Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
“Have the other owners accepted you into their boys’ club? Do they feel comfortable with having a woman owner around?”
They’re going to have to get comfortable with it. They have no idea what’s coming.
In the four years since I took over, I’ve transformed the team. We are in the Stoney Cup finals, so my results speak for themselves.
But no one is going to give me credit for that. I’m not stupid. They’re all going to say it was my father who got the team here. They’re going to say I was brought along for the ride when in reality I was driving the whole time.
My father was a great man and very knowledgeable about hockey, but he was too nice. He let things slip. There wasn’t enough accountability. Players came late for meetings. The locker room often got out of control.
I’m a lot of things, but too nice is not one of them. I’m a ballbuster. I really am a boss bitch, and proud of it.
When I stepped into his shoes and began to assert myself in the organization, I brought accountability with me. I was ruthless. No one showed up for meetings late on my watch. Every detail was looked after mercilessly.
The culture in the building changed. It became a winning culture. And soon enough, even the players and staff who called me a bitch behind my back started to be won over.
The league has no idea what’s happening here. The owners have no idea what’s in store for them.
It’s been four years of working behind the scenes and we’re already playing for the Stoney Cup. Now that I’m unleashed, I’m going to build a dynasty unlike this league has ever seen before.
First, I have to destroy the Hyenas and win that championship for my father, for my city, for my players, and for me.
The Hyenas’ owner, Brantley VanMorgan, is a new player in the field as well. He’s going to be a challenge with the team he built. I wanted to sign Sebastian Kemp in the offseason, but he beat me to it. That’s the first and last time he’s going to win over me. I’ll make damn sure of that.
My mind lingers on the billionaire owner as Marsha asks me another question. I hate that I find him so handsome. I hate how my heart races whenever I see him. He’s the enemy. He has no business making my body act like that.
“Are your Vipers ready for the spotlight?” Marsha asks. “Are they ready to take on the heavy favorites, The San Antonio Hyenas?”
“Let’s go see for ourselves,” I say with a grin as I get up. “They’re on the ice practicing.”
We chat as we walk down the hallway and into the arena.
I grit my teeth and squeeze my hand into a fist when I see the empty ice. The Zamboni is parked in the middle of the rink and the players are hanging out on the bench, half of them on their phones.
Marsha follows me as I march down the steps. My assistant Rachel sees me and comes rushing over.
“Why aren’t they practicing?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt you during your interview,” Rachel says nervously. “They’re having problems with the Zamboni engine. A specialized mechanic is on the way.”
“Where’s Tony?” I ask, looking around.
I spot him where they drive the Zamboni in and out, and march down to chew his head off. He’s my equipment manager and should know how to fix this himself.
“Oh shit,” he says, making his phone disappear when he sees me approaching. “We have someone coming! He’ll be here any minute.”
“Any minute?”
“Forty minutes tops!”
I roll my eyes and take off my blazer. Rachel grabs it as I walk onto the ice in my high heels. The boys lower their phones and watch me from the bench.
“Forty minutes of practice time can mean the difference between hoisting the Stoney Cup over our heads and crushing disappointment,” I say as I roll up my sleeves.
“Is she going to fix it?” I hear one of the players whisper.
“No way,” another says.
I climb onto the machine and open the casing.
Like I said, my dad paid attention to detail and he made sure I knew it all, Zamboni maintenance included.
It takes about five minutes of poking around the engine to find the problem. The waterline is clogged. The heater failed and it caused the waterline to freeze.
“Look,” I say as I wave Tony over. “See how the jet is clogged on the burner?”
“Oh shit,” he groans.
“That stops working and the waterlines freeze over. Get me a heating pad. There should be one in the workshop.”
I grab a rag and wipe the clogged jet as he rushes to get it.
My equipment manager should know how to do this for fuck’s sake. Accountability, accountability, accountability. If he can’t do his job properly, I’ll get someone who can.