You’re only as good as your performance.
You’re disposable, Rourke. I could replace you like that.
” He snaps his fingers right under Owen’s nose.
There it is. The real problem. Not the hit. Not the clip. This.
Owen’s face is bright red, and his fists are balled so tight that his knuckles have turned white. It’s easy to read his body language as anger, but when I study his profile, I notice the slight tic in his jaw, the redness of his eyes, and I realize that he’s hurting.
And no one in this room seems to care.
I swallow once. “Listen, Mr. Giovanetti—”
If my goal was to get Dante’s attention off Owen, I’ve succeeded. He whips toward me. “And you. I said FIX him, not WATCH him brEAK IN HD!”
The Remy Callahan Petty Bullshit Scale is overloaded. Dante’s anger is totally inappropriate to the situation. Sergio won’t stand up to his father. Renee winces and rubs her temples. Owen’s lost his will to fight.
And honestly, this is the fucking NHL. Dante Giovanetti is the master at making a mountain out of a molehill.
So I do what I do best. I de-escalate. Not by pushing back. By shifting the frame. “Owen didn’t break,” I say coolly. “His reaction to the incident during practice wouldn’t have made anyone bat an eye if it wasn’t for his recent suspension.”
Owen’s head jerks toward me. Like he didn’t expect me to step in. Like he’s not sure what to do with it. I can’t read his expression, but his fists relax.
Dante’s lip curls. “That’s completely inaccurate, Miss Callahan.”
I keep my voice level. “I’m from Boston, Mr. Giovanetti. I know hockey.”
Dante’s eyes narrow to slits. “Are you suggesting that you know my game better than I do?”
He wants a reaction. Something loud, something emotional. I don’t give it to him.
Behind Dante’s back, Sergio flinches. He crosses his arms and taps his wrists together, forming an X in an attempt to make me shut up.
But I’m not going to back down. If I do, I lose him.
And the room. For one thing, if Dante keeps needling Owen this way, one or both of them is going to do something that will make my job a hell of a lot harder.
On top of that, I’ve got my father’s stubborn streak.
My dad always told me that he didn’t like to start fights, but he’d damn well finish them.
But Mom was the one who taught me how to deal with men whose egos get ahead of their brains.
God, I miss her.
“I can’t speak to what you do or don’t know, Mr. Giovanetti,” I said coolly.
I sit back in my chair and cross my legs at the knee.
I won’t let him intimidate me. Renee made it clear from the jump that Dante likes to push people.
So let him try. “But Owen’s right. Two of your players made contact on the ice today, and neither of them is in this office right now.
If you’re going to keep Owen under a microscope, you won’t give him the opportunity to earn your trust back.
And if you treat him this way, it’s going to cause problems with the rest of your team, and that won’t get you any closer to the magic of a third Stanley Cup. ”
Renee’s eyes are almost completely round. Sergio signs through a series of hand gestures that I can only interpret as, Abort mission! Abort mission! Owen stares at my face with a completely neutral expression.
Dante’s eye twitches several times. “Are you seriously suggesting that Owen’s behavior is my fault?”
“What behavior is that, exactly?” I shoot back.
Dante jabs a finger at Owen. “He lunged at his teammate! On camera!”
“It’s a contact sport. If you’re going to threaten him every time he gets within a foot of another player, then you might as well pull him from the team now.”
I can see some flailing in my peripherals, but I don’t break eye contact with Dante. I know that I’m taking a risk here, but I’ve read through Owen’s contract. I’m willing to bet that getting rid of him would be more trouble than Dante wants.
When he doesn’t call my bluff, I offer him a tight smile. “I’ve watched some old footage since Owen became my client. I know how good he is. I’m asking you to trust him to display better judgment. He has as much to lose as you do. Maybe more.”
Dante crosses his arms. We glare at each other, locked in a staring contest.
“Fine,” he barks. “I’ll back off, on one condition.”
Oh, Lord. I can already tell that I’m going to hate this.
He points at me. “If he’s on the ice, you’re at the glass. If he’s in a meeting, you’re in the meeting. If he’s shitting, you’re shitting. If he’s breathing Venom air, you’re sucking it in behind him.”
Dammit. I should probably have seen this coming. There’s no way that he can legally demand this.
Owen fidgets in his chair. He hates this. Not the work. The lack of control. “This isn’t necessary.”
Dante ignores him. He’s still watching me.
I could get up right now. Walk out, slam the door, and run crying to Ezra. But I’ve fought too hard for my career to fold under pressure without putting up a fight. Dante has a reputation, so if I can survive his little power trip, my name will carry some weight.
Also, I’m Irish. We don’t bow before tyranny.
“Any changes to my contract will be reflected in my pricing structure,” I tell him. If I’m going to be dragged into this mess full-time, I’m not doing it at a discount.
Dante slaps his open palm on the desk hard enough to make the pen holder jump. “That’s settled, then. Until the League stops busting my balls, Miss Callahan is your shadow. She’ll be stuck to you like glue. Glue! Glue, Rourke!”
So much for boundaries.
Owen holds up his hands. “Now, just wait a minute…”
The debate breaks off when, without warning, the office door swings open. Another player strolls in, his hair damp from the showers. His casual posture and oblivious smile make him look like a visitor from another world stumbling blithely into our war zone.
“Hey.” He holds up a reusable water bottle in the Venom colors. “Did anyone lose a water bottle? ’Cause I’ve got, like, five—” His eyes meet mine, and he stops short. “Ohhh, you’re the new handler. Seen you around. Hi. I’m Adler.”
I offer a polite smile. “Adler Newberry, right?” I recognize him from the past games I’ve watched.
Adler beams. “You’ve heard of me?”
Oh, Christ. Is he… flirting? I glance at Owen, whose jaw flexes hard enough to crush diamonds. He doesn’t like this. Not even a little. And for reasons I can’t quite pin down… neither do I.
Dante lurches forward to snatch the bottle from Adler’s hands, only to brandish it at his head. “Get out, Newberry. You’re almost as bad as your father. Maybe I no longer like magic, you know that? Maybe the fucking magic has lost its allure!”
Adler is clearly unperturbed by this response. He winks at me and aims finger-guns in my direction. “Love the energy. Keep it up!” He practically moonwalks out of the office, leaving the door open.
Renee has been silent this whole time, but the open door presents an opportunity too good to miss. She gets to her feet and gestures to Owen and me. “Now that we’re all in agreement, why don’t we take this conversation elsewhere?”
“We’re not agreed on shit,” Owen mumbles under his breath. In spite of his bluster, he still gets up and shuffles toward the door.
I rise to my feet and straighten my blazer. The smile I offer Dante is as wide as Adler’s, but with more teeth. “My firm will be in touch about the new contract.”
Sergio gets halfway out of his chair before Dante circles around to clap a hand to his shoulder and shove him back into the seat.
I only feel a tiny bit guilty when I close the door on them.
Owen and I walk side by side on our way out of the office. Close enough that I can feel the tension coming off him, even without looking. Renee leads us into the hall.
“Wow,” I say, loud enough for Owen to hear. “Is he always that intense?”
Owen turns his head a few degrees and nods once. Ooooo-kay.
Renee stops by the elevators. “There’s an empty office downstairs, near the PT room. You can have some privacy there. You know the one I mean?”
Owen nods again. This man is a locked door with an alarm system. At least I’m not the only person who gets the silent treatment.