He dropped the towel and ran his fingers through his damp hair. He had heard that morning that the Widow was planning to sell the team to Virgil’s son, Landon. The little Ty knew of Virgil’s son, he pretty much figured that Landon was a massive tool. But he also figured it was better to be owned by a tool than a clueless trophy wife.

“Who’s gonna bring the cigars?” defenseman Alexander Devereaux asked as he buttoned his dress shirt.

“Logan,” Ty answered and lowered his hands to the towel knotted at his waist. “And make ’em Cuban, eh?” The thick cotton fell to his feet and he opened his sports bag sitting on the bench. He pushed aside an old issue of Playboy that Sam had given him and grabbed a pair of clean underwear. Even though he really didn’t have a burning urge to see Mrs. Duffy in the buff, he’d probably take a look at it when he got home.

“Me?” Logan shook his head. “Why me?”

“’Cause you’re a rookie,” Sam answered the obvious.

Ty pulled on his black boxer briefs and adjusted his junk. The Vancouver press would be waiting for him and he wasn’t looking forward to the walk from the locker room to the bus. The sportswriters had been brutal when he was traded. He didn’t expect that they’d go easier on him tonight.

And he was right. He got three steps out of the locker room before the first question was fired at him.

“The Chinooks only had sixteen shots on goal tonight. What happened to ’The Firing Squad’?” a reporter from the Vancouver Sun asked, referring to the forward line of Ty, Daniel Holstrom, and Walker Brookes.

Ty shook his head and kept on walking. “It wasn’t our night.”

“With the organization in so much turmoil and up for sale,” another reporter commented, “that has to affect your play and your chances at the cup.”

“It’s early in the playoffs season.” He shoved up one corner of his mouth and didn’t miss a beat. “I’m not worried about it,” he lied.

“Savage! You traitor. How does it feel to be owned by a woman?”

He kept walking.

“I hear she’s going to paint your locker room pink.”

“No. Salmon,” another reporter added. “And put bunny ears on your fishy.”

“Does she sign your check wearing her tail?” That got them all laughing.

Even though they weren’t the least bit funny, Ty smiled and laughed along with the reporters. “I don’t care what Miss January wears when she signs my check. Just as long as she signs.”

“What about the announcement that she’s in talks to sell the team?”

“Don’t know anything about it.” Except that he hoped it was all wrapped up soon. Protracted negotiations would affect the team. He held up one hand and walked out the back door of the arena. “Good night, gentlemen.”

It was Miss July. She’d been Miss July.

“It wasn’t enough that you are a shameless gold digger. You’ve turned my father’s team into a laughingstock. You’re an embarrassment.”

Faith looked up from the sports section on the table in front of her. If Ty Savage was going to make a derogatory comment about her, he could have at least gotten the month right. “Your father gave me the team,” she pointed out. “He wasn’t embarrassed by me.”

Landon Duffy frowned across the table from her. He looked so much like his father it was disconcerting, but while Virgil’s icy blue-gray eyes could be shrewd, Landon’s were cold. And today they were downright frozen over, letting her know just exactly how much he resented having to pay 170 million for a team he considered his. “He was a senile old man and easily manipulated.”

“Not so easily, or we wouldn’t be here. You’d already have the team instead of me.” Landon was one of the few people who intimidated her. A lot, but that didn’t mean she had to show it. She looked to the left at her attorney. She didn’t have to be here today. Her lawyers could have handled everything, but she didn’t want Landon to know he scared her. “Let’s get this over with.”

Her attorney slid a letter of intent across the table to Landon and his team of lawyers. As they looked it over, Faith thought about her own lawyer’s advice that they should entertain other offers. He’d said something about long-term tax advantages, operating-cost certainties, salary caps, and cross merchandising that would attract other potential owners and drive up the price.

Faith wasn’t interested in the money. Just that she end any future dealings with the Duffys.

If Landon had been a different man, a nicer man, she probably would have just given the team to him. The 50 million Virgil had left her was more than enough money. But, she supposed, if Landon had been a different man, a nice man, his father would have left him the Chinooks in the first place. And if Virgil had been a different man, a more forgiving man, he would not have seen to it that his son pay dearly for their contentious relationship.

