Page 41 of Shootout Daddies
I stop in my tracks. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I crouch next to the rear wheel, running two fingers over the scrape. It’s not deep enough to be structural, but it’s definitely through the paint.
And fresh. I was down here yesterday. This wasn’t here then.
I take a breath and straighten up, jaw grinding.
I head to the front desk immediately. Security confirms the obvious—it’s a resident’s car. They’ll check the camera feeds and call the owner down.
The concierge tells me I can wait in the garage or upstairs, but I stay. I need to see who did it. And make sure I get their insurance details.
Three minutes pass. Then five.
Then I hear the elevator doors open behind me.
I turn around, ready with a firm, measured tone and possibly an insurance claim form.
And freeze.
She’s… not what I expected.
A woman steps out in a loose jersey—navy and white with the Miami Icemen logo across the front, falling mid-thigh like it’sbeen borrowed from someone else. Her hair’s pulled into a high ponytail. Bare legs. Slides on her feet.
There’s a leash in her hand, tugged by a Doberman puppy who sniffs the floor and promptly pees next to the wall.
Following behind her is a man I recognize immediately. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Black tee. Athletic joggers.
Rhett Collins.
One of the team’s defensemen. I studied every profile in the team brief. The guy’s a beast on the ice. Quiet off it. Skilled, sharp.
Not one of the ones flagged for discipline issues, but not a media darling either. The file said he kept a low profile.
The woman sees the scratch. Then me.
“Oh no,” she breathes, stepping closer. “Did I…?”
“You did,” I reply, glancing toward the Range Rover.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t even realize. Storm leaped on me when I was parking and…” She trails off, looking up at me with wide eyes. “I’m really sorry.”
The dog barks once like he agrees.
“I’ll need your information,” I say, pulling my phone from my pocket. “To file a report with the building and send to insurance.”
“Of course.” She tucks the leash into Rhett’s hand and steps closer, reaching into the oversized pocket of her jersey for her phone.
“I’m Ivy, by the way,” she says, her voice softer now. “I’m really sorry again.”
I glance at her, and for a moment I’m not thinking about the scratch or the car or my inbox. I’m noticing how her jersey slides off one shoulder. How there’s something warm in her face even though this is technically a confrontation.
“I’m Landon Shaw,” I reply. “New legal counsel for the Icemen.”
Both their faces shift.
Rhett’s brows lift. “I didn’t know we’d hired someone already.”
“Contract was signed two days ago. I’m here for the summer.”
