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club behind the golf ball. “I don’t care how many assistants she hires to tell her the difference between a cross check and slashing, she’ll never have what it takes.” He brought the club back behind his shoulder and swung. The ball shot across the room and into the center of the big net at the other end. When he’d bought the house on Mercer a month ago, he’d bought it because of the huge media room that would allow him to practice long drives inside. A wall of windows looked out at the lake and the city of Seattle beyond. At night the skyline was spectacular. “The old man could not have died at a worse time, but at least he created a strong front line before he croaked.”
    “That is some comfort. God rest his soul,” Pavel murmured as he looked down at the little radar unit monitoring Ty’s speed and tempo. The speed read 101, and Pavel’s dark brows lowered. “Is she as beautiful as her pictures?”
    “I haven’t seen her pictures.” Ty hooked another ball with his driver and lined it up on the golf mat next to the radar. He didn’t have to ask whom his father was talking about. “I don’t give a shit about her pictures.” After she’d announced earlier that afternoon that she was not selling the team, the Chinooks PR department had issueda statement to the press that landed Faith Duffy on every channel of the local news. They’d dug up film footage of her walking into an event with Virgil and had spliced it with footage of her wearing a low-cut dress from her Playboy days and smiling with Hugh Hefner.
    Ty’s phone had rung nonstop, with reporters wanting to know how he felt about the new owner, and instead of answering, he’d unplugged his phone. After Landon’s behavior, Ty was certain Virgil’s son wouldn’t have been a better choice. The man’s judgment was obviously flawed and influenced by emotion and personal motivations, which was never good in an owner. Now suddenly, a playmate was the better of the two choices. How had that happened? “You’ve seen the photos, I imagine.”
    “No. I have not.” Pavel’s eyes pinched at the creased corners as he watched Ty swing.
    The ball shot across the room and hit the red center of the net.
    “That’s surprising.” Ty glanced at the radar, then at his father: 113. He recognized that squinty glint. Pavel was sixty-five and as competitive as ever.
    “Not so much.” He shrugged and motioned for Ty to hand him the club.
    “You couldn’t find an old Playboy .”
    “No.” Pavel lined up a ball beside the radar.
    Ty didn’t tell his father that he had the magazine in his gym bag right across the room. There was just something wrong about showing it to the old man, especially when he hadn’t even seen it himself.
    “But then I really didn’t try. There are a lot of beautiful women in this world, why spend unnecessary time and energy on one?” Which summed up Pavel’s relationships with women. Even those women he’d married. He swung and the ball flew across the room and into the net. The radar flashed 83. Not bad for a man Pavel’s age, but of course it wasn’t good enough to beat his son.
    “The grip on your club is hinky,” he said and handed Ty the driver. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
    There was nothing wrong with his grip and Ty shot a few more balls into the net just to prove it. A little after ten, he flipped on his big-screen TV and settled onto the overstuffed moss-colored couch to watch the news. He thought about tomorrow night’s game and the Sedin twins.
    He thought of Faith Duffy and hoped like hell that her announcement not to sell the team didn’t throw the Chinooks off their game. Knowing who was going to end up owning the Chinooks was better than not knowing, but not by much.
    He thought about the way she’d looked that afternoon. First composed and together, then obviously shaken. Landon had called her “Layla,”which Ty figured had probably been her stripper name. Virgil’s son was an asshole.