All Chapters of Hockey Star by Day, Oil Mogul by night: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

49 Chapters

ELEVEN: THAT DAMN MILKMAIDS DRESS

HARLAN “Boss, I tried my best to convince her, but Ms. Whitmore refused to come with me.” I suck in a measured breath. It does nothing to quiet the noise thrashing inside my skull. I'm beginning to suspect Scarlett Whitmore has made it her personal mission to become a thorn in my side. Today’s training is supposed to last three hours. Two hours in and my wife-to-be is still nowhere to be seen. “Where is she?” “I’m not sure, sir. She did leave a message for you though.” My ears perk up at that. “Really? Tell me.” Yahir takes a deep breath, and I know whatever he’s about to say will make my already foul mood infinitely worse. “Ms. Whitmore felt compelled to remind you to watch your tone when you speak to her if you expect this charade to continue.” My eyes slide closed and against my better judgement, my lips curve in a smile. I can almost picture Scarlett pointing her chubby fingers in Yahir’s face, those beautiful eyes narrowed to slits, fighting to get her point across. “

TWELVE: STACEY

SCARLETTGod, I’m late!It was never my intention to come this late. I only wanted to dilly-dally for thirty minutes, to show Harlan that he couldn’t boss me around. Then I got stuck in traffic and missed my way to the NorthShore Sportsplex twice…Now I’m two hours and thirty minutes late. I can already imagine the look on Harlan’s face when he sees me — a full blown thunderstorm. Despite my false bravado, a sliver of dread crawls down my spine.I’ve just walked into the main building, heading for the rink when strong fingers clamp around my arm.What the—?Before I can process what is happening, I’m shoved against the east wall, a dark, imposing shadow falling over my face.I’m so distracted by the wave of terror burning through my veins that I don’t notice the familiar blue eyes looming over me until the figure starts talking.“What the hell are you doing here dressed like that?”Every part of me freezes as I blink up at him.Drake Bittencourt. A.k.a the man who shattered my heart

THIRTEEN — WHAT’S YOUR NAME, SWEETHEART?

SCARLETTJust like the saying goes, once a manwhore, always a manwhore.I shake my head and back away, ignoring the plea in Drake’s eyes. A part of me is itching to call my darling sister and give her all the juicy deets, but the rational half of me tells me to calm down.I almost feel bad for Sylvia. Almost. I will never understand women who think that a man who cheats on their wife or girlfriend with them is prime relationship material.Sylvia thinks she’s special. Soon enough, my sister will understand that she’s nothing but another notch on Drake Bittencourt’s belt.I arrive at the ice rink breathing like I’ve just run a ten-mile marathon, barely registering my surroundings as I collapse into the nearest bleacher seat. The air smells of ice and sweat, and the distinctive clack of hockey sticks jamming against each other vibrates through the atmosphere.Down below, the rink is a sea of red jerseys as players mill about running drills. I lean back against my seat, scanning the

FOURTEEN: ETHAN OAKELY (I)

SCARLETTDirty blonde hair.Bright, confident smile.Charming and down to earth. Ethan Oakley is everything I admire in a man. Everything Harlan Rousseau is not.Harlan is proud.He’s cocky.He would do anything to get his way, even if it means playing dirty. And there’s nothing charming or gentlemanly about the way he imprisoned me in his office just two days ago.But Ethan's bright-eyed stare doesn’t set my skin on fire or send my pulse hammering against my ribs the way Harlan’s mere presence does.And when he kisses my hand, I feel…absolutely nothing. No spark. No heat. Not even the faintest shiver. “Scarlett Whitmore,” I say softly. “Nice to meet you, Ethan.”“The pleasure is all mine, mademoiselle,” he murmurs, his gaze drifting slowly over my body, lingering just long enough to make heat crawl up my neck.“Ethan!” Sylvia chirps in that overly sweet, sing-song voice. She practically shoves me out of the way, wedging herself between us as he sticks a hand towards him.“It’s an

FIFTEEN : ETHAN OAKELY (II)

SCARLETT Sylvia’s awe-struck expression is still stuck to my mind as Ethan leads me out of the rink by hand. But what truly unsettles me is the pure, unmistakable hatred that burned in Ethan’s eyes when he looked at Sylvia. Men do not hate Sylvia. They worship the ground she walks on. They trip over themselves to get her attention. Yes, some men may dislike her opportunist personality, case in point being Harlan. But I have never, ever seen any man look at her with such…smouldering contempt. And I tend to be very observant. “It seems there’s a bit of bad blood between you and my sister,” I blurt out of nowhere. But I get exactly the reaction I was hoping for — Ethan stiffens, his jaw locking tight. It takes him three full seconds to turn around and look at me, like he was struggling to compose himself first. There’s definitely some history there. When he finally turns, a smile so fake, it looks painted on, stretches across his lips. “No, I have never met her

SIXTEEN: I’M PRETTIER AND SMARTER!

