“Dude…turn on the TV right now to channel thirty-three,” he says in a rush.
I don’t think to question the urgency in Zack’s voice and quickly step into Violet and Ruby’s room to grab the remote. I deftly change the channel to the sports news network as I sit on the end of Violet’s little twin bed decorated in purple flowers and white lace.
“…while this is still very much speculation, it appears the wheels are in motion for the league to see its first female general manager in its ninety-eight-year existence. Sources inside the Cold Fury office will do nothing more than confirm that while Brian Brannon has stepped down from his position as the team’s general manager, he will still retain his position as president and CEO of the organization. A more formal statement is expected later today.”
The male reporter turns to his co-anchor at the desk, a beautiful blonde who looks more like a beauty queen than a sports reporter and says, “So, Jessica…potentially historic news coming out of Raleigh, North Carolina, today.”
The blonde nods seriously and turns to face the camera. “Very historic and also controversial. If these rumors are true, Grayson Brannon, daughter and heir to the Brannon fortune, will become the first female general manager of a professional hockey team. I’m sure this is going to spark a lot of heated debate over her capabilities, so it will be interesting to see how this plays out.”
The male reporter nods sagely and looks down at a digital tablet sitting before him on the desk. “Already, Twitter is blowing up with comments about the potential change in management.”
A news graphic appears to the left of the reporter on the TV screen, showing some of the tweets as he reads them out loud. “Here’s one from @FuryFan4Life…What the hell is @Carolina_Cold_Fury thinking? A woman general manager? Ridiculous.”
The blond reporter props her chin in the palm of her hand, watching her co-anchor as he reads the tweets, her face the perfect mask of concerned interest.
“Gray Brannon is more than qualified. Give her a chance,” he reads aloud. “That’s from @carolina_girl_87.”
“There’s going to be a lot of polarized opinions about this,” the blonde says, and the camera zooms in on her. “But everyone needs to remember, Gray Brannon may be young, but she has the experience needed—”
I hit the mute button on the TV, not needing to hear all about Gray Brannon. I know plenty already.
“Think it’s true?” I ask Zack as I put him on speakerphone.
“No idea. I was just watching TV and this breaking news came on.”
Almost as if by eerie design, my phone chimes and a text appears. It’s from the Cold Fury office and simply says, Team Meeting 5PM.
“Did you just get that text?” Zack asks.
“Yup, and I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s true.”
Zack gives a low whistle. “Ballsy move for Brannon.”
That it is.
Moving his daughter into the position of the team’s general manager. Fucking ballsy as hell and I’m guessing it’s going to cause some dissension in the ranks.
Not from me, though. I personally think Gray Brannon can do the job. She is, after all, the one personally responsible for getting me traded to the Cold Fury, and for that alone she has my support.
Chapter 2
Gray
“I don’t even have to ask if you’re ready to do this,” my dad says to me as we take the elevator down to the basement level of the arena.
Leaning casually back against the wall, I eye myself critically in the reflection of the bronzed doors and feel confident in my wardrobe choice. Long black skirt with a lace overlay in the same color that comes about three inches past my knees. While it hugs my figure all the way down, it has a flared bottom and a small slit up the back. I paired it with black fishnet stockings and trendy heels with a pointed toe. The ruffles of a cream-color blouse peek out neck to chest from the black, buttoned cardigan, purposely form fitting so there is no mistaking the curve of my breasts.
No mistaking I am a woman walking into a lion’s den.
My makeup is applied flawlessly to enhance my pale skin and fire-red, shoulder-length hair. Said hair is styled just the way I like it—big barrel-type waves that are set to perfection when I put my fingers into my hair and give a good jazz-hands shake while bent over. After flipping back up, the wild waves and curls make me look like a windblown but stylish mess.
My look today is calculated. It screams feminine—with a slight Victorian flair thanks to my late mother’s brooch pinned at the base of my throat. It also screams sexy—courtesy of fishnet stockings, a snug fit, and four-inch-high heels. Finally, it screams of individuality, because I shunned a properly conservative suit and went with an eclectic mix so there is no mistaking the fact that I think outside the box.
It’s why I am now the general manager of the Carolina Cold Fury.
With my hands tucked into the pockets of my skirt, I grin at my dad. “You don’t have to ask. I’m ready.”
“That’s my girl,” Brian Brannon says with heartfelt affection and pride in his Irish green eyes—second generation, of course.
His words are short and tidy. Just three of them, but it’s his tone of voice and the emotion in his eyes that tell me all I need to know about a father’s love for his daughter.
“Want some advice?” he asks casually as the elevator rolls to a stop and the doors slide open.
“Sure,” I say as I pull my hands free and follow him out, the sound of my heels clicking in unison on the industrial tile floor with my father’s Ferragamo loafers.
