Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I know it’s always been a dream of his to be captain in the professional league, but I guess things change when you have kids. Now he’s just happy to be along for the ride. Don’t get me wrong, he still works his ass off for his team and is one of the best players in the league, but being captain is no longer on his radar.
But me, I want this. I’ll stop at nothing until I’ve succeeded. That doesn’t just mean I only want the title. I want to earn the position and be the best damn captain the LA Storm has ever seen. I want my team to look at me and know I was the right decision, and trust me to get them right through to the championship.
I’m going to lead this team to victory, even if it’s the last thing I do.
Chapter 5
SOPHIE
Well, don’t I just feel like a big, old, saggy cunt?
Tank knows me well enough to know that I’m following a new lead, despite me not saying a word, but it feels wrong that I didn’t come right out and say it.
I guess I was trying to avoid the inevitable fight that would have come with it. Maybe fight is the wrong word. He would have gone on and on about how I should be relaxing and how my job is too dangerous, blah, blah, blah. But then I would have jumped his bones and rocked his world until he forgot what we were talking about. Though jumping his bones is a little harder now that this bump is in the way, but that just means we have to be a little more . . . creative.
Dani always complained that sex during pregnancy was uncomfortable and that Miller hated the idea of invading his unborn child’s space—as if he was going to poke his baby in the eye or some shit like that. Tank and I certainly don’t have those reservations. No matter what the occasion, sex is fun . . . Actually, it’s a hell of a lot more than fun. It’s explosive, especially with a machine like Tank. Mind blowing doesn’t even seem to cover it.
I got up at the crack of dawn this morning to find Tank already gone, probably already a few hours into his training. Even though the season hasn’t started yet, his training sessions have been getting longer and harder, pushing himself to his limits. I have no doubt that his dedication will earn him captain this season, and I’m already so damn proud of him. I can’t wait to see him in action again. Watching him dominate the ice is one of the sexiest things known to man. God, it makes me so proud . . . and hot.
After planning out my day and putting my breakfast dishes into the dishwasher, I shower and get ready for work, making sure I look professional, yet innocent.
I go over the notes I made last night about the case of the dead CEOs and get myself out the door. Twenty minutes later, after checking in with Jen, I pull up at the office of First Choice Construction, and I’m back out the door within the hour. There’s no way that old guy did it. That old asshole could barely lift his hand to scratch his own ass, and as bad as it sounds, I wouldn’t be surprised if he were to croak over the next few weeks anyway. Besides, I didn’t feel it in my gut. This guy might be guilty of something, but he’s not guilty of this.
Getting back in my car, I make my way across the city to Baxter Corporation. I double-check my notes and take a quick look at the photo attached to his name, Christian Baxter. The guy is in his mid-thirties and looks like an absolute sleazeball. He built his company off the money given to him by his mommy and daddy, and from the news articles I could find, he’s a real loser.
After touching up my lipstick in the rearview mirror, I get out of my car and glance up at the massive skyscraper before me. Not wanting to be here any longer than necessary, I head inside and over to the reception desk. “Hi, I’m Sophie from Daily Star. I’m here for my scheduled appointment with Mr. Baxter,” I lie.
The receptionist inspects her schedule and gets a nervous look on her face, her brows furrowing with unease. “I’m sorry. Sophie, is it? I don’t have you down for an appointment.”
“Oh? I spoke with Mr. Baxter himself last Thursday. He specifically scheduled an appointment with me for 11 a.m. Shall I give him a call?” I ask, pulling out my phone and making a show of searching through it.
Her eyes widen with fear and it makes me wonder what kind of boss Baxter is to have his staff running scared of a hypothetical schedule mix up. “Oh, no, no. That won’t be necessary,” the girl says, looking deathly pale. “Go on up. He’s on level 38.”