Page 358 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Rick

"You said 'yes' to the role?" Sinclair Sterling, also known as one of the Seven who run one of the leading financial companies in the country, and one of my oldest friends, holds the punching bag steady as I take my stance.

"I was played into taking it." I slam my fist into the boxing bag. The vibrations from the impact shudder up my arm, down to my ribcage. The dull pain sharpens my nerve-endings. It’s a familiar ache, one my body is used to from all the beatings I took while in the Royal Marines and before that, from the NHL games. The latter is something I’ve worked hard to forget, and now I’ve agreed to take on a position that’s going to take me straight into the eye of the storm. Fuck.

"You and played?" He scoffs. "I’m assuming it wasn’t Knight’s persuasive powers that convinced you to accept the role.”

"That, too, but not only." I follow up with a second hit, and a third, alternating fists and keeping the hits going for another fifty before I finally stop, heart pumping, blood racing, pulse spiking as I bounce on the balls of my feet.

Sweat pours down my temples and drips onto my T-shirt.

I shake my head and droplets fly to the ground.

"You’re not in too bad shape for a senior," Sinclair murmurs.

"I’m the same age as you." I frown.

"I’m not taking on the captaincy of a hockey team and competing with men a decade younger."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious." I wince, then snatch the bottle he tosses at me. I glug down the water and slide it to the side. The task of pulling together the team is something I’ve yet to come to grips with. Knight and I will be scouting the country in search of the most hopeful candidates. It’s a pipe-dream he has of taking this team to the finals of the League, but I’m someone who’s yet to back down from a challenge.

"Why are you putting yourself through this?" His eyebrows knit. "Not that I don’t understand the lure of leading a team to victory, but do you want the attention it brings with it? Not to mention, the torture you’re going to put your body through."

My biceps twitch and my triceps ache. My shoulders and legs are already leaden, and I’ve only been working out for the past three hours.

I’m in excellent physical shape, having worked out every single day since I left the Royal Marines, but that doesn’t mean anything.

Not when I’ll need to hit speeds of twenty to twenty-five miles per hour on the ice and hit the puck at more than double that speed, all while on skates.

My entire body aches at the thought, my guts churn, and I haven’t even begun the season.

I roll my shoulders, then begin to unwind the tape from around my fingers.

"It’s a question I’ve been asking myself since I agreed," I admit.

"What made you agree?"

"You mean who made him agree?" a new voice asks.

I turn to find the former Father Edward Chase, now simply Priest, as he prefers to be called, prowling over to us. He’s not often in town, but when he is, he can be found at this gym in the basement of the 7A Club.

I chin jerk in greeting. "As always, nothing skips your powers of observation."

One side of his lips twitches. "Whoever it is, I hope you don’t waste too much time dancing around the obvious."

I pull off the tape and glare at him. "Going straight for the jugular?"

"You don’t get too many chances in life."

"Not all of us want the girl," I shoot back.

He winces. "Nice shot, and I probably deserve it—not."

"You didn’t get the girl and never got over it." I pop a shoulder. "But I’m not in the running for the girl at all, and don’t intend to be."

"If you say so," Edward says in a tone that he thinks I'll interpret as agreeable, but instead, ends up sounding condescending.

I roll the tape and throw it in the basket against the wall. "Fuck, Priest, I can do without you getting on my balls."

"I’d rather not be acquainted with that part of your anatomy. Are you trying to convince us or yourself?"

"Hear, hear," Sinclair murmurs.

"And the lot of you call yourself my friends?"

"Oh, we’re barely getting started," a new voice sounds, then JJ Kane draws abreast. He slaps me on the back, and I stumble. Asshole’s a giant of a man, almost as tall as me, "almost" being the operative word. He’s built, and the silver at his temples only adds to his charm. It’s no wonder his son’s ex-girlfriend fell for him.

"The fuck you doing here?" I growl.

"Heard you were going to take on men half your age; thought you could do with some advice."

"Fuck no. This is hockey we’re talking about. Not affairs of the heart."

"You sure?" He stabs his thumb over his shoulder.

I glance over to find Giorgina gliding in. Next to her is Finn Ashford. Finn was my partner on the last security assignment we undertook. He’s an ex-NHL player who left in disgrace a year ago. It’s no secret he wants to make a comeback. He’s also my first pick for the team.

Finn says something, Giorgina places her hand on his arm, and he laughs.

Her mouth is parted, her skin flushed. Today, she’s dressed in a dark-blue colored skirt that comes to mid-thigh, with a jacket that nips in at her tiny waist, and her usual six-inch-high heels, this time in a scarlet-red.

With her blonde hair piled high on her head, and the specs she has on, she looks like a sexy-librarian Barbie.

They stop midway across the floor. She thrusts out her hip and tips up her head, and the gesture is so confident, so fucking sexy, my dick instantly stands to attention.

Then she rises up on tiptoe and kisses him on his cheek.

What the fuck? Why are his hands on her hips?

A hot sensation stabs my chest. My gaze narrows.

All of my senses hone in on the man with her.

In that moment, I don’t care that he’s a friend.

That he’s someone I’ve trusted in the past like a brother.

Or that he’s known to prefer men. All I know is that he has his hands all over her.

I take a step forward, but someone grips my shoulder. "Easy, Tiger, you don’t want to nip this relationship before it even starts," Edward murmurs.

I shake off his hand. "There is no relationship, so I have nothing to lose."

I close the distance between them, then grab Finn by his collar and haul him to the balls of his feet. "Welcome to the team, motherfucker."