The Pucking Wrong Number: A Hockey Romance (The Pucking Wrong Series Book 1)

I took a deep breath as I walked through the lobby of Daniels International, preparing myself for the inevitable confrontation that lay ahead. The sleek, modern decor felt cold and sterile, a reflection of the man who owned it. Anstad Daniels, my father, the billionaire mogul who ran the largest hedge fund in the country.

After a week of ignoring his calls and texts, I’d finally given in and agreed to meet with him. As much as I hated the idea of seeing him, I knew I couldn’t keep avoiding him forever.

I walked into my father’s office without knocking, and a gasp sounded in the room. Turning towards it, I saw his secretary, a woman my age, quickly getting up from the floor, adjusting her skirt. The woman’s face was a mess, her red lipstick smeared all over her lips–and even beyond–like garish artwork, just like how I was sure it was smeared all over my father’s cock.

My stomach rolled, but I was used to this scene. I was pretty sure out of the thirty years my parents had been married, they’d been faithful to each other for three of them. Disgusted with the scene nevertheless, I looked away and tried to focus on the matter at hand.

‘Lincoln, you’re late,’ my father barked, not sounding at all bothered by what I’d walked in on. ‘Sit down.’

The secretary quickly scurried out of the room, her face flushed with embarrassment and shame. Not that it would stop her from doing it again. Fucking my father was probably in the job description they posted when hiring his secretaries.

I took a deep breath and sat in front of him on the stiff, black leather couch, bracing myself for the usual lecture.

I could feel his eyes boring into me, and I tried to seem calm, staring around the room, taking in the sight of papers stacked precisely on his desk, and empty liquor bottles in a cart nearby. The stench of stale alcohol and sex was suffocating, a testament to the life my father led on a daily basis.

I could already sense the tension in the air, like a thunderstorm waiting to break.

When I finally glanced at my father, he was glaring at me from behind his desk, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. I cocked an eyebrow, daring him to get on with it.

‘About time you showed up,’ he snapped. ‘What’s your excuse this time? Break your phone?’

I rolled my eyes, already tired of it all. ‘I had things to take care of,’ I replied coolly, examining my father’s features. I knew everyone still found his appearance quite striking, the only real sign of age his graying temples mixing in with his dark hair. He had a chiseled jawline and prominent cheekbones that gave him a distinguished persona. But his piercing brown eyes seemed to radiate an aura of malice and cruelty that should’ve made even the bravest of souls shudder. He was only an inch or two shorter than me, and he took care of his physical appearance, dressing impeccably in a tailored suit every fucking day, making sure he projected an air of sophistication. Part of his success, though, was that there was something unsettling about him that left a sour taste in your mouth…that made you want to keep your distance. One glance at my father, and you knew he was the type of man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, regardless of the cost.

My father snorted in disbelief, breaking me from my thoughts. ‘Things to take care of? Like what, drinking yourself into a stupor?’

I gritted my teeth, trying to keep my temper in check. ‘Look, I’m sorry I missed the date,” I tossed at him sarcastically. “But I won’t fuck some girl just because you want me to.’

My father’s face turned an ugly, blotchy, red color. ‘You ungrateful little shit,’ he spat. ‘I give you everything you could ever want, and you can’t even do this one thing for me?’

I clenched my fists, a surge of anger and frustration racing through me. ‘It’s never just one thing with you. It’s never-ending actually. But I had to draw a line somewhere…might as well stop at prostitution.”

He leaned forward, his eyes blazing. ‘You fucking asshole…”

“I’m not a little school boy who’s waiting around to fulfill all your fucking demands, at the fucking snap of your fingers. I have a life.”

“A life?” he laughed cruelly. “What life is that, exactly? Playing a stupid game on ice? That’s not a life, Lincoln. That’s called a waste of time.’

I bristled at his words, feeling a surge of defensiveness. ‘Not that this should be news to you–since we’ve had this conversation before–but hockey isn’t a waste of time. It’s my passion, my career. I make millions, without you involved in any way.’

My father snorted in disdain. ‘Passion? Career? You’re nothing but a glorified monkey, dancing around for the entertainment of the masses.’

My blood boiled at his insults. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I growled.

“Your brother was everything. He was born to lead this company. And because of you, he’s gone now. The future I built has disappeared. And if you think I’ll let my sniveling spare ruin my plans even more than you already fucking have, you’re out of your fucking mind. You will go on a date with that girl. You will fuck her. And then her father will agree to the terms of the contract I want. And that is how it’s going to be.”

I leaned forward, trying to ignore the way his words sliced into my fucking soul. I made sure to keep my gaze locked on his. “You’re the one out of your fucking mind.”

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with malice. ‘Boy. I own you, and I can destroy you just as easily.’

I jumped from the couch, a cold shiver running down my spine at his words. It was true that my father held all the power in our relationship. Hell, he held most of the power in this fucking country. A day didn’t pass where I didn’t feel like I was walking on eggshells around him.

But not today. Today, I’d had enough. ‘I’m done with this,’ I said firmly. ‘I’m leaving.’

My father’s eyes bulged out in surprise. ‘What? You’re not fucking walking out of here.’

My eyes blazed. ‘Watch me.’

I sauntered out of the room, my head held high, but as soon as I made it down the forty fucking floors, through the pretentious lobby, and out into the street…I found a trashcan and puked.

Every time he brought up Tyler like that, he rocked me.

I stood there, taking huge gulping breaths, my insides quaking.

My phone buzzed, and I fumbled to get it out of my pocket.

Hope you’re having a good day, Monroe’s text read.

Immediately, the nausea and dread dissipated. She was such a fucking sweetheart.

I had to go to her street, I needed to catch a glimpse of her.

With one glimpse of her, I knew everything would be okay.