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“Shame we don’t get a lot of women like her around these days,” Andy muses.
I’m gripping the flute too tight, but I can’t bring myself to unclench.
I know where this is going.
But still, I press my body against the door, wanting—needing—to hear my dad’s next words.
“Maybe,” he continues. “But I’ve always made sure to raise my daughter in the standards her mother would have set.”
I let out a gasp, one so audible that the nearest of Andy’s friends turns and glances at me. But I don’t have the energy to snap my blank smile on.
There’s movement behind the door, and I scramble away from it, not caring if more people notice my haphazard movements. A million thoughts run through my head as I push through the blur of people in the hall and outside into the fresh air.
I down the champagne in one gulp, instantly wishing for a shot of brandy.
My father wants me to marry Theodore Furman. The arrogant, spoiledman-child.
He’s been planning it out for months. Maybe even years. He’d raised me to be that kind of girl, he’d said.
The kind that sits around silently wearing heavy diamonds while her husband makes a fool of himself or bangs the nanny.
The kind I’d just expressed pity for. The kind that my good-girl image would perfectly blend with.
A wave of nausea runs through me, but I clamp my lips shut, not wanting to throw up on the steps of the Furmans’ lavish mansion.
Up until now, I’d believed my dad had no idea what to do with me when I came out as a baby girl, and so, he devoted his time to teaching his son hockey.
But I was wrong.
He had planned to hand me to someone like the Furmans all along. He had cultivated me into the docile, good girl who craved his validation so much that she would do anything to remain in his good graces.
And yes, there was a time I would have happily married Theodore if it meant pleasing my father.
But this time, he severely underestimated me.
CHAPTER 3
ALEX
“Steinman, I’m going to need to see you, ASAP,” Coach Tanner yells the moment I drag my battered, tired ass off the ice.
I let out a sigh of frustration. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Today’s practice went okay, but a lot of things have been falling apart in my life lately, and the last thing I want is to have another meeting. All I need is to go back to my place.
Scratch that. Not a lot of things have been falling apart.
Just the one.
A few weeks ago, I’d assumed that Janice Hatfield would soon stop her social media rants. But then, she pressed into the next week, and the next, and my amusement turned to fury.
This is now the third week of her talking shit about me. The first two, she released a series of threads about me being a player. The second week, the story had gained mild media traction.
But now, things had taken a turn. Janice has started to infuse lies into her rants. For instance, she claims Iconvinced her to have a threesome shortly before we broke up.
If I’d thought my teammates were somewhat disgruntled at me when she started her hate campaign, it was nothing compared to what happened today. With the exception of Blake, their reaction ranged from confused amusement to outright scorn. But all of them wanted to know more about the threesome.
Although I’d like to retaliate against her in the media, it’s best to not react. At least, according to the advice of the PR person Andy Furman hired to nip this in the bud.
“Don’t reach out to her, not just yet,” the wiry blond man advised emphatically.” She’s still running on full steam. If we reach out to her under any pretext, she’ll be glad to know she managed to get under your skin, and she’ll carry on. Let her tire herself out first.”
