Page 1 of The Owner

CHAPTER ONE

Brantley

“Are you nervous?” my assistant Zara asks as the referee skates out with the puck.

“Have you ever seen me nervous?” I reply, watching the ice while my heart beats steadily.

“No, I have not,” Zara says with a nervous chuckle. “I, on the other hand, am freaking out.”

She starts pacing around the owner’s box as the game gets underway.

My hockey team, The San Antonio Hyenas, are about to begin game seven of the conference final. If we win, the boys will be battling for the Stoney Cup next week where the chance at greatness awaits. If we lose, the boys will be in their favorite vacation destinations with nothing but regret and disappointment waiting for them. I’m rooting for the former.

The referee drops the puck and our star center, Sebastian Kemp, explodes into action. He passes the puck back to the veteran Harris Sutton who brings it out.

“I can’t watch,” Zara says as she sits down next to me for a split second before popping back up and pacing around the private box.

Her girlfriend is a seat over. She leans over to me with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about her, she just really wants to win.”

“We’re aligned in that regard,” I say as I watch The Halifax Icebreakers steal the puck.

It’s been a season full of ups and downs. Everyone thought I was crazy when I purchased the worst team in the league.

They wondered what I was doing and why I would put myself through so much torture. Some of my billionaire friends laughed and asked why I was wasting my time with a rubbish hockey team when there were bigger fish waiting to be caught in the business world.

How could I tell them that it wasn’t about money? They wouldn’t understand the notion.

I’ve been there and done that when it comes to business. I started a mining company from scratch and sold it for 1.3 billion dollars. That was before I turned thirty. From there, I leveraged my contacts, capital, and knowledge into a start-up that launched satellites into space. That company sold for four billion. From there, I took my fortune and joined the angel investor world where I hit a few jackpots. Today, I’m worth somewhere north of twenty-six billion dollars. But who’s counting? Once you hit five billion, any additional dollar doesn’t really matter. It just seems excessive.

The crowd cheers as our future hall of fame goalie, Nolan Barlowe, makes a stop. The referee blows the whistle and the players ease up.

The young pretty waitress comes over now that the game has stopped. “Can I get you a drink, Mr. VanMorgan?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” I never drink at work.

She leans down and I get a noseful of her candy-scented perfume. I turn to her and accidentally get an eyeful of hard cleavage before looking up into her eyes. “Yes?”

“I was wondering if you would like anything else?” she asks in a seductive tone. “Anything at all?”

“Hey!” Zara says with a snap of her fingers. “Beat it, Barbie.”

The waitress rolls her eyes at Zara who’s glaring at her with her hands on her hips and leaves, thankfully.

“Once again,” I say to my assistant as she plops down into the empty seat beside me, “you have proven yourself to be worth every penny of your massive salary.”

“Speaking of that,” Zara says as she takes a sip of her soda, “if the Hyenas win the Stoney Cup, I want a raise.”

I grin as the game starts back up. “You got it.”

Zara is a dream employee. She helped me build the team to what it is today and she offers all sorts of other perks, like keeping these money-hungry women away from me.

They’re everywhere. When you’re a well-known billionaire bachelor, they come out of the woodwork to try and chip off a piece of you. Some just want the social clout of being seen with a billionaire star, some are truly starstruck, wanting photos or autographs, some are trying to get you to buy them lavish presents, some want cash for their sob story, some are trying to get in my bed, and the worst ones are trying to have my child and use it as a lifelong lottery ticket.

Thankfully, I’ve never fallen for that game.

I’ve sworn off women.

I won’t open myself up to falling into whatever trap they’re trying to set. I resigned to my fate of remaining single a long time ago.

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