Chapter Two

 

Overnight, Dustin’s comment about Price’s hand injury bothered me. He’d been right, I should have known that bit of information. It should have been in my head.

So I found myself in my father’s office at the arena bright and early with the intention of studying all of the players’ files, learning their stats and making sure “Speed” couldn’t trip me up again.

I didn’t like being caught out, not one bit.

With files spread all around my desk and set on the blue-and-white-striped couch beneath my big window overlooking downtown Orlando, I got down to business. Each player’s bio made for interesting reading. Vadmir had required knee surgery in Moscow before his transfer to the Vipers and I wondered why the hell my father had spent so much money on a player who hadn’t proven that he’d fully recovered. Phoenix and Brick both spent more time in the sin bin than was acceptable. Ramrod, well, I’d heard about the problems he and his fiancée had encountered with a crazed stalker the year before, but my father had added the insurance reports into his file and that made for extra reading. They’d had a close call.

I snacked in my office at lunchtime, too engrossed to do otherwise, and had just poured a midafternoon coffee when Mike knocked on my door and wandered in.

“Hey,” I said, looking up from the couch. “You want coffee?”

“Nah, I’m good.” He rubbed his hands together and shifted from one foot to the other.

“Something wrong?” I asked, sitting back and crossing my legs.

“Er, not, not wrong exactly, it’s just…”

“What?” I sipped my drink.

“Speed, he’s pis…fed up today.”

Ah, I’d guessed this was coming. I was surprised it had taken until three o’clock for it to be mentioned, though. “Really?” I acted surprised.

“Yeah, he seems to think you’re benching him when we meet the Rangers next week.”

I shrugged. “Yes, I did want to discuss that with you.”

“That’s good. We should, discuss it that is.” He nodded rapidly.

“It seems fair to give Jackson Price a chance to gain experience playing for the Vipers. That’s what he’s here to do, after all. I know he’s new and young, but he has a great record. My father wouldn’t have traded for him if he didn’t think he was adding strength to the team.”

“I agree, but let’s throw him on for the last period if we’re ahead. Starting with him in goal will throw everyone’s psyche off. He just hasn’t done that before, not since he arrived. What with your father being taken ill and—”

“And his hairline metacarpal fracture is healed, according to his last medical report, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Well no, I—”

“I want you to think about it, Mike, that’s all I ask. I’m not going to pretend to be a hockey coach or even a hockey expert, but I do know about finances and business. Between you and me, my father has got the finances into a mess with his excitement to keep bringing elite players to the team, extravagant merchandising and marketing plans and the upkeep of the arena. It means I have to look at players as though they’re not men at all, merely commodities.”

“Commodities?”

“Yes, contracts, employees, whatever.” I sipped my coffee again, hungering for the caffeine hit. “Stock.”

“But—”

“There’s no buts. I’m not here to be popular, I’m here to pull this club from the red and at the same time keep my father happy with the results. That’s all I want to do.”

He nodded and backed toward the door. “Yes, Miss Gunner. I had no idea we were in a mess.”

I frowned. “Can you keep that bit of information to yourself, you know, until I get my feet under the table properly? Figure out what to do.”

“Of course, ma’am. You can rely on me.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” I paused. “Is that all, Mike?”

“Yes, yes, it is, and I’ll think about putting Price out there when puck drops next game.”

“Good.” I set my coffee down and picked up Dustin Reed’s file. “Let me know what you decide.”

“Certainly, ma’am.” He turned and went from my office, half pulling the door closed behind him.

I sighed. It seemed I wasn’t going to be popular with the head coach, either, but what could I do? I was entitled to express my opinion. It wasn’t as if I was telling him what to do, just making suggestions. In the long run it could save me money, my father money, my whole damn family money.

And we had to slim down our expenses.

Dustin’s file proved to be colorful reading.

He’d grown up the eldest of three in Calgary. Seemed he’d been skating as long as he could walk and played throughout his junior high years before going to Okanagan Hockey Academy where he was quickly spotted as a talented goaltender. He then went on to play for several league teams, which included winning CHL Player of the Year before finding himself here, with me, at the Vipers. He also had a gold medal under his belt, having played for his country in the 2010 Olympics.

At only twenty-nine, he’d done a lot in his personal life, too. He’d married and divorced, no kids. Spent his summers in Austria voluntarily coaching kids from all over Europe and, back home, had helped establish a charity, along with several other NHL players, aimed at getting underprivileged kids onto the ice.

I paused and glanced out the window at the hazy sunshine and the shimmer of heat sitting on the horizon. Perhaps he wasn’t so arrogant after all. Surely someone that generous with his time and obviously good with children couldn’t be as big a schmuck as he came across.

I turned to his stats—six-feet-one and a half and a fraction under two hundred pounds. His bulk, when padded up, could certainly fill the goal. I flicked to his injuries—nothing major, slight concussion after an altercation with a Penguins player the year before. Broken nose and split lip from a high stick during a practice scrimmage—why he hadn’t been properly protected was anyone’s guess. And an appendectomy aged eighteen, performed in Ontario. I wondered if he had a scar on his lower abdomen. Of course he would have. No doubt it was silvery by now, like the one on his chin, and sitting right in that sexy bit of a man where the abdominal muscles turned into obliques, the tempting, lickable section of their hips that always made me...

A sharp rapping on my door caught my attention and I flicked the file closed, shocked at the direction my thoughts had wandered.

Damn.

There stood the man I’d been thinking about licking.

No. That wasn’t true. It was just that part of the male anatomy I’d been imagining dragging my tongue over, tasting sweat and desire.

Wasn’t it?

“We need to fucking talk,” Dustin said, marching in and slamming the door behind him.

A hanging picture of an arctic fox rattled, the metal blind against my window shifted.

