A door creaks, followed by sturdy footsteps on the pavement behind me. I know who it is before I turn to look. Mattias stops when he reaches me.
“That’s a poor habit,” he says, eyeing me down the point of his nose. His skin and hair are bright in the sunlight.
“Terrible times call for terrible decisions,” I reply defensively. I don’t want him to see me dipping my toes into rock bottom, and I wish he’d just go away.
“What’s terrible?”
“Everything, honestly. Nothing you can help me with.” He doesn’t deserve my current ire, but it’s not exactly shit I can discuss with him. Being around him is only going to make this harder.
He doesn’t leave. Instead, he snatches my cigarette out of my fingers, tosses it to the ground and stomps it out. I gape at him.
The look he gives me sharpens. “Has something happened?”
“No.” Not yet, but it’s going to.
He looks like he doesn’t believe me and I glance away, not trusting my own face.
“Alright then,” he says curtly. “See you around.”
“Yeah.”
When I get in my car, I lay my head on the wheel and let the sobs I’ve been holding back wrack me.
I try to slip through the front door without notice, hoping I can at least make it upstairs for a preemptively calming hot shower before my father’s lecture, but he intercepts me the moment I set foot in the entry. “Freddie, let’s chat.”
It’s not a suggestion.
I swallow my reluctance and nod, following him. Settling into one of his chairs, I let my gaze trail over the photographs sitting on the shelf behind the desk—stopping on a photo of him and my uncle at an LA Divers baseball game ten or fifteen years ago. They really are two peas in a pod, in all the worst ways.
“Congratulations on the holiday special. The studio is officially calling it a hit.”
Of course, he’d never be proud of me on his own. Only when outside merit warrants it.
“Thank you,” I force out.
“The consulting firm has estimated a seven percent increase in team value so far this season—thanks to a combination of factors, of course. The team is doing well, the scandal reminded LA they have a hockey team, and your work has been beneficial. No official contract has been inked yet, but I’ve connected with a few potential buyers.”
Beneficial. That’s all he has to say.
“Who?” I ask.Please, be someone worthwhile,I think. The thought of Mattias ending up somewhere he hates has started to tear at my insides.
“Eros Capital Management.”
I frown,my lingering business instincts immediately telling me I won’t like where this is going. I was expecting one of the names I looked up. “That’s a company.”
“Correct. A private equity firm.”
My stomach plummets. Private equity firms are notorious for one thing: buying up profitable entities, cutting everything that makes the business function in the name of maximizing profit, and then selling them off as a husk of what they were.
They’re going to gut the Monarchs. There’s no other way this goes.
This is worse than new ownership or relocation. We’re looking at total liquidation. Horror dawns on me.
“Wasn’t—wasn’t there someone else? Some businessman or ultra-wealthy hockey fan?”
“Eros is offering me the highest return on investment.”
“PE firms are allowed to buy into the league?” That sounds illegal.
