Page 361 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Giorgina

"He called me 'the girlfriend.'" I make air quotes with my fingers.

"Like I'm arm candy. Or a dumb bimbo. Why is it that the girlfriend of an athlete of any kind has to be classified as someone without an opinion of her own? Also, I’m not his girlfriend. I’m not even his friend.

" I begin to pace the floor of the living room of Mira’s flat.

"And this, after the journalist signed a Non-Disclosure Agreement and had his phone and camera confiscated.

How he managed to sneak out a picture, I have no idea. "

Mira continues to scroll on her phone. "It’s a great picture."

I scoff, "Stupid optics. I stumbled and fell against him.”

"He’s holding onto your arm. He’s shirtless. And you have your cheek pressed into his bare chest and—"

"I know how that picture looks and none of it is true."

"I know you’re upset with the journalist, but he’s done us women-folk a solid. Look at those abs on that man. And the contours of those biceps, whoa. They’re the size of a small tree-trunk. Not to mention the veins of his forearms, OMG. Bet he could carry you with one arm and—"

"Gimme that." I march over and snatch the phone out of her hands and click out of the gossip website she’s on.

"Aww, party-pooper." Her lips turn down.

"Go admire someone else."

"He’s the captain of the hottest hockey team in the country. Soon, every woman out there is going to be salivating over him," she points out.

I curl my fingers around her phone with such force they hurt.

"Umm, are you going to pull a Rick and destroy my phone?"

"What? No." I force myself to relax my grip on her device and hand it over. "Just don’t ogle him in front of me, okay?"

"Hmm." She places the phone face down on the sofa next to her. "You jealous?"

I scoff. "Not likely."

"You sure?"

I roll my eyes. "Of course, doofus. It's just—" I pop a shoulder. "I don’t want to be reminded of that photo, which is all over the internet. The worst thing is, Priest showed us the pic, and I threw a fit; and that douchebag looked all smug at having been proven right."

"Hmm." She places the tips of her fingers together.

"Okay enough, hmm-ing. If you have something to say, come out and say it."

She pretends to zip up her lips and throw away the key.

I scowl. "That’s not helping at all."

She widens her gaze.

"Spit it out already. You look like you’re about to burst."

"The two of you look mighty cozy together."

I scowl. "I already told you, it’s not like that."

"Okay."

"That’s it? Okay?"

"Sure. You can convince yourself it means nothing. I’ll go along with what you’re saying. For now."

"Okay, enough. Let’s not talk about this. I have a more pressing issue. I’m going to have to move."

"You’re moving?’

"I’ve been staying in a hotel paid for by the team, but Priest thinks it’s best all the team stays together in a shared accommodation."

She blinks slowly. "You’re moving into a house with a bunch of hockey players?"

"I know, right?”

“All the players under one roof?” She tilts her head. “Isn’t that a recipe for disaster? Won’t they get on each other nerves spending so much time together?”

“It’s not unheard of.” I purse my lips. “They’re a new team playing together for the first time.

Other teams have had the benefit of playing together for years, while the London Ice Kings have only recently been formed.

It’s important for them to bond together off-ice to strengthen their teamwork on the ice.

And if there are any differences, it’s best for them to come out off the ice so they bond better on the ice.

So, in a way, Priest is accelerating the situation, by putting them under one roof.

Any differences will emerge very quickly and have to be ironed out before they get to the finals. ”

“You think they’re good enough to make it to the finals?” Her expression is curious.

I choose my words with care. “I’m not a big fan of Rick, but from what I've heard on the circuit, while he’s been off the professional playing field, he’s still seen as a canny appointment for the post of captain.”

“So you do think they’ll make it to the finals?” she asks with a smile.

“They’d better. My career depends on it.

” I begin to rake my fingers through my hair before remembering that will destroy the bun I’ve put it up into.

It’s important I appear neat and well-groomed.

Only, it hurts my head when I use hair pins.

It’s why I use hair ties instead. My hair looks tidy enough and it doesn’t hurt as much.

Appearance is everything and the last thing I need is to look as frazzled as I feel inside.

My stomach seems to have caught a permanent state of butterflies since I met that horrible man.

All the more reason to pretend I have everything together.

Her features take on a considering look. “I understand the players living under the same roof to foster team spirit, but you’re the PR manager—”

“And I'm from out of the country, so it’s cheaper to provide me with lodgings in the same house as the players. Even the physical therapist is staying in the house. It’s helpful to have them on hand to supervise the gym workouts, as well as work on after-practice and after-game injuries.

” I tap my fingers on my bag. “The coaches have been put in a house separate from the one the team shares, so they can talk strategy.”

“All that makes sense, but why do you have to be under the same roof as the players?” A wrinkle furrows her forehead.

“I have a very limited time to get to know the players well enough to be able to pitch them and build their profiles in the media. And Knight, the owner of the team, owns the building the players are going to be housed in, so I suppose it makes it economical. As long as I have my own room, I guess it’s going to be okay. ” I raise a shoulder.

“So, you’re going to be the sole woman in the house?” she cries.

“It would seem so, yes.” A trickle of awareness tickles my senses.