HARLAN I force the violence simmering beneath my skin back into its cage before turning to Sylvia, my expression carved from stone. “How did you get these pictures?” Surprised by my reaction, her smile falters. “Does it matter? There are more pressing issues to focus on, Harlan.” “Yeah?” I say absently, forcing down the savage need to snap Ethan’s neck with practiced indifference. “What pressing issues?” “Are you being serious right now?!” “Watch your tone, Whitmore.” My voice turns lethally quiet. “I won’t tell you again.” She mellows down immediately, whispering a soft “sorry.” I shake my head, already sick of the entire situation. Because even now, all I can think about is the fact that Scarlett would’ve ripped me apart for daring to tell her to “watch her tone.” And somehow, despite having my vision burned with pictures of her wrapped around another man, the most vicious, possessive part of me still chooses to put her first. Always her. Which is why I exte

SEVENTEEN: YOUR CALL

SCARLETTI’m not sure how I made it to the bus stop, but I’m currently clutching my phone like a lifeline while pouring my heart out to the one person who truly understands me.“I should be used to it by now, Chiara.” I whisper, pressing a fist to my heart.“I thought I finally accepted that I’d always come second to Sylvia. She always gets chosen over me.” Tears sting my eyelids. “But why does it hurt so much? Why does it feel like my heart is caving in? Like I’m fucking dying?”I sniff, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “Besides, Harlan doesn’t owe me any loyalty. But I didn’t expect… I didn’t…”“Girl, please,” Chiara cuts in. “The only woman I’d ever rank above you is Mary, mother of Jesus. And you already know I don’t play about her. I don’t ever want to hear you say you’re second to anyone. Do you understand me?”An unwilling smile tugs at my lipsChiara is a devoted catholic. I’m not entirely sure how it happened, but three years ago, she came home from college and sud

EIGHTEEN: TIGHT, SCULPTED ASS.

SCARLETTThe next few seconds unfold like something straight out of a horror movie.One second, I’m blinking away angry tears as I climb into Ethan’s car. The next, strong arms wrap around my waist and I’m hauled over Harlan’s shoulder like I weigh nothing more than a sack of potatoes.“What the—?!”A gasp of terror lodges in my chest as Harlan carries me away from the car and toward the waiting bus like this is the most normal thing in the world“What the fuck are you doing?!” I yell, hitting his shoulder clumsily. “Put me down right now.”“Not on your life, doll face,” he bites out, his voice vibrating with unapologetic rage.I open my mouth and shut it again, too stunned to speak as my brain desperately tries to comprehend why I’m slung over a rogue’s shoulder while staring at an offensively good view of his tight, sculpted ass.“Harlan, what are you doing?!” Ethan’s Nike boots appear in the periphery of my vision. “This is no way to treat a lady. Put her down right now.”I feel Ha

NINETEEN: YOU AND YOUR FANCY ASS CAR…

SCARLETTDid Ethan obey? Of course he did. With a quickness.I’m currently pressed against the window, sitting as far away from the brooding psychopath beside me as I can. But Harlan Rousseau is a petty bastard, and he doesn’t make things easy for me at all. The farther I try to scoot away from him, the closer he comes. Five minutes into the ride, I’m practically crushed against the window, painfully aware of every degree of warmth radiating off him.The man is like a human furnace.The air feels painfully tight with tension, heavy enough to steal the oxygen from my lungs.He tried to talk to me the first few seconds of the ride, but when I stubbornly refused to respond, he gave up.Three minutes later, when the driver slows down at the next bus stop, I jump to my feet and hurry down the aisle before he can stop me.Harlan lets out a low curse behind me, grumbling something about stubborn women sending him to an early grave, but I don’t stick around long enough to see what he does n

TWENTY: PLEASE, LET GO.

HARLAN Yahir shakes his head, shooting me a pointed look; “With all due respect, boss, couldn’t you have found a woman who’s a little less stubborn?” I watch Scarlett stomp down the rain-soaked road, her arms wrapped tightly around herself in a futile attempt to fight off the cold. And despite the anger simmering violently beneath my skin, the corner of my mouth still twitches with amusement. Very few women have dared to tell me no. Very, very few. And yet, the only woman I’ve decided that I want the most in the entire world revels in challenging me at every turn. “If I wanted obedience, I’d buy a damn robot,” I mutter to Yahir as I shove the door open, welcoming the cold. “I prefer my women with a bit of fire in them.” Yahir shakes his head again; “let’s hope that fire doesn’t get her killed.” My gaze lands on Scarlett once more and the anger in my chest intensifies. Any sane person would’ve gotten into the warm car by now. But Scarlett? Scarlett would rather get hypothermia t

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