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“Of course you do, sweetie. You have good taste.” Mom winks at her.
“Dad, I heard you made the official announcement at work about turning over the Coyotes to Trey.” Phil changes the conversation.
“Did you cry?” I ask, smirking.
Dad laughs. “Every time I told someone, I tried like hell not to cry.”
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” I say.
“Hush.” Mom waves her hand.
Dad shakes his head. “It’s long overdue, and your mother has been more than patient while waiting for this moment to come.”
“Mom, you can be patient?” I tease.
She laughs. “And you wonder why Phil’s my favorite.”
“I bet your employees are sad, Gramps,” Gwen chimes in.
“I don’t know how they all feel, but my executive assistant was upset when I told her. She’s only worked for me for a handful of months but is sharp as a whip and never complains.”
“Maeve is a peach,” Mom says.
“Wow, she must be great if you like her.” Phil smirks.
Mom’s lips curve with amusement. “She’s wonderful. It’s too bad your father didn’t have her help sooner.”
Dad nods. “That’s true. You’ll be thankful for her, Trey. I promised you would keep her on.”
I glance at Gwen. “Can you believe this? I don’t even get to pick my staff.”
She rolls her eyes. “Talk about first-world problems. Your dad is giving you a hockey team.”
My daughter is smarter than most adults.
“She makes a good point,” Terry says.
“Let me remind you, daughter, I didn’t ask my dad for the team. Not that I’m not grateful for the opportunity. I absolutely am. But I’ve made my own way in business up until now.”
Dad shrugs. “I couldn’t give the team to Phil. He hates hockey.”
“I wouldn’t say hate,” Phil defends. “It’s more that I have no interest in it.”
“In other words, Dad gave me the team because I love hockey, and he knows I’ll make sure the Coyotes continue to thrive.”
“Exactly,” Dad says. “I’ve always known Trey would be the next owner. And Phil’s already taken over the rest of Ledger Enterprises.”
Mom raises an eyebrow at Dad. “You fought me on that too. And I’m still waiting for you to stop being a consultant for him.”
“I will, when the time’s right,” he says, covering her hand on the table with his.
“Uh-oh,” Phil says, looking between our parents. “Dad, it better be sooner rather than later, or you might not survive.”
“Yeah, Mom will smother you with a pillow while you sleep,” I joke.
She shakes her head. “Poison is more my style. I’d slip it in your food, and you’d never know.”
“Boys, you heard that. If I suddenly croak, you’ll know why,” Dad says, grinning.