Page 1 of Power Play Daddies (Miami Icemen #1)
DAISY
“All right, team. Let’s talk numbers,” Janice says, fanning herself with a folder.
It’s probably the only thing keeping her alive in this Miami heat. “I know it’s hot as balls in here, but that’s nothing compared to the dumpster fire of our engagement stats.”
The conference room smells faintly of burned coffee and desperation. I sit near the back, notebook open, doodling little hockey sticks in the margins while half-listening.
Not that I don’t care—I do. More than anyone here probably realizes. It’s just hard to focus when I know the entire paper is circling the drain.
“Last week’s feature on the city’s best margaritas did okay,” Janice continues. “But that think piece about the ‘Top Five Sex Positions You’re Doing Wrong’? tanked. Like, Titanic levels of sinking.”
Someone snorts. A few other people chuckle. I glance at Logan, who’s sitting across from me, and he gives me a look—eyebrows raised, lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh.
Logan’s always been my anchor in this place, even when the rest of the staff treats me like I’m the intern who never left.
“Sex sells, my ass,” Janice mutters, flipping through her papers.
“Maybe people just don’t want to think about sweating it out in this heat,” Logan observes, his deep voice cutting through the awkward silence.
Janice glares at him. “You’ve got jokes, Rivera. I’ve got deadlines.”
Logan leans back in his chair, grinning. “It’s a gift.”
I stifle a laugh and focus on Janice, who is now listing off all the reasons we’re toast if the next few weeks don’t bring a miracle. Something about ad revenue. The usual doom-and-gloom speech.
“Any fresh ideas?” she asks, looking around like one of us might suddenly pull a Pulitzer-worthy headline out of thin air.
I clear my throat. “I’ve been thinking about doing a deep dive on the Miami Icemen.”
That gets everyone’s attention. Heads turn. Conversations stop.
“Hockey?” someone scoffs. “In the summer?”
“Yeah,” I say, straightening up. “They’re huge in this city. There’s a lot of untapped potential for stories—player profiles, behind-the-scenes access, maybe even fan culture. It’s not just hockey. It’s a community.”
Janice tilts her head, considering. “And how do you plan to get ‘behind-the-scenes access’? They’re not exactly handing out press passes to the likes of us.”
I hesitate. I don’t want to drop the Ace Carter card right away, but Logan speaks before I can figure out how to phrase things.
“Her uncle’s the head coach,” he says, leaning forward like he’s defending me in court.
Janice blinks. “You’re related to Ace Carter?”
“Yeah, on my dad’s side,” I admit, feeling the familiar twist of tension at the thought of my dad.
“Well, shit,” Janice says, her face lighting up for the first time all morning. “Why didn’t you lead with that? Use it. Milk it.”
“It’s… complicated,” I say, already regretting my suggestion.
Logan shoots me a quick glance, the kind that says, we’ll talk about that later . He’s the only one here who knows how strained things are between Ace and me.
He’s been a true friend for years, the only one who’s seen me ugly cry in my crappy apartment after my stories bomb or after a breakup. He knows how hard the topic of family is for me.
Janice waves a hand. “Complicated or not, if it gets us clicks, I don’t care. Make it happen, love.”
There’s a dismissive edge to her tone that makes my stomach tighten. I glance at Logan again, and he gives me a small, encouraging nod.
After the meeting ends, he catches up with me in the hallway. “You okay?”
“Define okay ,” I say, half-laughing.
“You’re gonna do great,” he says, bumping my shoulder with his. “And for the record, I’ll cover for you if this whole hockey thing blows up in your face. Again.”
“Gee, thanks,” I reply, rolling my eyes.
Logan grins, his easy confidence making me feel just a little less like I’m drowning. “That’s what I’m here for. Now go pitch Ace before Janice sends me out to do another ‘Top Five Ways to Beat the Heat’ listicle.”
“Beats ‘Top Five Sex Positions You’re Doing Wrong,’” I deadpan.
“Touché.” He winks before heading toward his desk, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the sinking realization that this is it. My Hail Mary.
Time to make the call.
