Power play, p.1
Power Play, page 1
POWER PLAY
L.A. PHANTOMS, BOOK ONE
KAT MIZERA
Copyright © 2024 by Kat Mizera
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Editing: Tera Cuskaden, Kay Springsteen
Cover Design: Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs
Cover Photography: Wander Aguiar
Cover Model: Eduardo M.
Created with Vellum
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Hit ‘em Hard (Bang Brothers Hockey, Book 3)
FOUL PLAY (L.A. Phantoms, Book Two)
Also by Kat Mizera
About the Author
PROLOGUE
Gabe
Bringing the tumbler of bourbon to my lips, I stared out at nothing. The rows of whiskey bottles on the mirrored shelves of the bar all blurred into one another as I downed my drink and motioned for the bartender to bring me another.
I was a moody bastard on the best of days, and this hadn’t been a good day.
Thinking back, I hadn’t had a good day in a long fucking time.
The meeting earlier today with my attorney and ex-wife number three had been a disaster, and it was probably going to take a lot more than bourbon to make me feel better. Hopefully, no one would recognize me as I attempted to drink myself into oblivion.
I felt the woman approaching before I saw or heard her, and I kept my head down, hoping she’d keep walking. I enjoyed the ladies, probably a little too much, but I wasn’t in the mood tonight.
Stiletto-clad feet topped by shapely calves paused next to me and a familiar soft and well-modulated voice asked the bartender for Four Roses bourbon with one ice cube.
Oh, fuck no.
I couldn’t deal with two ex-wives in one day.
Especially not this one.
“I know you see me, Gabe.” Ex-wife number one sank onto the barstool next to mine.
What the hell was she doing in Fort Lauderdale?
“Not in the mood, Harper,” I said gruffly, refusing to look at her.
“You’re never in the mood,” she said. “But you’ve been ignoring my messages, so I had to come find you.”
“Well, you found me. Now get lost.”
“Surlier than ever, I see.” She nudged me, something she’d done a lot when we’d been married. But we weren’t married anymore, and I didn’t like being nudged.
“What do you want?” I asked, lifting my glass to take another sip.
“You.”
I laughed, but it was without humor. “I doubt that’s true. Once upon a time, you couldn’t file those divorce papers fast enough.”
“Our marriage was over,” she said quietly. “But that was personal. This is business.”
I finally looked up, meeting her gaze with a frown. “What business could we possibly have? If you’re looking for some kind of delayed payout, you’re going to have to get in line because I don’t have anything left after today.”
She looked genuinely confused, frowning back at me. “Why? What happened today?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just tell me what you want and let me drink in peace.”
“I wanted to give you a head’s up about what’s coming now that the season is over.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m taking over the team.”
It took a few seconds for her words to sink in, and I had to admit, she’d momentarily shocked me. “What?”
“Edward left me the team in his will. The Phantoms. His sons are fighting me for it, but they’re going to lose. After we see the judge next week, I’m taking over. Starting immediately.”
“You’re going to run a professional hockey team?” I stared at her for a beat. Then I burst out laughing.
“Stop it.” She glared at me. “I know it’s second nature to you, but could you at least try not to be an asshole?”
I downed the rest of my drink, motioned to the bartender to hit me with another, and then looked at her. “Fine. I’ll do my best not to be an asshole. But seriously, how the fuck are you going to run a hockey team? When we were together you were just beginning to understand icing, much less the intricacies of the business end.”
“I understand a lot more than you think these days. I’ve spent the last five years learning from Edward, even as those idiot sons of his tried to run it to the ground. But that’s done now. I refuse to sit back and let them fuck it up any longer, so I’m stepping in. It’ll be big sports news soon, which is why I thought I’d give you a head’s up.”
Edward was Edward Barrowman, her billionaire late husband and the owner of the L.A. Phantoms hockey team. He’d been a shrewd businessman before he’d succumbed to cancer.
I had so many questions, but now a lot of rumors I’d been hearing made sense. I usually ignored that kind of shit, and I still didn’t know what any of this had to do with me, so I picked up my drink and took a slow, deliberate sip. I kept my eyes on hers over the rim of the tumbler I was drinking from. “What do you want from me? Advice?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She took a delicate, lady-like sip of her own drink.
I didn’t miss the irony of the fact we were both drinking Four Roses bourbon. The only difference was I didn’t take an ice cube in mine. I’d taught her to drink bourbon back when her twenty-one-year-old self had wrinkled her nose in distaste; that didn’t seem to be the case anymore.
