Power Play, page 5
“Noooo.” Shit, I was in trouble, so I backpedaled. “Brandy knocked the file off the counter, and I read it when I was picking it up.” Yeah, I was a jerk for throwing my kid under the bus, but that seemed safer than telling her I snooped.
“It’s none of your business!” she hissed, glaring at me.
“Look, it was an accident.” I really was a great liar when I had to be. “And it’s not like I’m going to tell anyone. I’m just curious as to why.”
“Again, not your business.” She stuffed a piece of steak into her mouth and then took a long pull of her beer.
“There are much more fun ways to make a baby,” I said lightly, hoping to change the direction of the conversation.
She rolled her eyes, shrugging. “Sex is overrated.”
I burst out laughing. “You did not just say that.”
“What? It is. Guys are so predictable. They want you to blow them and then give you a lackluster, perfunctory fuck before kissing you on the forehead, taking off, and you never hear from them again. And that’s fine if you’re up for a one-night stand. But Jesus, you go out with a guy three or four times, you start getting to know each other, and then bam, he gets what he wants and he’s out. I don’t need that bullshit at this stage of my life. At least be fucking honest about your intentions.”
“Yeah, but wouldn’t it be more fun to get knocked up that way instead of picking a name out of a book and doing it in a doctor’s office?”
“More fun, sure, but you never know if the guy is going to want to be part of the baby’s life. That’s what I don’t want. With a sperm donor, I know for sure he won’t.”
“You’d rather raise a kid on your own instead of having any kind of father in their life?”
She hesitated, the anger all but visibly draining from her. “I think so. If we’re not going to be a couple anyway, why add the complication? I have the resources to give him or her the best of everything, so I don’t need the stress of some absentee father coming and going, potentially letting both of us down.”
“Not all of us are like that,” I said, suddenly feeling the urge to defend my gender. “Brandy’s mom and I were terrible together, but we’ve worked hard to never let Brandy see it. I do my best to be there for her in the important ways, even if it’s not on a daily basis. I send more money than the court mandates, and I spend time with her in the off-season. It’s not perfect, but she knows I love her and will do anything I can for her.”
“Most men aren’t you, Gabe.” She said it so softly I almost missed it.
It had been a long time since she’d given me a compliment of any kind, and I was momentarily shocked into silence.
And why the fuck did it feel so good to hear her say something nice about me?
I was an idiot.
I didn’t need her approval, or anyone else’s for that matter.
Eating together had been a dumb idea even though my only intention had been to smooth the wrinkles of our relationship since we’d be seeing a lot of each other.
“Did it ever occur to you you’re being selfish?” I asked, opting to risk annoying her. “A boy needs a male role model. You going to teach him to skate or hit a baseball or shave, for that matter?”
She made a face. “I have plenty of male friends, and an entire hockey team at my disposal to teach him sports. I’m sure we can figure out shaving and how to put a condom on when the time comes.”
I snorted out a laugh.
She really was a ball buster.
“Touche. But I don’t know, Harper. It seems like you’re doing this for you, without taking the kid’s needs into consideration. You and I know firsthand how damaging it can be without involved parents.”
That might have been a low blow, because we’d both had rough childhoods. She’d grown up in the foster care system and I had an absentee mother who drank too much along with an abusive father.
“I’ll never let a child of mine go into foster care,” she snapped. “And I sure as fuck won’t let anyone abuse them.”
“And what if something happens to you?” I shot back. “Then what?”
She gave me a direct look filled with venom. “Remington Knight and his wife will raise him or her. I’ve already discussed it with them.”
Oh, shit.
I’d had no idea she had that close of a relationship with the billionaire owner of the Lauderdale Knights hockey team. No wonder she’d been able to trade for me without any issues.
“I didn’t realize you were that close to them,” I said after a moment.
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” she replied, picking up her beer. “But anyway, this entire conversation is moot. I’m going to hold off until next summer and then reassess. I don’t have time to be pregnant or have a baby right now.” “So, moving on, what we should be discussing is what you’re going to pay to live here.”
Oh, yeah, I’d pissed her off.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, trying to switch gears.
“You know, your share of the utilities, that sort of thing.”
“Right. Just tell me what you think is fair.”
“A thousand dollars a month should cover your share of electricity, water, cable, internet, and whatever else I’m not thinking about.”
I nodded. “Sure.”
“And you can pay the cleaning service directly. Della said she would talk to you once she got an idea of what you needed. She’s coming Tuesday morning. I’ll be in Vegas, so will you be here to talk to her?”
“I’ll make sure I am.”
“Great.” She got up and carried her plate to the sink, rinsing it before putting it in the dishwasher.
I watched her work suddenly feeling like an ass.
We’d been having a nice dinner and I’d gone out of my way to piss her off.
That hadn’t been my intention, but it seemed to happen organically when we were together, almost like I couldn’t help myself. It had started the last year of our marriage and apparently it was still going on even after nearly a decade apart.