I don’t think to question the urgency in Zack’s voice and quickly step into Violet and Ruby’s room to grab the remote. I deftly change the channel to the sports news network as I sit on the end of Violet’s little twin bed decorated in purple flowers and white lace.
“…while this is still very much speculation, it appears the wheels are in motion for the league to see its first female general manager in its ninety-eight-year existence. Sources inside the Cold Fury office will do nothing more than confirm that while Brian Brannon has stepped down from his position as the team’s general manager, he will still retain his position as president and CEO of the organization. A more formal statement is expected later today.”
The male reporter turns to his co-anchor at the desk, a beautiful blonde who looks more like a beauty queen than a sports reporter and says, “So, Jessica…potentially historic news coming out of Raleigh, North Carolina, today.”
The blonde nods seriously and turns to face the camera. “Very historic and also controversial. If these rumors are true, Grayson Brannon, daughter and heir to the Brannon fortune, will become the first female general manager of a professional hockey team. I’m sure this is going to spark a lot of heated debate over her capabilities, so it will be interesting to see how this plays out.”
The male reporter nods sagely and looks down at a digital tablet sitting before him on the desk. “Already, Twitter is blowing up with comments about the potential change in management.”
A news graphic appears to the left of the reporter on the TV screen, showing some of the tweets as he reads them out loud. “Here’s one from @FuryFan4Life…What the hell is @Carolina_Cold_Fury thinking? A woman general manager? Ridiculous.”
The blond reporter props her chin in the palm of her hand, watching her co-anchor as he reads the tweets, her face the perfect mask of concerned interest.
“Gray Brannon is more than qualified. Give her a chance,” he reads aloud. “That’s from @carolina_girl_87.”
“There’s going to be a lot of polarized opinions about this,” the blonde says, and the camera zooms in on her. “But everyone needs to remember, Gray Brannon may be young, but she has the experience needed—”
I hit the mute button on the TV, not needing to hear all about Gray Brannon. I know plenty already.
“Think it’s true?” I ask Zack as I put him on speakerphone.
“No idea. I was just watching TV and this breaking news came on.”
Almost as if by eerie design, my phone chimes and a text appears. It’s from the Cold Fury office and simply says, Team Meeting 5PM.
“Did you just get that text?” Zack asks.
“Yup, and I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s true.”
Zack gives a low whistle. “Ballsy move for Brannon.”
That it is.
Moving his daughter into the position of the team’s general manager. Fucking ballsy as hell and I’m guessing it’s going to cause some dissension in the ranks.
Not from me, though. I personally think Gray Brannon can do the job. She is, after all, the one personally responsible for getting me traded to the Cold Fury, and for that alone she has my support.
Chapter 2
Gray
“I don’t even have to ask if you’re ready to do this,” my dad says to me as we take the elevator down to the basement level of the arena.
Leaning casually back against the wall, I eye myself critically in the reflection of the bronzed doors and feel confident in my wardrobe choice. Long black skirt with a lace overlay in the same color that comes about three inches past my knees. While it hugs my figure all the way down, it has a flared bottom and a small slit up the back. I paired it with black fishnet stockings and trendy heels with a pointed toe. The ruffles of a cream-color blouse peek out neck to chest from the black, buttoned cardigan, purposely form fitting so there is no mistaking the curve of my breasts.
No mistaking I am a woman walking into a lion’s den.
My makeup is applied flawlessly to enhance my pale skin and fire-red, shoulder-length hair. Said hair is styled just the way I like it—big barrel-type waves that are set to perfection when I put my fingers into my hair and give a good jazz-hands shake while bent over. After flipping back up, the wild waves and curls make me look like a windblown but stylish mess.
My look today is calculated. It screams feminine—with a slight Victorian flair thanks to my late mother’s brooch pinned at the base of my throat. It also screams sexy—courtesy of fishnet stockings, a snug fit, and four-inch-high heels. Finally, it screams of individuality, because I shunned a properly conservative suit and went with an eclectic mix so there is no mistaking the fact that I think outside the box.
It’s why I am now the general manager of the Carolina Cold Fury.
With my hands tucked into the pockets of my skirt, I grin at my dad. “You don’t have to ask. I’m ready.”
“That’s my girl,” Brian Brannon says with heartfelt affection and pride in his Irish green eyes—second generation, of course.
His words are short and tidy. Just three of them, but it’s his tone of voice and the emotion in his eyes that tell me all I need to know about a father’s love for his daughter.
“Want some advice?” he asks casually as the elevator rolls to a stop and the doors slide open.
“Sure,” I say as I pull my hands free and follow him out, the sound of my heels clicking in unison on the industrial tile floor with my father’s Ferragamo loafers.
