CHP 2

Carmen's POV 

Maddox Elite Training Facility was one of those places that looks like it was designed by someone who thinks minimalist luxury was a personality. 

Glass walls, black steel beams, everything was gleaming and polished. Even the air smells expensive, like eucalyptus and money.

Trying not to look around, I walked in, clutching my tote bag like it was a shield. 

When I got to the receptionist desk, she gave me the same look someone would give to a stray dog that wandered into a jewelry store.

“Are you here for the interview?” she asked, her voice neutral.

“Yes,” I nodded. "Carmen Vega, I was scheduled for eleven o’clock,” I added. 

She studied me for a few more minutes before she picked up the phone, murmured something into it and then gestured for me to take a seat. 

The couch in the waiting area was so white that a single stain was going to be so obvious. 

Cautious, I perched on the edge, careful not to leave a stain.

A few minutes later, a man in a tailored navy suit appeared. 

“Ms. Vega,” he said warmly, shaking my hand. “Valerie filled me in already. I’m Jonathan Price, the head of Maddox’s team.” He introduced himself. 

“Nice to meet you,” I replied, trying to match his professional smile.

“Come with me," he said with an inviting tone, gesturing towards the hallway he had walked through. 

Still clutching my bag, I trailed after him. 

This time around, I couldn't keep my eyes in place. I was staring at the blown up action shots of Chase Maddox lined up on the wall. 

The shots included those of him on the ice, skating around the rink, fist pumping after a goal and glaring at a referee. 

That last one? — That was the expression I imagined I would be receiving if I screwed up this interview.

Jonathan ushered me into a glass walled conference room overlooking one of the rinks. The ice was pristine and was glowing under the bright lights. 

I could see some players running drills below, their skates slicing neat patterns across the surface.

“Take a seat," he said, handing me a can of coffee. 

Sitting across from me, he said, “Let me give you the honest rundown.” 

“Chase is… not easy to work with. He has fired every manager we have hired for one of two reasons: they were either sloppy or boring.”

“Boring?” I echoed, raising a brow. “Is that a firing offense?”

“With him? Yes,” Jonathan said without hesitation. “He wants precision, attention to detail, and the ability to keep up with his schedule, which is… intense.” He paused for a few seconds.

"He also demands that the people around him are sharp and interesting. He can’t stand people who just nod when spoken to, he likes to be challenged.”

“Sounds charming,” I muttered, watching as Jonathan’s lips twitched.

“It’s nothing personal. He’s just… wired for performance on and off the ice.”

We were mid discussion about what exactly off the ice duties would entail when the door swung open. 

And there he was, Chase Maddox in the flesh.

Even in the pair of black sweatpants and a fitted vest, he still looked like he belonged to the cover of Men’s Health magazine. 

The effect his eyes were having on me was unsettling and distracting.

“You're supposed to be on the rink," Jonathan said, clenching his jaw. It was clear he was having a hard time keeping him in check. 

Ignoring him, he stepped into the room with a casual confidence and before I could fully adjust to the intimidating aura he had brought along, his gaze landed on me. 

He swept me from head to toe, not in a creepy way but it was more like he was calculating, measuring and weighing me.

“So this is the latest candidate,” he said, his voice deep and smooth but cold enough to let you know he was not here to make friends.

Refusing to squirm, I meet his gaze. “That’s me.”

Titling his head slightly, he kept staring at me as if he was trying to decide whether I was worth his time. 

“You look… fragile.”

Arching my brow with my hands crossed on my chest, I shot back, “And you look like you woke up thinking, ‘How can I insult a stranger before lunch?’”

Jonathan’s eyebrows shoot up, but Chase’s mouth curved at the corner. 

“Feisty,” he commended. Now looking at Jonathan, smirked, “That’s new.”

Still wearing his smirk, he took his seat beside Jonathan but he still kept his eyes on me. 

“Tell me, Carmen, why do you think you can last longer than the last six people who were on this job?”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I was trying to rehearse a subtle response but I recalled Jonathan saying he liked to be challenged. 

So, scratch that. 

“Because I’m not afraid to tell you when you’re being an ass,” I said sweetly. “And I won’t bore you.”

His amber eye warms at my response but the blue one remains cold. “We’ll see about that.”

Before I could reply, he leaned back into his chair, pulling out his phone from his pocket. 

“Here’s a test.” When he was certain he got my full attention, he continued. 

"I need four VIP tickets to tonight’s sold.out game in Vancouver. The puck drops in…” He glances at his watch. “…seven hours. Oh, and they need to be front row, center ice.” 

“Good luck with that.” With his hands tucked in his pockets, he gave me one last look before heading for the door.

“You were the only one who applied for the job,” Jonathan groaned, giving me a sympathetic look that basically says this is where you fail.

“Oh, cool." I was already figuring out what to do as I pulled out my own phone. 

“Front row, center ice, four tickets, got it.” It was at this moment that Chase returned. He must be really interested in watching me flop. 

For the next ten minutes, I was invested on my contacts list like a seasoned hustler. 

Fortunately for me, my cousin once dated a guy who works for an airline; that got me a hold on a last minute flight. 

Millie runs social media for a sports memorabilia store; she knows a ticket broker who could help make things work. 

I juggled between calls and texts until it clicked. 

“Done,” I said, setting my phone down. 

“Four VIP tickets, front row, center ice and flight leaves in ninety minutes, I can email you the confirmation number.” I sang like a canary. 

Jonathan looks impressed while Chase is intrigued.

“Not bad,” he shrugged like I just did a simple task of moving a glass from one point to another. 

“Not bad?” I gasped. “You gave me an impossible request and I nailed it in fifteen minutes.” 

“You’re very sure of yourself,” he says, leaning forward slightly.

“And you’re not used to people pointing that out,” I shoot back, still seething from his earlier response.

That little half smirk returned to his lips, but this time, it was sharper.  

“Maybe not.” He shrugged again.

All of a sudden, the room became warm but not in a comfortable way. It was more like I had stepped into a different kind of ice, one where the rules weren’t written down.

Chase stood tall, his hands tucked into his pockets. “You’ll start on Monday.” 

"You entertained me today, try not to bore me next week.” He whispered, leaning close enough for me to inhale his cedarwood cologne.