Faith stood and smoothed the creases out of her camel hair skirt. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to discuss the details.” She grabbed her red wool coat from the chair beside her. She turned to her lawyer and said, “I’ll be at the Chinooks offices in a meeting with management to let them know of my decision.” She didn’t know the coaches or any of the management, but she figured they deserved to know what was going on. And she figured it was her place to tell them rather than let them hear it from her lawyers or from the media. She’d tell them how much the organization had meant to Virgil, and reassure them that they’d be in capable hands with Landon. As much as she hated Landon, that much was true. “Call me when you’re finished here.”

Landon signed his name with a flourish and then looked up. “Make sure you don’t take anything out of that building. Nothing there belongs to you.”

Lord, his continual insinuations that she was a thief were tiresome, but something she wouldn’t have to put up with for long.

“Everything there belongs to me until we sign the final papers and your check clears.”

“Just remember what I said,

Layla,” he added, using her stage name.

She grabbed her clutch from the table and held it against the turmoil twisting a knot in her stomach. She’d dealt with men like Landon for most of her life. Demeaning men who were offended by her mere presence even as they undressed her with their hot eyes. No matter that she wore a sweater that covered her from her chin to her wrists, and her skirt hit just below her knees, to them she would always be a stripper who took her clothes off for money. No matter that they were the heads of philanthropic organizations that raised money for the less fortunate. They resented her for daring to breathe their exclusive air.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Landon what he could do with himself. She could feel Layla coming to the surface to kick ass and take names. But that’s what Landon wanted, and she could almost hear Virgil whispering in her ear.

Landon’s a piss ant. Don’t let him win. Don’t let him see that he gets to you. Faith clamped her teeth shut and her mouth curved into a pleasant smile, a trick she’d learned since becoming Virgil’s wife. She shook her head as if to say he couldn’t bother her, and the end of her ponytail brushed the backs of her shoulders. She did not want to let Layla out. Layla was trouble, and Faith did not want Landon to win. “Good day, gentlemen.”

The heels of her Christian Louboutin leopard-print pumps tapped across the hardwood floors of the law office. She shut the door behind her and pulled a breath of clean air deep into her lungs. That had been close. She hadn’t let Layla out in a long time. Not since she’d had to pretend that she liked having men stuff money in her G-string. Layla was a fighter and a survivor, and she’d tell Landon to kiss her ass.

She pushed away from the door and threaded her arms through the sleeves of her coat. One of the benefits of selling the team was that she’d be free of Landon and his family. No more picking her way through that fractious web.

The drive to the Key Arena took twenty minutes and gave Faith a few extra minutes to tell herself she was doing the right thing. Virgil had left the Chinooks to her, not Landon, but it had probably been his intent that she sell the team to her stepson. Right? Or would he have been angered by her decision? She just didn’t know, and she wished Virgil had talked to her about it before he’d died.

A cool drizzle wet the windshield of the Bentley as she pulled into the parking garage and into a reserved space. The business offices for the Chinooks were on the second level, and everyone was already seated when she walked into the room. She recognized most of the men sitting at the long table from Virgil’s funeral. “Hello,” she said as she made her way to a vacant chair in the middle. “I hope I haven’t kept you all waiting,” she added, even though she knew she was right on time.

“Not at all.” General manager Darby Hogue stood and offered his hand across the table. His brown eyes were as warm as his palm. “How are you doing?”

“Better.” Which wasn’t necessarily true. She missed Virgil every day, and there was a large hole in her heart. “Thank you for asking.”

Darby reintroduced everyone in the room, starting with executive management, continuing around the table to include the hockey operations staff and concluding with the big captain of the Chinooks sitting at the far end of the table. Roughly eight men and her. Some of them more rough than others. Or rather,

one more rough than the others.

The last time she’d seen Ty Savage, he’d appeared more civilized, in his designer suit. Today his volatile blue-on-blue eyes looked across at her from beneath his black brows, and he didn’t look civilized at all. His arms were folded across his muscular chest covered in a white T-shirt. The words “Chinooks Hockey” were printed in black up one of the long sleeves. It was just after noon and he already sported a five-o’clock shadow. “Hello, Mr. Savage.” Why the captain of the team needed to be in on the meeting, she didn’t know. Although she supposed it didn’t matter.