“Do you trust yourself to live under the same roof as Rick?” she asks with a teasing glint in her eyes.

“What? Of course. I don’t even like the man.”

“You don’t have to like him to jump him.” Her smile widens.

“No, no, no. I plan to stay far away from him. I only agreed to this plan because I want to be seen as a team player.” I scowl.

"It’s going to demonstrate you're a team player, all right." She snickers.

"What do you mean?"

"You poor thing, I pity you." She shakes her head.

"You do?"

She rises to her feet and walks over to me. "You’re going to be living in a house with sweaty, hunky, muscled, chiseled, well-hung hockey players, lady."

"Ugh." I shudder. "Imagine being surrounded by sweaty players with stinky feet. Not to mention, hairy chests. And don’t get me started on smelly socks and all that belching and farting." I grimace.

She stares at me. "You can’t be serious. You’re going to be surrounded by eye-candy, and if you were to sample some of the wares—"

"No! Absolutely not." I straighten my spine. "I’m a professional. This is my career we’re talking about. I will not have any kind of personal relationships with the players."

She frowns. "Is that in your contract, not to fraternize with them?"

"Well… No—" I shuffle my feet. "But it’s an unspoken rule. The fastest way to lose perspective is to sleep with your client."

"The players are not your clients."

"The team is, so by default, they all are."

"Including the captain?" She bites the inside of her cheek.

"Especially the captain." I tip up my chin. "I’m going to be working closely with him, having daily briefings with him, actually."

"Too bad. It’s clear from this…" She pulls up that hated photo on her phone and holds it up again. "There’s something between the two of you."

"You can tell that from a picture?"

"Of course. Your features are soft, your gaze dreamy. And he looks all possessive, and angry, and snarly, and so macho." Her expression grows dreamy.

"Okay, stop. Maybe there was a moment there, but it was nothing."

"Hmm."

"No, don’t hmm me. Please help me out. I don’t like the man, and I’m going to have to work with him."

She peers into my features. "This is stressing you out?"

"What do you think I've been trying to tell you all this time?"

"But you’re a professional. You're the most focused person I know. You won’t do anything to screw it up."

"I wish I shared your confidence." I half laugh.

"You could also go a little easy on yourself, you know. If you did sleep with him—"

"No. Absolutely not."

She rolls her eyes. "From the perspective of a woman who, more likely than not, will end up in an arranged marriage, if I were in your shoes, I’d do it."

"Arranged marriage?" I stare. "Is that still a thing?"

"In my family, it is."

I shake my head. "If I were forced into such an arrangement, it would be the end of the world, as far as I'm concerned."

"But if you did sleep with him"—she waggles her fingers—"it wouldn’t be."

Oh, my god, this is what the end of the world looks like. I’m running late for my first meeting. Also, I’ve been told I don’t have a room in the house. "But I’ve already checked out of the hotel, and I was assured I’d have a room, on the top floor and away from the men."

The woman in charge of admin who met me at the entrance to the house wrings her hands. "I’m sorry for the mix up. But there’s only one master room on the top floor, which is allocated to the captain of the team."

"And which I’m willing to share with her.

" That detestable voice reaches me over my shoulder. Don’t look.

Don’t look at him. Don’t lose your temper, either.

You’re a strong, accomplished career woman.

You’ve worked hard to build a persona and get to where you are.

You didn’t even let your bastard ex hold you back—so you might have run from the city where he lives but that was self-preservation.

This is a new start with the kind of job anyone in your field would kill for.

You've got this. You can do this. You can get through today without losing your temper at that asshat.

I glance over my shoulder with a sweet smile. "No, thank you."

He ignores me as he walks over to us. "The room’s the biggest in the house; there’s enough space for the both of us," he addresses his words to the other woman.

"Oh, that’s so nice of you," she says with a grateful smile. "I have no idea how this mix-up happened. And the other rooms are taken by the players." She turns to me. "This is a great solution, until we can work something else out."

"No, it’s not." A migraine begins to thrum behind my eyes. I rub at my temple. "I can’t share the room with him."

"Yes, you can," Rick says in that calm voice that sends my blood pressure shooting.

My pulse rate spikes. Tension churns my stomach. This can’t be happening. Nope, no way. "Can you understand how uncomfortable this could be for me?" I turn on the woman. "Imagine if you were in my place. How would you feel?"

She looks from me to the hulking figure next to me, then back at me. "I’d thank my lucky stars."

The douche next to me shoots her a warm smile. What the—? I’ve never seen him smile before. Honestly. And he’s turning the full effect of his curved lips on this woman who turned my life upside down.

"Thank you, Rick. You’re a life saver." She flutters her false eyelashes at him. "If you need anything—"

"We’re good," I snap.

She looks between us again, then nods. "I’ll try my best to clear things up and allocate you another room."

I open my mouth to tell her off, but she scampers out of there.

In the ensuing silence, I refuse to look at him. I will not throw a tantrum. Will not stamp my foot. Will not allow my frustration to show. I will be the best version of myself. I secure my handbag under my arm, then reach for my suitcase. "Where’s the elevator in this place?"