Once the shopping business was done with for the day, Seraphina returned to work to finish all the necessary paperwork she needed to complete before she – along with the team – left the next day. Katella didn’t understand why Seraphina just didn’t take the rest of the day off but, truth be told, Seraphina wanted to focus her nervous energy on something she was good at. And she was good at paperwork and budgets and now, after a lot of practice, team stats. She also had an article to proof for the Gulls blogger, Harper Crawford, who would also be joining them on the trip to Vegas and was currently dating first line center, Zachary Ryan.

It took everything in Seraphina not to reach out to her friend and get advice about how she managed to date somebody she worked with. How did they balance business and pleasure? Granted, it was a little different since both Zachary and Harper were both employees. Seraphina was the boss, which meant if she did date anyone in the organization, it might come off as untoward.

Especially if that someone was a Gulls player.

Her cheeks turned pink just thinking about Brandon Thorpe and she had to shake her head and take a cold drink of water. She had had a thing for him for nearly a year and she had yet to do anything about it. She was chickenshit and she knew it.

The truth of the matter was, she was worried how people would perceive her. When she first inherited the team, it was surrounded by the scandal that came from her grandfather’s murder. When she was announced as the new manager and owner, she was ripped to pieces by the media. Everything was on the chopping block, from her hair to her clothing to her dismal debut season. Sometimes, they took pictures of her watching the games at the Newport Ice Palace and would deign to write comments about what she was thinking when, the truth of the matter was, she bit into a cold hot dog. She could never win.

If it came out that she was dating her star goalie and captain of the Newport Beach Seagulls – also a former suspect in her grandfather’s murder – she would be ripped to shreds. In fact, she didn’t know if it was allowed for her to date him. Although, since the Gulls was her team, it would make sense that she got to make her own rules.

Regardless, they would never take her seriously as a legitimate GM and owner.

“Hey.”

Her head snapped up and the man that currently stained her thoughts stared at her from her doorway. Brandon Thorpe stared at Seraphina with piercing pale green eyes and a curious look on his face. He never ceased to take her breath away. He wasn’t typically handsome – his chin was maybe too big but that was all she could really think of. He had whiskers on the lower half of his face and sharp cheekbones, his short, brown hair disheveled.

He was six feet one, one hundred and ninety-one pounds of solid muscle. She knew that from his stats. He also had a .093 save average which was amazing and, if everything went well, should qualify him for the Vezina Trophy at the NHL Awards in Vegas later in the summer, once the season wrapped up. If anyone deserved it, it was Thorpe.

Currently, he was wearing a heather-grey crew-cut shirt with the navy blue anchor and Seagulls scrawled in the familiar text they used on the majority of their products. He had fitted dark blue jeans and tennis shoes on his feet. Not the snazziest dresser, either. But still, he left her in awe.

“Hey,” she managed to finally say. She had no idea why, but she was more comfortable talking to other GMs regarding trades than she was talking to Brandon Thorpe. Yet, at the same time, he also had this ability to make her feel safe and comfortable. Like she could be herself and not get judged by her flaws. And Seraphina knew she had a number of those.

“I wanted to talk to you about that trip,” he said in his low voice. He was born in Ontario so he still had a hint of lilt to it. “We leave tomorrow at eight am, correct?” He perked his brow, making him look younger than his thirty years. Almost boyish, in fact. Downright beautiful, either way.

“Sure,” she said, gathering up her paperwork and evening them out by hitting them on the surface of her desk. “Please.” She gestured at an empty seat in front of her before placing the pages in her top drawer – a place for them to be only temporarily and to make her desk appear cleaner than it really was. “Sit.”

He gave her a small smile, amused by her clear awkwardness, and took a seat in front of her. His tall, lean frame made the chair look small and insignificant.

“So,” she said, breathless. Why was she breathless? She hadn’t even moved in the past couple of hours, except to go shopping. She shouldn’t be breathless now, in front of Brandon. Control yourself, girl! “What’s up?”

“The guys wanted to know if there were any obligations they needed to be aware of while we’re in Vegas,” he said. “I know there’s that dinner-“

“No.” Seraphina shook her head. “Wait, you mean with Phil Bambridge? No, that’s just with me.”

