Romances de dqueens703

Tessa’s kitchen smelled like burnt toast mixed with bad news.“Don’t read it on an empty stomach,” she said, sliding her phone across the table. “That’s a medical recommendation.”Sienna read it anyway.FROM WEDDING PHOTOS TO WINNER’S CIRCLE: WHO IS THE RENEGADES’ MYSTERY HEIRESS?Underneath, in smaller type, a quote from “a source close to the organization”:“Six months ago she was a broke photographer nobody had heard of. Now she’s signing checks for a professional sports team. People work their whole lives for opportunities like this one. She just married well, divorced better, and got lucky with a will.”Sienna read it twice.“That’s not even clever,” she said. Her voice came out quieter than expected. “He is better than this.”“He didn’t write it,” Tessa said. “He had someone write it. That’s not worse but also disappointing.”Sienna turned the phone face-down, folded her arms, and stared out

Dean stopped her in the parking garage, keys already in her hand, the meeting still ringing in both their ears.“You can’t do this,” he said.She didn’t turn around immediately. Sienna knew, the moment she said no one trades you, this conversation was coming. She’d hoped for a day, at least. He’d given her forty minutes.“Dean.”“Don’t.” His voice sounded different from the night they met. “Don’t do the icebreaker thing. Eight hours ago you owned fifty-one percent of nothing. Now you own a hockey team, and the first thing you do is keep me chained to it.”She turned around. “I didn’t chain you to anything,” Sienna said. “I just blocked a trade.”“You blocked my trade. The one I asked for.”“You asked for it in front of eleven men you’d never met before today, thirty seconds after walking in on me.” She kept her voice low. “That’s not a request, Dean. That’s a man running.”His jaw tightened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”“Then tell me.”He stared at her for a long secon

The boardroom smelled like fresh coffee and old money.It was a good looking room. Long table, leather chairs, windows that looked out over the city. A Renegades logo, the size of a dining table, was etched into the far wall in frosted glass. Below it, eleven men sat in various states of impatience.Sienna stood in the hallway for exactly four seconds and looked at all of it through the door’s narrow glass panel.Then Sienna put her hand on the door and walked in.Richard Cole noticed Sienna first.He was at the far end of the table, silver-haired, with the easy posture of a man who had been the most important person in every room he’d entered for forty years.He looked at Sienna like she had wandered into the wrong room.“The owner’s assistant?” he said pleasantly, to the room at large.“The owner,” Sienna said.Sienna set her bag on the table. Then pulled out the chair at the head — Hank’s chair, the one closest to the frosted logo — and sat down. Then folded her hands.“Sienna.”Gr

The will was one page.Sienna had expected something heavy — clauses, subclauses and paragraphs that needed a lawyer to translate. Instead Peterson slid a single sheet across the desk, and it read like a man who had made up his mind a long time ago and saw no point in decorating it.To my granddaughter, Sienna Bennett, I leave fifty-one percent of the Denver Renegades Hockey Club. I leave her also the house at the lake, the land it sits on, and every letter I ever wrote her mother that her mother never received.One condition. She must keep the team for one full season before she may sell it. Not because I don’t trust her judgment. Because I want her to know where she comes from before she decides what to do with it.If she chooses to walk away before the season is complete, Richard Cole holds the right to purchase her share at the assessed value at time of acquisition.Peterson cleared his throat. “The assessed value at acquisition is significantly below current market—”“I understoo

Marty Feld drove like a man who had somewhere important to be but not in a hurry.Sienna sat in the back seat of the car in her anniversary dress with her shoes still in her lap and watched the city go past the window.“How did you find me?” Sienna asked.“Your grandfather was very thorough,” Marty said. “Twenty-six years of thorough searching.”“He knew where I lived?”“He’s known where you lived for eleven years.” A pause. “He paid for your college. Anonymously.”“He paid for my scholarship,” Sienna said slowly. “The one I thought was from the state arts program.”“Yes.”“And he never—” Sienna stopped. Then continued. “Why didn’t he just knock?”Marty’s hands moved on the wheel. “That is the question he spent the last eleven years asking himself.” He glanced at Sienna in the rearview mirror. “He didn’t have a good answer. To him, they were all excuses. Men like Hank Whitlock are very good at building things and very bad at apologizing for them.”Sienna looked down at the photograph

His thumb was still resting on Sienna’s finger.The warmth of it lingered longer than it should have.“Can I ask you something?” he said.His mouth twitched.“Go on.”“Can I ask your name?”“No,” Sienna said.He pulled his hand back slowly. “Okay.”“Sorry but.” She turned her glass on the bar once. “No names. No job titles, no neighborhoods, no who-do-you-know. Nothing.” Sienna looked at him straight. “Tonight I just want to be nobody. One night where nobody knows who I am or what just happened to me.”He leaned back on his stool and looked at her like he’d already decided staying was worth it.“Deal,” he said.“That’s it? You’re not even going to push?”“I’m curious,” he said. “But you seemed uncomfortable. You asked for nobody so I will be a nobody.”Sienna studied him for a second. “You’re strange.”“You just watched your husband announce your divorce to a full ballroom. Strange is relative tonight.”A surprised laugh came out of Sienna. The first real thing she’d felt since the co