Page 5 of Sweet Pucking Revenge (2-Hour Quickies #6)

Grayson

The off-season hits Vegas like a wave of lethargy. Empty locker room, quiet halls—but today the practice facility buzzes with nervous energy. The entire team's suited up, not to travel, but to meet our new owner.

Lenora Hathaway strides into the conference room like she owns it—which, technically, she does. Tall, elegant, early fifties but wearing it like fine wine. Her Louboutins probably cost more than the Zamboni driver makes in three.

"Gentlemen." Her voice carries that practiced tone of old money. "I know you're wondering why I called you here during your off-season."

An older woman in maintenance uniform quietly enters, cleaning up coffee someone spilled.

Lenora's perfectly sculpted eyebrows arch. "We're in a meeting." Her tone could freeze hell. "I don't pay you to interrupt."

"Lo siento, senora." The woman hurries to finish.

"Get out. And in English, please. This is America, estupido ."

My jaw clenches.

"As I was saying..." Lenora continues her speech, her expression pure politics. "Gentlemen." Her voice carries that practiced tone of old money. "I know you're wondering why I called you here during your off-season."

From the corner of my eye, I catch Kyle straightening his tie, preening. He's been insufferable ever since news broke about her taking over after her husband's death, making comments in the group chat that made me want to block him.

"Hockey is a complex business," she continues. "One I intend to learn intimately."

Kyle snickers behind his hand. I shoot him a warning look.

Lenora outlines her vision for the team. She’s done her homework—talking salary caps, expansion drafts, and broadcast rights like a CNBC segment. But there's something calculated in her smile that sets my teeth on edge.

When Niklas asks an intelligent question about European recruitment, she looks right through him. "The American market is our priority. We're not running a charity for foreign players."

"And finally," she turns that polished charm on Kyle, who's somehow maneuvered to the front row, "I believe in hands-on management. I'll be personally reviewing player contracts."

"Lucky us," Kyle mutters, just loud enough for nearby players to hear. "Very hands-on."

As she keeps talking, I notice how Lenora subtly undermines everyone below her perceived status. She cuts off our veteran equipment manager mid-sentence. Ignores our head trainer's twenty years of experience with a dismissive "Well, that's one opinion."

At some point, she addresses our assistant coach. "Your contract's up for review, isn't it? Let's discuss your... value to the organization."

The threat's barely veiled.

After, in the hallway, I find the maintenance woman. "I'm sorry about that."

"No problema." She smiles warmly. "I've worked for worse."

Kyle's already on his phone. "Did you see how she looked at me? Total cougar vibe. Bet she'd love a private performance review."

I grab his arm. "Enough."

"What? Just saying, a woman like that, all that money, recent widow..." He winks. "Probably lonely."

The way he says it—like he's already plotting—makes my stomach turn. First Maggie, now Lenora. Different targets, same predator.

But watching Lenora dismiss another staff member with a cruel, fake laugh, I can't shake the feeling that maybe Kyle's not the only one playing games.