That was our M.O.
Everything would be fine and then one or both of us would say something to aggravate the other and, before we knew it, we’d start fighting. Of course, back then fights would be followed by makeup sex.
Sex so good it was worth all the arguing.
Until it wasn’t.
Until the fighting and silent treatments and tears had gotten to be too much.
Until she’d accused me of doing something I hadn’t done and refused to believe me.
I would never deny I hadn’t been the ideal husband, but I’d loved her and had been faithful. I’d done a lot of other dumb shit, but I’d never cheated.
And I’d never forgiven her for losing faith in me.
“Thanks for dinner,” she said abruptly, as if she knew exactly what I was thinking.
“Oh. Well. Uh, I was cooking anyway.” I paused. “You didn’t eat your corn.”
She frowned, as if she’d forgotten about it. “I guess I didn’t.”
“Come on, you know I like to make you crazy, but grilled corn is your favorite. Don’t miss out just because I can’t shut my mouth.”
She gave me a wry smile. “Yes, you do like to make me crazy, and yes, it’s still my favorite.” She grabbed a paper towel and then came back to sit beside me, plucking an ear of corn off the platter and biting into it. “Mmm. Yum.”
Christ.
She was beautiful, with a body made for fucking and a face that could’ve graced magazine covers, but the simple act of watching her eat corn on the cob was somehow incredibly erotic. Or maybe it was the little sounds of pleasure she was making, which reminded me of how she sounded when I was inside of her. It could have also been the delighted twinkle in her eyes as she went to town, entirely unconcerned with the little kernels spotting her cheeks or the butter dripping down her chin. Which of course reminded me of things I absolutely did not need to be thinking about.
My cock disagreed, though.
He’d sat up and taken notice, forcing me to cross my legs to prevent embarrassing myself.
“I haven’t had this in a long time,” she murmured. “It’s so good.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” I playfully handed her a napkin. “Maybe a little too much, though.”
“Oops.” She quickly wiped her face before digging in again.
There had always been something about her that lured me in.
We’d met at one of my hockey games when we’d been in college and there hadn’t been a chance in hell I wouldn’t take her home that night. So, I’d done it. And she essentially never left. She unofficially moved in that first night and we’d been together until the day she’d told me she was filing for divorce. I’d let her go because I’d been hurt and pissed off. In retrospect, I’d never loved anyone else the way I’d loved her.
I wouldn’t even try to pretend she wasn’t the reason my two subsequent marriages had gone bad.
What a shame it was that we’d never get back the magic we’d once had.
Not being at each other’s throats every minute would be a nice change, though.
I had to work on muzzling myself.
She finished the corn far too quickly, getting up and washing her hands in the sink.
“Well, that was deliciously messy,” she said. “Are you done? I need to clean up and do some more work.”
“I can help,” I said, strangely reluctant to go back to my incredibly quiet guest house. I usually preferred to be alone, but it was different with Harper. She still had a hold over me I couldn’t explain.
It was ridiculous.
It was even more ridiculous how nice it felt to be in her kitchen, eating together, helping her put everything away, and just hanging out. We weren’t even talking but we didn’t seem to need to.
We’d had a lot of moments like this when we were married.
Being with her had been so easy back then.
Oh, what the hell was wrong with me?
I needed to go out and find some sweet young thing willing to let me do dirty things to her until I fucked Harper right out of my system. Things that would make me forget how comfortable it was to spend time with her. Or how relieved I was that she wasn’t going to make a baby with some stranger.
If anyone got her pregnant, it should be me.
The thought nearly made me drop the plate in my hand.
Where the hell had that come from?
I didn’t want any more kids.
I barely had time for the one I had.
A baby with Harper would be a huge disaster.
And yet, it wasn’t the worst idea in the world either.
Why couldn’t I be her sperm donor when the time came?
She wanted to raise the kid on her own anyway, and I’d have the option of being in its life without any pressure.
Right?
Fuck, what was I thinking?
This was a bad idea.
A terrible idea.
“Harper, let me…” She was reaching up to put something on a high shelf and my hand brushed against the side of her breast as I moved to help her. My arm briefly skimmed hers as I took the bowl from her, and it was like a jolt of electricity whipped through me.
How long had it been since I’d touched her?
And why had I thought it would somehow be less enticing after all this time?
I had to get out of here.
Immediately.
Before I said and did something stupid.
Something I couldn’t take back.
“Dinner was great,” I said abruptly, wiping my hands on the dish towel. “But I need to do a few things myself. I’ll see you later, Harper.” Without another word, I grabbed the platter I’d brought the food in on and made a beeline out the door.
7
Harper
The aftermath of the entry draft was intense.
Everything in Vegas was a party, but there was a lot of business that went on as well. Business that probably wouldn’t have included me had it not been for my friendship with Remy Knight and the fact that I had Dom and Henrik with me. Most of the other owners smiled politely and then talked around me. It was incredibly annoying, but short of being rude, it wouldn’t be easy for me to break into their circles.