My thumb hovers over the call button one more time before I give in and press it. The phone rings twice, then dumps me straight to voicemail. This has to be the seventh time I’ve tried reaching him.
“Great,” I mutter, tucking my phone into my pocket. “Thanks for nothing, Ace.”
The late afternoon sun beats down on me as I walk home, kicking at a pebble on the sidewalk. By now, I’d hoped he’d at least text back with a half-assed excuse. But no. Nada.
I fish my keys out of my bag as I reach the door to my apartment. Just as I unlock it, a loud meow greets me from the other side.
“Hey, Slim.”
The tiny black kitten darts out like he’s been waiting for me all day. He’s not much of a cat, really. He’s more like a dog trapped in a feline body. When I crouch down, he bats at my hand with his paw before rubbing his head against it.
“You hungry, buddy?” I step inside, dropping my bag on the floor. Slim zigzags between my legs, almost tripping me in his excitement. “Okay, okay! Food first. I get it.”
I head to the kitchen, grabbing the half-empty bag of cat food from the counter. Slim practically dances on his hind legs, his tail whipping around. “You’re a bottomless pit, you know that?”
He chirps at me in reply, hopping up on the counter as if to supervise me.
“Off,” I say, nudging him gently back to the floor. “We talked about this. Counter’s a no-go.”
After pouring his food into the bowl, I give him a little scratch behind the ears. “Eat up, Slim Jim.”
The name still makes me grin. He was the runt of the litter at the shelter, scrawny and scrappy, with the saddest little meow I’d ever heard.
I grab a soda from the fridge and sit at the kitchen table for a minute, watching Slim demolish his dinner. “You’ve got no table manners, you know that?”
He doesn’t even pause, just flicks his tail in response.
After a quick shower, I change into my comfiest shorts and an oversized Miami Icemen T-shirt. It’s one I’ve owned for years now. It used to belong to my dad. It seems appropriate to wear it today when I can’t seem to avoid thinking about my old man.
Slim follows me to the couch, leaping up as soon as I sit down. He’s in my lap before I can even grab the remote.
“Damn, give me a second.” I shift him slightly so I can aim the remote at the TV. “Let’s see what’s on.”
The sports channel comes to life with a rerun of a game from last season—one of the Icemen’s. I recognize the lineup instantly: Callahan at center, Hayes on goal. I’ve watched this game before, but I don’t mind. It beats reality TV.
“You remember this one, Slim?” I ask, scratching under his chin. He purrs, stretching out until his paws dangle off my lap. “This is the one where Callahan pulls off that ridiculous backhand shot. You’re lucky you’ve got me for commentary.”
The announcer’s voice drones in the background, but I focus on the screen. The tension between players, the energy of the crowd, the precision of every pass—it’s the kind of thing that made me fall in love with sports in the first place.
Slim rolls onto his back, swiping at the air with his tiny claws.
“You think you could take Callahan in a fight?” I ask him. “He’s scrappy, but you’re feisty.”
Slim meows, then headbutts my arm like he’s agreeing.
I glance at my phone again, hoping for a notification, but it’s as silent as it’s been all day. Ace isn’t just ignoring me—he’s flat-out ghosting me.
“Why do I even bother?” I say out loud, tossing my phone onto the coffee table.
Slim stares at me, then lets out a loud, demanding meow.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m trying, okay?” I rub his belly, and he bats my hand away. “Fine, you win. No belly rubs.”
The game cuts to a commercial and I lean back, exhaling. My chest feels tight, and not just because Ace is being a jackass. The stakes are high, and I know it.
“You think I can pull this off?” I ask Slim. “I mean, if I can’t even get him to pick up the damn phone…”
He blinks at me, unimpressed.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. Less whining, more doing.”
I reach for the remote, switching channels for a bit of variety, but nothing catches my eye. The game rerun it is. Slim settles back into my lap, his purring filling the quiet.
“Thanks for putting up with me, Slim,” I say, giving his ears another scratch. “You’re better company than half the people I know.”
He meows softly, his eyes half-closed.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” I say as I settle in for the rest of the game.