Page 49

That wasn’t so bad.

Maybe I do have this.

Hopefully Nicole won’t chew my head off when she gets here next week for anything I said.

She’s scarier than her wife, and Corinne Sender is plenty scary.

The hurried clicking of keyboards and scribbling of pens is all that can be heard in the press room for a pointed moment until hands start going up again.

I point vaguely to my left this time, and pray to any higher power listening that I keep not screwing up.

That’s not too much to ask, is it?

“Are you expecting any pushback from the fans?”

I stop myself from pointing out to the man asking the question that being a white boomer doesn’t automatically give him credibility or authority—that wouldn’t accomplish nearly as much as what I end up saying instead.

“This is New York City, and it’s the twenty-first century. I believe it’s high time that franchises that want to represent our great city should also emulate our culture and beliefs. I believe our fans will welcome that shift, but I also know they want their opinions heard, and I can’t fault them for that as long as they do it respectfully.”

Look at me, all media trained and shit.

“Two more questions,” I announce, then point to a woman at the front.

And it just goes to show, there are all types.

“You’ve mentioned privilege already, what is your response to the people saying that your sisters’ privilege is the only reason they could ever be presidents of major professional teams?”

“I’d tell whoever is saying it that they better hope to never find themselves in a debate regarding their sports with my sisters because they’d be trounced and humiliated. Luna knows as much about basketball as I do about hockey, and we both pale in comparison to the encyclopedic knowledge Olivia has when it comes to baseball. Aside from that, they truly love the Knights and the Keys, they each know and respect their teams’ history and legacy and want to build it up even more. It’s the same for me with the Demons.

“I know what they’ll accomplish in the coming months. I trust them with the teams, and more importantly, they have the trust of the players. I know that for a fact. If you want to criticize them after they’ve been working for a full season, then I believe they’d agree with me when I say go right ahead, but until then, if you can’t bring yourself to give them a period of grace, then I don’t think you’re a true fan. If that’s not enough for the critics, then I’d say too fucking bad.”

Cursing isn’t the brightest idea, but it just goes with the whole being a New Yorker thing, so I’m hoping the fans especially will let it slide, maybe they’ll even like it.

“Last question.” I point to the back, to the only other woman in the room.

“Tucker, are you looking to fill your father’s shoes as chairman of the board of governors as well?”

I suck in a deep breath and tighten my fists inside my pockets, then very deliberately stretch them out.

“It’s public knowledge that the board is meeting the day before the draft to pick a new chairperson, you all should know this.” I get that dig in just because. “I’ve never attended one before, obviously, and I’m eager to see what it’s all about.” I let a cocky smirk bloom at how effectively I delivered that non-answer. “We’ll see how the other owners welcome me. Thank you all for your time.”

I walk away from yet more shouting, and get the hell away from the press room as fast as humanly possible while also trying to look like I’m not running away.

Bringing up the board of governors was a dirty move, but I gotta respect the hustle. It’s a big no-no normally, but with me being supposedly the idiot jock who inherited an empire and obviously doesn’t know what to do with it, I should’ve known they’d try to get me to say something more revealing.

The owners of NHL teams are, for the most part, uninterested at the best of times, but the fact is, none of the billionaires want any information about the meetings getting out. That’s why the general public doesn’t and will never know how freaking impossible voting is for the governors, how insane it can get.

I do, because it’s the one thing Jim never stopped bragging about when it was just us.

How did he get one single person to vote for him?

Well, bribery most likely. He never let that slip, but I have a better plan than him. I know damn well every owner is ready to spend hours and hours in whatever conference room we meet in, holding vote after vote like we’re the damn Vatican or some shit, until someone finally caves.

It’s gonna be a fun day, knowing what I’m going to do. I wish I could record it only to have a record of their stupid shocked faces for posterity, but that, of course, is against the rules.

Unspoken rules, sure, but I’m already going in with a few enemies—another thing I inherited from Jim—and I’m sure I’ll make a few more by the time that meeting is done.

That’s a problem for another day.