Page 92 of Pucking Billionaire

My jaw twitches. “You mean besides avoiding a trip to the hospital?”

He curls his upper lip. “You know perfectly well I could take you alone, if I wished.”

“If you wished on a genie lamp, maybe.”

He grunts—which for him probably passes for an amused chuckle. “How about we make a deal,” he says, switching to English.

I arch an eyebrow and ball my hand into a fist, just in case.

“A game between our teams,” Misha says. “Not as part of the league bullshit. Just for us.”

Hmm. “Exhibition game?”

He nods.

“Fine. My team could use the practice.” Not that we’re going to gain much of that by playing this sorry bunch of Florida Men. Wrestling gators doesn’t help you navigate the puck across the ice, nor does punching sharks.

“Move aside,” Misha says to his teammates.

They get out of my way, and I sprint to where I saw Sophia.

Except when I get there, there’s no sign of her.

Maybe that wasn’t her? I search the terminal up and down, but she’s nowhere to be found.

Fuck.

On my phone, I pull up the last dispatch I got from Max and check when she’s supposed to be flying back to New York.

Okay. Unlike me, who chartered a flight, she is flying first class out of Orlando in two hours. That means I can still intercept her.

Heart hammering, I jump into a cab and bribe the driver to punch it. He does, and the next forty minutes are like a chase scene from Mission Impossible… until we hit traffic, that is.

Double fuck.

I tap the driver’s shoulder. “Can’t you do something?”

He shrugs. “This car doesn’t fly. Sorry.”

I’m so pissed I want to return to the port and beat up every single player on the Florida Bears team, starting with Misha. Alas, the traffic doesn’t let me go forward or backward, and we trudge through it with the speed of one of Sophia’s turtles. Or tortoises. Whichever.

Turns out, the cause of the traffic is something that could only happen in Orlando: an off-duty Mickey Mouse drove his beat-up Volkswagen beetle into a BMW.

The driver clears his throat. “I thought Disney employees are forbidden from taking costumes out of the park, let alone wearing them when off duty.”

“I guess someone is getting fired today,” I say with a sigh.

Once we pass that lovely scene, we get to the airport fast, for all that that’s worth. Still, just in case Sophia was late to her flight, I get out and scour the airport for her.

Nope. She’s not here.

Fucking fuck.

I take another cab to my private plane, and once I’m in the air, I entertain myself by playing out violent scenarios featuring every member of the Florida Bears, as well as dudes dressed as Mickey Mouse.

Upon landing, I decide that I can’t just go home.

Nope. I’m going over to Sophia’s mansion.

---