Ryker

I was already in my seat next to my father when I felt rather than saw Ryker start to walk down the aisle toward me. My heartbeat skittered out of control and my palms grew clammy. He kept his eyes averted, looking straight ahead as he walked—no, strutted—down the aisle. Just before he passed by, he gave me a quick look and a cheeky smile. “Good morning, Miss Brannon.”

I grinned and ducked my head before I ended up blushing like a schoolgirl idiot. I heard him tell my father good morning, and I had a stupid smile on my face the entire flight back to Raleigh.

While the players went home probably to get more rest, I went straight to the arena, which houses the executive offices. I imagine Ryker went to Zack’s house to pick up his girls, Violet and Ruby. While we had a lot of sex last night, we also talked a lot, and I found out quickly that Ryker can talk for hours about his girls. I found this to be sweetly endearing and a little intimidating. I know nothing about kids. Never baby-sat one and never even held a baby. I tend to be awkward around them, never knowing quite how to talk on their level.

Still, I loved the light in his eyes when he told me that Violet wanted to be a concert cellist although he was trying to steer her away from that because there’s no money in the arts, and that Ruby loves animals and bugs. His shudder was not very discreet when he told me that included an unnatural love of spiders, which totally made me smile. I loved all things buggy when I was growing up too, but mostly so I could dissect them and find out how they worked. I’m quite sure Ryker would not want me teaching his daughter that, because it sounds more sociopathic than budding genius.

The knock on my door startles me and I mentally slap myself for once again getting caught up in my memories. I remind myself again of the seriousness of what I’m doing, and that it has the potential to ruin me. It has the potential to ruin Ryker. We should both be running scared from each other, yet I just don’t think either of us can do it.

We’re both willing to risk it all for some secret stolen moments.

And damn…they were really, really great moments.

Hearing a knock on the door, I blurt out, “Come in,” again chastising myself to shape the fuck up. It’s time to work.

Frank Lessier walks into my office as scheduled. He walks with such an air of superiority it rankles at me hard. Especially since I know he’s the biggest opponent of my father’s naming me GM. Rumor has it that Frank’s got feelers out to move to another organization, and while I think he’s done a good job for the Cold Fury so far, I’m not going to be sad if he leaves. In five minutes I could have ten qualified replacements, and while they may not agree with my methods, they wouldn’t go overboard in trying to tear them down.

I watch silently as Frank struts in and sits down in one of the plush chairs opposite my desk. As always, he’s immaculately groomed and put together in a designer suit and four-hundred-dollar haircut. The strong smell of expensive cologne hits me hard, almost causing my gag reflex to fire up, and makes me miss that fresh scent that always seems to cling subtly to Ryker.

Concentrate, Brannon!

“Let’s hash it out, Frank,” I say abruptly, starting the meeting, which is on my turf. Letting him know I’m not afraid to go toe to toe with him any day of the week.

He casually crosses a leg over the other, flicks at a piece of lint on his knee, and gives me his attention. “I think Ryker Evans is bad news. While granted he’s playing great right now, he’s going to threaten the morale of this team eventually. That’s two teams, two teammates he’s gotten into a fight with. And he’s come out the winner in each one.”

I lean forward, cross my arms, and rest them on my desk. “Let’s just get this out of the way. I’m not even going to address the altercation Ryker had with Sutter. That’s before he came here, and while it’s not my policy to condone violence, I can understand what drove him. As far as what happened with Claude, we have to look at the circumstances—”

“For Christ’s sake, Brannon. He split Amedee’s cheek open. The guy is a walking time bomb.”

Anger flashes hot but I’m rock steady when I say, “Do you know why he attacked Amedee?”

“No, and I don’t care to. There’s no excuse for what he did.”

My lips curl up maliciously. “I’m curious, Frank. What if he said he wanted to shove his dick down your daughter’s throat? Or what if he thought your wife was too uppity but that could be cured by fucking her hard to put her in her place? What would you do if you heard him saying that?”

Frank’s face pales and he mutters, “He said that about Evans’s daughters? His wife?”

I don’t bother correcting his false assumption, because he gets my point. “I thought you said it doesn’t matter the reason,” I throw back at him.

He’s muted silent and I use the opportunity to strike fast. “I’ve already talked to Evans and I’ve fined him a thousand dollars. I’m going to talk to Amedee this afternoon.”

“What are you going to fine him with?” Frank asks, finally turning on his business mind and letting this personal antipathy toward Ryker fade for the moment.

“I’m not,” I say as I stand up from my desk, indicating our meeting is over.

He blinks in surprise as he stands. “You’re not going to fine him for what he said?”

“It’s a free country, Frank. He’s free to say whatever he wants.”