Page 6 of The Owner

“Let’s go see for ourselves,” I say with a grin as I get up. “They’re on the ice practicing.”

We chat as we walk down the hallway and into the arena.

I grit my teeth and squeeze my hand into a fist when I see the empty ice. The Zamboni is parked in the middle of the rink and the players are hanging out on the bench, half of them on their phones.

Marsha follows me as I march down the steps. My assistant Rachel sees me and comes rushing over.

“Why aren’t they practicing?”

“I didn’t want to interrupt you during your interview,” Rachel says nervously. “They’re having problems with the Zamboni engine. A specialized mechanic is on the way.”

“Where’s Tony?” I ask, looking around.

I spot him where they drive the Zamboni in and out, and march down to chew his head off. He’s my equipment manager and should know how to fix this himself.

“Oh shit,” he says, making his phone disappear when he sees me approaching. “We have someone coming! He’ll be here any minute.”

“Any minute?”

“Forty minutes tops!”

I roll my eyes and take off my blazer. Rachel grabs it as I walk onto the ice in my high heels. The boys lower their phones and watch me from the bench.

“Forty minutes of practice time can mean the difference between hoisting the Stoney Cup over our heads and crushing disappointment,” I say as I roll up my sleeves.

“Is she going to fix it?” I hear one of the players whisper.

“No way,” another says.

I climb onto the machine and open the casing.

Like I said, my dad paid attention to detail and he made sure I knew it all, Zamboni maintenance included.

It takes about five minutes of poking around the engine to find the problem. The waterline is clogged. The heater failed and it caused the waterline to freeze.

“Look,” I say as I wave Tony over. “See how the jet is clogged on the burner?”

“Oh shit,” he groans.

“That stops working and the waterlines freeze over. Get me a heating pad. There should be one in the workshop.”

I grab a rag and wipe the clogged jet as he rushes to get it.

My equipment manager should know how to do this for fuck’s sake. Accountability, accountability, accountability. If he can’t do his job properly, I’ll get someone who can.

He comes back with the battery-powered heating pad and I get everything working and the pipes unclogged.

The Zamboni starts up and the boys cheer on the bench as I head back to Marsha, trying not to wobble with my high heels on the ice.

“Hold on,” she says as she pulls out her camera.

“What are you doing?” I ask, looking myself up and down. “I’m full of grime and oil.”

“Exactly,” she says as she takes a few photos. “That’s what I want on the cover. A woman who does it all.”

I don’t know about that.

I just want to win and I’m willing to do whatever it takes.

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