“Just with… you?” he asked, each word enunciated carefully. “So Katella isn’t going either?”

Seraphina shook her head. “No,” she said. “It’ll just be me and Phil.” She caught sight of the look on his face and tilted her head to the side. “Why, though? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Brandon replied quickly. “Why would you think something’s wrong?”

“Your eyes get green like the grass when you’re thinking about something and you’re trying to figure out how to phrase it,” she said and then turned red – again – at how much she had just revealed.

"So that's a GM meeting tomorrow night," Brandon said slowly. There was something in his tone, something that indicated he was slightly suspicious of it.

"Yes," Seraphina drawled, tilting her head to the side and slowly raising an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"

Brandon furrowed his brow, shaking his head as his arms crossed over his chest. "No," he said. "No, of course not. You do what you need to do in order to... do whatever it is you do..." He shook his head, wincing after he finished his sentence. "That came out weird. I'm sorry. It was just my understanding that this would be a meeting between you guys and the captains. I didn't realize it was going to be just you and him. Like a date."

"A date?" Seraphina shot him a look. "Are you only asking this because I'm a female and he's a male and we're going to dinner?"

Brandon clenched his teeth together and looked away. "I just find it highly suspicious that this guy's been set to be GM of the Blackjacks since last season and it's only now, when we're set to play the team, does he decide he wants to meet with you," he said. Before Seraphina could jump in and explain, he pushed on. "What's your meeting about? The trade deadline is coming up, sure. Are you planning to make some moves?" 

"I don't know what it's about," she said, sounding defensive. To be fair, it seemed as though he was interrogating her and she had no idea why that was. "If it was about trades, you know I couldn't tell you, anyway."

Brandon pressed his lips together. He looked like he wanted to argue. He looked like he wanted to say something. But she also knew there was nothing he could say. Even if she was friends with him, even if they were lovers, she would not be able to divulge any information to him, even if she wanted to. 

"Listen," she murmured, trying to soften her tone. "What's on your mind?"

He shrugged his shoulder, looking away. She furrowed her brow. She hated when he did this. 

To be honest, Seraphina and Brandon hadn't really spoken much. Maybe a few times a month, if that, and always with other people around due to the fact that it was due to a professional question or issue she needed to give a final say on. He hadn't sought her out on his own in a long time. Maybe even since her grandfather's murder investigation. She wouldn't necessarily say they were friends. Technically speaking, she was his boss and he was her player. But she was crazy, stupid in love with him. Whenever Brandon didn't want to answer a question or he got an answer he didn't like, he withdrew. He looked away. He crossed his arms. He pressed his lips together. He stopped talking. And that was saying a lot, considering he didn't talk much in the first place.

"Are you disappointed you're not going to meet with Phil Bambridge?" Seraphina teased, her eyes lighting up with a sparkle. "I can put in a good word for you, if you want. I didn't realize you were so eager to jump ship and head to Vegas."

Brandon cut her a look that caused the smile to slip off of her face. "The last person I would ever want to play for is Phil Bambridge," he said. "The guy's an asshole.”

"An asshole?" Seraphina asked, giving him a doubting look. "Isn't that a little strong, Brandon?"

Brandon's brow furrowed so deep, a prominent wrinkle appeared just above his nose. He gave her a jerking look, his pale green eyes flashing emerald.

"Strong?" he asked. "You think that's strong? I think that's being nice about it. Have you done any research on the guy before you agreed to this date?"

"It's not a date," Seraphina insisted. She was starting to get frustrated with his insistence that this was a date when it was definitely not a date and she wouldn't have agreed to it if it was.

"Have any other GMs gone out to dinner with the guy by themselves?" Brandon asked her, quirking a brow.

Seraphina felt her entire body tense. "How am I supposed to know that?" she asked, throwing her arms out and narrowing her eyes. "Do you honestly expect me to ask the guy, hey, have you been taking out every GM who visits your city to dinner or is it just me because if it's just me, I'm not okay with that because it's a date?" She gave him a deadpan look. "Come on, Brandon. If I want to be taken seriously, I can't just assume a meeting is a date. Don't you know how quickly that would be thrown back in my face? Typical female - can't just go to a business dinner without assuming there's more to it." She rolled her eyes for emphasis.