“I’m going to bring you in as our starting goalie, and I wanted to make sure you were on board,” she said after a moment.
“Why the hell would I want to move to L.A.?” I asked. “It’s expensive as fuck, and I’m broke.”
She furrowed her brow. “That’s the second time you’ve said that. Your salaries over the years are public record, so I know you’ve been making good money. You pick up a gambling habit or something?”
“No.” I looked away, figuring there was no reason to hide anything. She had the money and resources to find out whatever she wanted to know. “There was a fucking loophole in the prenup I had Brittany sign, and instead of walking away with nothing but gifts and marital assets, she’s trying to get half of everything that isn’t in Brandy’s name.”
Her face momentarily tightened at the mention of my eight-year-old daughter. The emotion disappeared as quickly as it had come as she asked, “You can’t fight it?”
“I’ve already wasted nearly ten grand fighting it. At this point, it’s moot. So, if you’re looking for some kind of payout, half of everything is probably going to Brittany, most of the rest goes to Brandy and her mom, which leaves me with just enough to survive.”
“Trust me, I have plenty of money. That’s not what I’m after.”
“Then what?”
“I already told you—you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Unless you’d like to go upstairs and suck my dick, I can’t think of anything else you’d need me for.”
“Business, Gabe,” she continued, as if I hadn’t just asked her to give me a blowjob. “Focus. In fact, I think I’ve come up with more than fair terms.” She started to pull something out of her purse.
“I’m not interested in moving again, Harper,” I said, pushing her hand and whatever was in it back into her bag. “I like it here. And I’m tired. I’m getting close to retirement.”
“You don’t really have a choice,” she replied. “I came here as a courtesy. It’s essentially a done deal. This was worked out ahead of time, before Edward passed.”
I suddenly got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. “What are you talking about?”
“Remy Knight was a friend of Edward’s,” she said. “They came up with this plan before he died. I’m waiting for Remy to decide who he wants for you, and then we’re making the trade.”
I stared at her. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“This is how it works. You know that.”
I shook my head in frustration. “God dammit. You’re trying to manipulate me. Again. You did it when we were married, and you’re still at it now.”
“I never manipulated you when we were married,” she snapped, her eyes flashing angrily. “And like I keep saying—this is business.”
There she was.
Sexy, pissed-off Harper.
This was my favorite version of her.
Other than the version when she was on her knees with my dick in her mouth.
“Jesus fucking Christ. My life is already a shit show, and now you’re going to flush me right down the God damn toilet.” I downed my drink and motioned for another, making a mental note that I’d have to get an Uber since this was going to be drink number four.
“It’ll be good for you,” she said quietly. “Like I told you, I plan to be generous. Money won’t be a problem.”
“L.A. is ten times as expensive as Fort Lauderdale,” I replied. “You planning to pay me twenty million?”
She didn’t bat an eyelash. “No, but you can even live in my guest house if finances are an issue.”
“Look, if this is already a done deal, you might as well do whatever you’re going to do. I don’t give a fuck. It’s not like you ever gave a shit about anyone but yourself anyway.”
“That’s not fair,” she said, her cheeks turning pink. “We were young when we were together. You were just as selfish as I was. Don’t even pretend you tried to make our marriage work.”
“At least I didn’t walk away the second things got tough.”
“You expected me to stay after the shit you did?” she demanded. “You treated me like a goddamn afterthought. And when I caught you—”
“That why you married a fucking grandpa?” I interrupted snidely. “Someone too old and tired to pay attention to anyone but you?”
“Edward was a wonderful man,” she said under her breath. “And an even better husband. You don’t know a damn thing about him. Or me anymore, for that matter.”
“Don’t want to, either.” I made a shooing motion. “So now that you’ve said what you wanted to say, you should get going.”
She sighed, blowing out an obviously exasperated breath. “Dammit, Gabe. Does it always have to be like this? I need you in L.A. This will be good for both of us.”
“How, exactly, is me moving to yet another team after less than a year, good for me?”
“Money. The opportunity to make a difference in a very beaten-down locker room. A chance to be a contender once more before you retire.”
“Please.” I tipped my head back, letting a big gulp of bourbon burn its way down my throat. “If I was going to be a contender, it would be here in Florida. The Phantoms are years away from that, even if you start rebuilding right now.”