Many of them had known Edward, and they’d always treated me like a pretty arm adornment. It had been frustrating then, but that was how I’d gotten friendly with Remy and subsequently his wife Noelle. There were a couple of others who were nice, like Gage Caldwell, who owned the Alaska Blizzard, and Lonnie Finch, who owned the Las Vegas Sidewinders. The rest avoided me like the plague.
“You need to go down to the bar and play nice,” Remy murmured in my ear. “I know it’s hard, but you’ll never earn their respect if you run and hide.”
I nodded, steeling myself. “I know. I’m on it.”
“Don’t worry.” Noelle squeezed my arm. “I’ll stay nearby in case you need to be rescued before you say something scathing.”
I laughed. “So you’ll be glued to my side all night?”
“If necessary.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Look, you know what you’re doing,” Dom said quietly. “Don’t let the good old boys’ club get to you. Talk about what you know—which is a lot. Discuss your plans and vision for the team. You don’t have to give away the details, just let them know you’re actively working to make us better.”
“I will.” I took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s go.”
We moved to the hotel bar en masse, and while it was nice to have my core group of friends as protection, for lack of a better word, I needed to do this on my own. I needed to show the hockey world I deserved to take over the team. That I was more than just Edward Barrowman’s rich widow.
God, it was hard feeling like I had to constantly prove myself just because I didn’t have a penis.
To be fair, there was also the added factor of not being an athlete and never having worked in hockey before. I had an MBA, so I was educated for the business side of things, and I’d spent five years working as a marketing manager for a small software company. I didn’t know if that would impress anyone, but at least I gave a shit about the team. Not like some of these guys who used them as tax write-offs.
“How’s it going, Harper?” Stan Remick, the GM for one of the teams in New York, approached me with a smile, holding out his hand. We’d met on several previous occasions.
“Hi, Stan.” I shook his hand. “I’m doing well. Nice to see you.”
“Leanne and I were sorry to hear about Ed.” His eyes held genuine sympathy. “I hope you’re doing okay.”
“Time heals all things,” I responded, nodding. “It gets a little easier every day.”
“Well, it’s nice to see some new blood around here. I get tired of looking at the same faces, year in and year out. Everyone treating you okay?”
I chuckled. “I think you know the answer to that. But at least their mistreatment mostly consists of ignoring me.”
He made a face. “Don’t worry. Just focus on what you’re doing for the team. Everything else is just bullshit and background noise.”
I smiled.
Bullshit and background noise.
That might be my new catch phrase.
“Thanks, Stan.”
“Talk soon.”
He ambled off and I moved to the bar, ordering a tumbler of bourbon with an ice cube in it. True bourbon drinkers would have something to say about watering it down, but I didn’t give a damn what anyone thought about how I drank my whisky. I had more important things to worry about.
“Still pretending to like bourbon.” The voice behind me made me freeze.
Fuck.
“No, Eddie, I’m not pretending anything,” I said quietly, turning to face my former stepson. “I actually enjoy bourbon. What are you doing here?”
“These people are my friends. I was invited.” He smirked.
I was reeling on the inside, but I’d be damned if I let him see it.
It was so hard to look at him because he was the spitting image of his father, just thirty years younger. Sometimes I found it impossible to believe a kind, articulate man like Edward had raised not just one, but two complete assholes. Of course, according to Edward, they were like their mother.
“Have a good time.” I turned to go, but he snaked out a hand and grabbed my arm.
“Just because you won the court case doesn’t mean you’ve won everything,” he hissed. “These people will never accept you, will never make deals with you, and will never respect you. The team is going to fall apart with you at the helm. Is that what you think my father wanted?”
I shook my head. “I know it’s hard for you but try to keep up. I’m already accepted and making deals. And I don’t really give a shit if they respect me. I’m going to love laughing all the way to the championship.” I yanked my arm free and turned on my heel.
He said something as I walked away, but I was moving too fast to hear it.
Asshole.
Vegas had been exciting but exhausting.
Seeing Ed had been frustrating.
There had been a lot of nice people too, though.
Friends of Remy’s and Gage’s, people Dom and Henrik knew, and a few people I met for the first time, so I’d expanded my professional circle quite a bit. Some of those people probably didn’t know what to think about me, but as long as they didn’t make negative assumptions, I didn’t mind taking the time to build those relationships.
I’d met a lot of people as Edward’s wife, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they didn’t even recognize me. Older men with attractive, much-younger wives were a dime a dozen in this world, so I had to forge my own road now that I was in charge of the Phantoms.
It had been a brutal couple of days, wining and dining and putting on my professional face day in and day out. I’d never been so glad to get home and sleep in my own bed. I had things to do around the house and needed to get to the office at the arena for a few hours, but I took a day to get a manicure and pedicure, along with a massage and facial. Finding my Zen and trying to push away all the stress had seemed necessary for a multitude of reasons.
