Page 94 of A Whole New Trick

“Hell yeah!”

“We’re going to sweep the Florida Crocs!”

“They don’t stand a chance.”

I grin and listen to my teammates continue to jar about our opponents in the finals as they pass along our conference trophy, admiring the shiny hardware we worked so hard for.

We’re a good team, but so is Florida. Beating them won’t be easy, but as long as we play with the skill we showed tonight, I’m confident we can pull it off.

“And let’s hear it for Coach Miller,” Cam continues shouting.

The team cheers for our head coach.

Miller lifts an acknowledging hand. The room quiets. “I’ve never doubted this team is capable of greatness, and you men just proved it to the world.’

I join my teammates and clap.

“Now, let’s get cleaned up and back on the plane to Dallas. We have two days to celebrate before it’s back to work preparing for the finals.”

The room hoots for another few seconds before the team heeds Coach’s words and strips out of our uniforms to hit the showers.

“Larson. Someone wants to talk to you.”

I’m pulling my jersey over my head when Coach Miller addresses me. I drop the sweaty material and look over to see him standing with none other than Vincent Gianni Jr., the owner and NHL Governor of the Texas Ranchers—the same man who has been avoiding me since the trade news broke.

Vincent Jr. wasn’t the acting owner when I joined the team. His father, Vincent Senior, is the one who pushed for me to join his team when my rookie contract was up and I was eligible for a trade.

The old man and I got along great. Mr. Gianni came from humble beginnings, working his way up in the world with a hospitality business that flourished into the billion-dollar corporation he left to the middle-aged man standing in front of me. I’d respected him. And he’d respected me.

My relationship with Vincent Jr. is not the same.

“Congrats on a great win.” Vincent holds out his hand. He looks like a Bond villain with his slicked-back hair and fitted, dark suit.

I shake his hand. “Thanks.”

“It got off to a rough start, but we pulled out the W in the end. Didn’t we?”

You didn’t do shit.

“The team worked hard,” I reply, then cut to the chase. “How can I help you, Mr. Gianni?”

“Call me Vincent, please.” His lips curl up into a tense smile. “And I’m here because I’ve heard that you wanted to speakwith me about recent trade negotiations that were prematurely leaked to the media.”

“Negotiations that I’m not part of,” I point out, doing my best not to show just how irritated I am by that fact.

Not even Henry is privy to specific details about what’s going on with the higher-ups at the Ranchers and Minnesota. And he should be.

Henry’s incompetence is another reason I have Carter’s lawyer, Davis Phillips, looking into my contract with my agent. I don’t wish the guy ill, but he’s proven he’s not the best man to represent me and my interests. Not anymore.

“The board and I didn’t think it would be wise to distract you from focusing on playoffs,” Vincent Jr. says smoothly. “I’m sure you understand.”

“But now is a good time?” I cross my arms and look meaningfully at the room filled with players and staff, several of who keep looking at me and the owner with a mix of curious and suspicious expressions. I’m not the only one who doesn’t vibe with the new owner.

“Yes, if you don’t mind.”

“Let’s step into the back,” Coach Miller proposes, already heading in that direction. “There’s an office we can use.”

I motion for Vincent Jr. to walk ahead of me, then follow the men deeper into the guest locker room.

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