I lean back in my chair, doing everything I can not to scowl. “You trusted me enough to sign me on to your team. Winning means the same to you as it does to me. Without me, there’s a good chance your first year in the league is going to be unremarkable. And I know you better than to accept that sort of reputation. You want to stand out. To show your investment pays off. Can you really do that if you let one of your best right-wingers sit out and watch all season? You didn’t pay me thatseven-figure sum just so I can watch us get decimated by the other, more established teams. I know what it takes to win, what the other teams’ weaknesses and strengths are, just as much as Clarkson and Hoffman do.”
He’s more prideful than I am. The Yokavs don’t spend their money on things they think are a waste of time. If I weren’t married to their daughter, perhaps I’d still wind up on his team. I’d still have the stats that prove I’m a worthy investment. Whether he likes it or not, he’s stuck with me, and very little can void that contract.
His fingers flex around his glass because he knows I’m right, and he hates it.
Emaly must have been paying attention the entire time, because she clears her throat and interjects, “He’s right, Daddy. You need him. Let him come in and get to know his new teammates. If you isolate him from the others, he won’t be able to give his all on the ice when the season starts. They won’t be compatible or in sync. Isn’t that as important in ice hockey as it is in figure skating?”
I cover her hand that’s still placed on my knee as a silent thank you. She hates bringing up skating because it’s a path she never went down, like her family wanted. The topic is a source of contention between them. But she makes the point anyway for me.
“I’m not asking for a lot,” I tell her father. “But you already sent me the money from the contract, so you might as well use me.”
My father-in-law is quiet for a long time as he looks between his daughter and me. He doesn’t like me, and he never will. Not for Emaly. Probably not for anybody. But he’ll be placated if I can bring us a win on the ice. That means being allowedonthe ice.
“I’ll make sure you get the schedule by tomorrow,” he tells me, finishing off his drink and lifting his empty tumbler for the waitstaff to see.
As if on cue, a waiter comes over with as much grace as possible for someone speed-walking and takes it from him. “I’ll be right back with your next one, Mr. Yokav,” the twenty-something-year-old says, before heading to the bar for a refill.
Drink number three, if I had to guess.
Emaly’s hand squeezes the spot above my knee when her mother says, “Now that’s settled, we should discuss the foundation dinner coming up. You’re both expected to be there. I’ll make sure you have something appropriate to wear, Emaly.”
Backhanded compliment number one of many. Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not allowed to drink tonight, or it’d become a game that neither Emaly nor I would be able to walk away from without severe alcohol poisoning.
“Looking forward to it,” Emaly tells her mother with a secretive smile that only I understand.
Because it’s the same insincere response I gave her when she told me about dinner tonight.
I hide my smile behind my water glass.
Emaly leans her chin on her palm and asks the one question that’s always bound to take the attention off of her and me. “How is Sasha doing?”
CHAPTER NINE
Winter
Idon’t usethe phone number given to me, no matter how much I want to. Because what the fuck. What. The. Fuck.
It’d taken me a week of nonstop calls to the director of Fairbanks’s animal shelter to agree on a date and time for Moskins’s event, only to get booted. The director is a seedy older man with very little enthusiasm about the situation, despite the kind of press it could bring for their organization. Which, frankly, could use the donations. They’re overfull and underfunded and need someone like Moskins to come in and save them.
He acted as if I was asking him to give away free animals and do surgeries at no cost to the public. I’m trying to run them into the ground; I want the opposite results. I’d been flipping off my phone receiver the entire time he questioned what he would get out of it.
All that work. Gone.
And if I had to guess, it’s because Moskins is mad at me. Or maybe he’s angry at his wife for giving me both of their numbers.
Kourt:Let’s egg his car
I snort at my sister’s reply after explaining that my Friday is now clear, thanks to my client getting his manager to pull me from my own event. It’s all Thomas Moskins’s fault. His agent called Janel, saying he thought it was best if I stayed out of the shelter event—that he would ensure everything ran smoothly.Janel, to her credit, fought for me. Her confusion matched my own when he told us that it was better I didn’t wind up in any more photos together. Neither of us knew what he was talking about.
Until Farrah had shown us an image of me and Moskins that was posted onhisaccount.
Not a picture I took.
Not one I posted online and tagged him in.
But I was still paying the price for his choice.
So, did I want to call him up and bitch him out? Yes. But did I want him to have my number and use it as leverage to get me kicked completely off his case? No.