“I am rebuilding, and we’re going to get there within three years,” she said firmly. “I have a plan. I’d like it if you were on board, but as I said, this is happening whether you are or not.”
I shrugged. “Do what you have to do, Harper, but don’t be surprised when I retire.”
She downed the rest of her drink and set it on the bar with a thump. Then she got to her feet and glared at me, hands on her hips. “You know damn well you’re not going anywhere. Especially not if you’re as broke as you say you are.”
Well, she had me there.
Not that I’d admit it.
I liked having this opportunity to look at her, though. I’d almost forgotten how pretty she was with her long-lashed, blue eyes and dimples. Her dark hair was sleek and straight now, not wild and curly like it had been when we’d been together, and I had to admit both looks suited her.
She still had a fantastic rack, the swell of the tops of her breasts peeking out from the somewhat demure tank top she wore beneath her blazer. Long legs were mostly covered by a knee-length skirt, but I knew exactly what those legs looked like. I distinctly remembered what they felt like wrapped around my head too.
Fuck.
“I don’t want to move again.” I made sure to avert my gaze. “If you force my hand, I’ll retire.”
“Gabe.” She drummed her fingers on the bar.
“You can’t manipulate people until they bend to your will,” I said. “Your pretty face will only go so far in that regard. You’re what, thirty-five now?”
“Why can’t you ever be nice about anything?” she asked angrily. “I was planning to offer you a lot of money, and fringe benefits to—”
“Fringe benefits?” I arched my brows. “Like the kind you used to get your rich sugar daddy?”
I knew that was going to piss her off, but I didn’t expect the slap that came out of nowhere.
Damn, she’d learned to pack a punch over the years. So to speak. It wasn’t the first time she’d slapped me, but it was definitely the hardest.
I laughed, though. “That all you got?”
“Don’t you dare,” she said, her eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare talk to me like one of your little puck bunnies.”
“Truth hurts, don’t it, sweetheart?”
“Fuck you.”
“No thanks.”
We glared at each other in silence.
“What do you want?” Her voice came out as a low, steely growl.
“What?”
“What. Do. You. Want.” Her chest seemed to be rising and falling with the exertion of holding back since she probably wanted to smack me again.
“Lots of things.” I decided to fuck with her.
It wasn’t like I had anything to lose.
And it was kind of fun to get her all riled up.
“Just tell me what it’s going to take to get you to L.A. And no, I can’t pay you twenty million, so don’t go there. Be reasonable.”
I shrugged. “You serious? You’ll do anything within reason?”
“Yes.” She practically gritted her teeth as she waited, probably assuming I was going to say something crass. So, I went in a completely different direction.
“Get Brittany to back off.”
“What?” I’d caught her off-guard with that one because she looked completely blank.
“Ex-wife number three, the one trying to take half of everything.”
“I thought it was a done deal.”
“Not yet, but very soon.”
“And what do you want me to do about it?” she demanded.
I shrugged, pulling some cash out of my wallet and putting it on the bar. “Get her to back off. I’m sure you can afford a private detective or a fancy lawyer or whatever you billionaires do to figure shit out.”
“You’re serious.”
“As a heart attack.”
She glared at me. “You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass since the day I laid eyes on you.”
“Ditto, sweetheart.”
“How the hell do you expect me to do that?”
“Not my problem. You want me to move to L.A. in the off-season? Make it happen.”
Then I turned and walked out of the bar.
1
Harper
Most of our lives, we’ve always been warned to “be careful what you wish for.” For the first time, I understood what that meant. All I’d wanted for over a year now was to take ownership of the L.A. Phantoms. Edward’s sons had taken me to court, fighting the will and everything they could think of, and I’d remained steadfast in my determination to abide by Edward’s wishes.
I’d finally won.
The judge had told Eddie and Tim to stop being pains in the asses and to take their billion-dollar inheritance and stop wasting the court’s time.
The Phantoms were mine.
I owned a professional hockey team.
And the entire hockey world hated me.
Management. The players. Even the staff.
And they were going to hate me even more once the season officially came to an end, and I cleaned house.
This was not a job for the faint of heart.
But I’d been through enough in my almost thirty-six years on earth to be up to the challenge.
One divorce, three failed rounds of IVF, and my second husband’s long battle with cancer had left me geared up and primed for the fight of my life.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Sloane Hajek, my assistant and former daughter-in-law, asked for the dozenth time.