"Okay," Brandon said, his voice tight and controlled. "I understand the predicament you're in-"

"No, you don't," Seraphina said. "Look, I don't mean to interrupt and I'm not saying you can't grasp the concept of what it might be like to be in my shoes. The thing is, you don't actually know what it's like to be a female in a male-dominated profession. It doesn't matter that I have more money than thirty percent of the other owners and that I have arguably the best first line and goal tender in the league. I'm still reading articles about how people think I color my hair or that I wore a skirt that was shorter than my dress from the previous day. No other GM, no other owner, has ever had to go through that. And I get that it's part of the job. Maybe I didn't quite grasp the concept up until I experienced it directly, but I've accepted I'm never going to be taken seriously in the league no matter what I do."

"No, you haven't," Brandon said, shaking his head.

"Excuse me?" Seraphina asked, furrowing her brow.

"You haven't," he repeated. "If you've accepted it, you wouldn't care about your clothes or the way you speak or how your hair is done. Obviously you would look professional, that's not what I'm saying. But you wouldn't worry what people are going to write about. You would do whatever you wanted, regardless. If you want to wear jeans one day or no makeup because you've been here since five in the morning, you do it. If you want to go home in the middle of the day for a nap, you do it. You don't have to live your life based on what you think is expected of you." 

"Don't you think I want to do all of those things?" Seraphina asked in a quiet voice. "Don't you think I want to be able to do what every other male GM does? Don't you think I want to make gentlemen's agreements and be trusted to negotiate a deal by myself without Henry Wayne stepping in to assist me? Don't you think I want to wear skinny jeans and chucks instead of high-waisted skirts and high heels? Don't you think I'm sick of either straightening or curling my hair because my wavy hair is too messy? Don't you think I want to be with who I want to be with but I can't because that would be ridiculously unprofessional?" She stopped, realizing she had said too much. She clenched her jaw and dropped her eyes to her desk. "Of course I want all of those things, Brandon. But I don't know how to get what I want without sacrificing how the team is perceived. You and I and everybody else represent this organization. But I hold myself to a higher standard because I'm the owner. I'm the manager."

Brandon clenched his jaw and looked away. "I don't understand how Katella can be with Matt Peterson for two years, hook up with Xander Vane, and now be with James Negan, all within the span of a year and you can't wear converse shoes." He glanced at her. "No offense to your sister, of course, and I wasn't trying to insinuate anything by that but you were both Ken's granddaughters."

"Trust me," she muttered to herself. "I am well-aware about my sisters dating choices and how I cannot make those same choices - not that I would, exactly, but still." Her eyes picked up and locked with his. "You have no idea how badly I want to blow this off, Brandon. Trust me, I do, but-"

"Then blow him off," he insisted, leaving forward and scooting to the edge of his chair. "Bambridge is an asshole and a sleaze ball. Look him up, Seraphina. Look him up and see for yourself. He's been arrested for multiple sexual assault charges and he always bails out and the Vegas DA never decides to prosecute due to little physical evidence. You don't think he'd do the same to you?"

Seraphina furrowed her brow. "I own the Newport Seagulls," she said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "If he tried anything, it would be extremely stupid on his part, I have much more money than he does."

Brandon rolled his eyes. "This has nothing to do with money and everything to do with power," he told her. "You, a young female, are equal to him. Even more experienced than him, actually, because you have a season under your belt. You don't think he's threatened by that?"

"Not everyone is threatened by a strong, powerful woman," she pointed out. "You aren't."

"I'm not," he agreed, "but I'm not everyone. And you're more than just strong and powerful, Sera." She shivered when he addressed her by her nickname. He had never done that before. "You're intelligent and passionate and beautiful. Men like Phil Bambridge would rather see you broken."

"You speak as if you know him," Seraphina murmured.

"I know of him," he told her, looking away. "He grew up a couple of neighborhoods down from me in a wealthy family. He knew my sister. I just... I don't want to see anything happen to you."

Seraphina nodded and gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "Thank you for your concern, Brandon," she said, "but I can take care of myself."