Yes, it was just that bit of the male body I liked, not him. Definitely not him.

I forced myself to stay sitting, though instinct was to jump up and protect myself. He looked mad as hell. Fists clenched and his cheeks red. The scrub of coal-black facial hair that lined his jaw just made him look all the wilder.

“Talk or shout?” I asked, going for calm the way I would if a feral beast were approaching me.

“Whatever gets the damn results I need.”

“And what results would they be?” As if I didn’t know. He’d clearly run into Mike in the last few minutes.

“I thought you were just yanking my chain to get a reaction last night, when you suggested it.”

“What are you talking about?” As if I didn’t know.

“You need me in that lineup next week. Price hasn’t got that kind of big game experience yet. I’m not opposed to coming off for the third period so he can start getting those minutes under his belt, but only if we’re winning. Jesus, the Rangers have got Todd-fucking-Carty playing for them, or had you forgotten that minor detail?”

“No, of course not.” How could I? Todd was rated number-one player in the league at the moment.

Dustin slammed his hands onto his denim-clad hips and shook his head. “It’s a no-brainer. And I’m not saying it because I’m full of myself, I’m saying it because I’m a team player, and the team needs a goaltender they can trust. Me, Raven and Vadmir are a well-oiled defense machine.”

“That may be the case—”

“And so damn close to the Stanley Cup. You have to be insane.” He tapped the side of his head.

I crossed and uncrossed my legs, then wished I hadn’t when his attention slipped to my sheer black stockings and heeled sandals.

“I’m not insane, and actually it’s not my decision. I just discussed the possibility with Mike, that’s all. I’m prepared to let him have the last say. He’s the head coach at the end of the day.”

Dustin half turned, walked to the wall, and for a moment I wondered if he were going to bang his forehead against it. Instead he just groaned.

“What?” I asked.

“Mike, fuck, he’s a nice guy and all, but the way he looks at you, stutters when you’re around. Jesus, he’s got a major crush and he’ll do whatever the hell you ask him with the hope of getting into your Victoria Secret lace panties.”

“That’s crazy. No way does he have a crush on me. You’re talking trash.” Now that I hadn’t expected. Mike had always seemed a little on edge around me, but I presumed that was because he didn’t know me yet and I was in the role my father, who’d hired him, had been.”

Dustin leaned against the wall. “Crazy? Why is it so crazy that a single heterosexual man wouldn’t be attracted to a woman in sexy, tight suits, stockings and stilettoes, and, to top it all, with the power to make him bend to her will? Hell, a lot of guys have that fantasy, and you, sweet cheeks, have just delivered it to Mike on a plate. Or rather your father has.”

I stood, grabbed his folder and marched to my desk. I slapped the file down, happy to have my suit, stockings and shoes hidden from his view. “Oh, shut up, will you? You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think I have.” He turned, stalked to the other side of my desk and gestured at my chest. “But let me tell you, I’m not falling under that sexy spell of yours. I can see you for what you are. A spoiled little rich girl who has been given a new toy—us.”

Really! Had he no control over his damn mouth? It was like he just couldn’t stop throwing insults at me.

“Oh, just get out, will you? You have no idea about me, or what my plans are for the Vipers.”

“So far it sounds like your plans are to drop us to the bottom of the league.”

“Of course it isn’t, but if we do go there, don’t worry, I won’t drag you down, too.” Why the hell was I engaging in this ridiculous conversation with this infuriating man?

I sat, pulled my chair up close to my desk and picked up a pen. I had no idea what I was going to write but I needed to hold something, keep my fingers occupied so I didn’t slap him the way I’d imagined yesterday in the locker room.

He leaned forward, gorilla-like, with his fists bunched on the table and his elbows locked. I tried not to stare at the three thready bracelets he wore on his right wrist—two red and one white.

“What the hell does that mean? You won’t drag me down, too.” His voice was low and rumbling.

“It means,” I tapped the top of his folder, “that you signed a one-year contract, Mr. Reed, and it will be up for renewal in a matter of months.”

His eyes narrowed, yet still glinted menacingly. “My agent is already in discussions about a three-year renewal. That was always in the cards, from day one.”

“Discussion, that’s right. Nothing is signed and sealed.”

“Fuck, scrap dangerous, you’re lethal to this team, woman.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “You’d really risk losing me?”

I tilted my chin, not prepared to throw a retort back to that comment. His opinion didn’t mean anything. I was in charge now, in control. He was just a goaltender, a really good one, but still, a commodity. No one was irreplaceable.

He did smell nice, though. He must have showered after training and the scent of something sweet and berrylike filtered toward me.

Shame there was nothing sweet about him.

“And,” he said, “I guess you think you know me now.” He stabbed his finger on top of his file, over his name printed in black ink. “As you’ve read all about my life.”

“I’ve learned some stuff, yes.”

“Anything you want to know that isn’t covered in there?” He bit at his bottom lip, stretching that little scar.

“No, it’s comprehensive.”

“Good.” He straightened and folded his arms, making his biceps bulge as they pressed on his knuckles. “Because I’d hate for you not to have all the facts at your disposal when you bring this team tumbling to the ground.”

“I have a degree in business. I deal in facts and figures, and right now you need to understand that emotions are not part of the equation.” I raised my voice. I couldn’t help it. “I’ll do whatever I need to and in the meantime I’ll let Mike handle the team, juggle the players the way he thinks best, whatever players they happen to be.”

“Well I wish you luck, because hockey is a game that makes emotions explode, and if you’re going to ignore that, you may end up getting burned.” He stepped back toward the door.

“Thanks for your concern, but I can handle the heat.” It was a good job he’d stepped away, right now I was having visions of stuffing the pen I was holding up his nose.

“You really think so.” He shook his head and huffed.

“Yes.”

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”