Page 362 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Rick

"There isn’t one."

"What?" She slowly straightens. Her eyes flicker with those golden sparks which only happens when she’s close to losing control. Something I’d love to see happen.

Woman is wound tighter than a goalie at a shootout.

It can’t be good for her to keep all that tension locked in.

Says the man who’s used to never showing his feelings, either.

The two of us have more in common than she realizes.

"No elevator. This is a private townhouse. Also, we’re on the fourth floor."

"The fourth floor?" She pales.

"Yep, and we’re running late." I brush past her, heading for the steps, and she cries, "Wait, aren’t you going to help me carry my bag?"

I allow myself a small smile, which I brush off before turning to her. "Do you want me to help you carry your bag?"

"I already said so, didn’t I?"

I fold my arms across my chest and look at her steadily.

She shuffles her feet, glances around, then her features light up. "Finn," she calls out to the man walking into the house. "Can you help me?"

Motherfucker! The wankface prowls over and takes in the scene. "You moving in, Gio?" He shoots her a smile, and my stomach clenches.

"That’s Mac to you,” I say through gritted teeth.

"Mac?" She whips her face in my direction. "What do you mean, Mac?"

"That’s your call sign."

"Call sign? Hockey players don’t have call signs,” she protests.

"On my team, you do. Call it a carry-over of best practices from my military days."

"Call signs?" Finn looks at me oddly.

"Yep." I dare him to contradict me.

He slowly curls his lips. "And I suppose you’re the one who decides who gets called what."

"You bet, I’m the captain."

"But why Mac?" she cries.

"Why don’t you figure it out?"

She shoots me a look which would take down a lesser man. Luckily, it doesn’t affect me at all. If you don’t count the half-chub I’m already sporting in my pants.

"And what am I called—" Finn begins, then holds up a hand. "You know what, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know yet." He reaches for her suitcase, but I’m there first.

"I've got this."

"You do?" She narrows her gaze on me.

I ignore her and jerk my chin toward the living room. "On your way, shit stain."

Finn laughs. "Anytime you need help, my room is on the third floor."

"Get lost," I snap.

"It’s the last door on the right, Mac." He shoots her another smile, then ambles off. Bastard knows how to get on my nerves.

I heft her suitcase which is more of a wardrobe on wheels—and gesture to her to go first. She begins to climb, and I instantly know that was a mistake.

Between the tight skirt—black, of course—that she’s wearing and her usual six-inch-heels, her butt sways in the most enticing of fashions.

My half-chub extends, making it fucking uncomfortable to walk, let alone climb.

I grit my teeth, grip the handle on her bag tighter, and begin the ascent.

We pass the landing of the first floor, then the second.

My biceps strain and my triceps begin to burn "What do you have in this, stones? " I grunt.

"Books, actually."

We reach the fourth floor, and I follow her to the door at the far end of the landing.

She enters, then looks around the master-room which is big enough to look like a studio apartment.

In the living space, a massive TV occupies one wall.

Opposite it, there’s a sofa with matching armchairs.

In between, large French doors open out onto a balcony overlooking the garden below, and beyond that, a view of the city.

"Follow me." I lead her past the sofa and armchairs, which demarcate the living room from the sleeping area, then past the entrance to the bathroom before I pause in front of an expansive wall of mirrors. I slide one open and place her suitcase inside the walk-in closet. When I step out, she’s standing in the middle of the space taking in the enormous bed pushed up against the wall. It’s a California King; wide enough for at least three members of the hockey team.

"If we each keep to our side of the bed, we’ll be good."

"What?" She looks at me with horror. "I thought you’d take the couch in the living room.”

"Have you seen my size?" I gesture to myself.

She drops her gaze to my chest and flicks her tongue over her lips. She continues to scan me from hip to legs, then back to my crotch. After a few seconds pass, I clear my throat.

"My face is up here."

She blushes a deep red. It’s a wonder her cheeks haven’t caught fire, that’s how hard she blushes. "I’ll take the couch." She spins around and stomps to the door. "Also, we’re late for the team meeting."

"Now that we’ve gone over our game plan for the practice sessions, I’m going to ask Gio—I mean Mac—to take us through the publicity strategy." Edward steps back.

Gio glides up to take her position at the top of the conference table.

The chairs have been arranged in a classroom seating style and all twenty-three members of the team, along with the physical therapist and the coaches, are in attendance today.

Edward had insisted, and I understand why.

It’s good to get all team members on the same page and get them to buy into the strategy.

The game strategy. Why they need to know about the PR strategy, I don’t understand.

One of the men whistles from the back while another mops his forehead.

A third tugs on the T-shirt he’s wearing.

All of the men have their gazes trained on her.

And I understand why. With her tight skirt and the jacket that clings to her curves, not to mention the sheer stockings she has on with the line running up the back and disappearing into the skirt, and those six-inch heels that make her legs seem impossibly long, she’s a wet dream.

I know because I’ve yet to get a good night’s sleep since I met her.

And now, all these bastards will be imagining her without clothes on. Anger tightens my guts.

I begin to rise to my feet, but Finn grabs my shoulder. "The fuck you doing, mate?" he hisses.

I glare around the room, then at her. She juts out a hip and plants her hand on it.

Around me, more than one face wears a dazed look.

Gio has that effect on people. As their PR manager, I know I can’t restrict the interactions of her with the team, but damn if I’m going to allow them to call her by her name.

It’s why I decided to give us all nicknames.

That way, I can insist no one says her name.

That way, her name need not pass through anyone else’s lips.

Is that taking things too far? Maybe. But if this is one way to buy me some peace of mind, so be it.

Then Gio glances about the room and thrusts out her chest. "I have three simple rules for you boys to follow—"

"Hey, Mac, do you need an assistant?" one of the men calls out.

Unperturbed, Gio flashes him a smile. "Do you need someone to take your place on the ice?" The man shuts up. A laugh runs around the room.

"As I was saying, I have three simple rules for you—" Her fingers fly on her device, and the screen behind her lights up.

"Rule number one: keep it in your pants. Rule number two: keep it in your pants. Rule number three: keep it in your—"

She cups her palm behind her ear, and everyone chants, "Pants."

"Well done, gentleman. You do that, and I can promise you the best damn PR for this team. I'm sure I don’t need to remind you we’re starting as underdogs for the League.

And all of you are media savvy, so I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s as important to win the game played off the ice as it is to lead in the one on the ice. "

"You can lead me anywhere, baby," one of the guys calls out from the back row. I jerk my head in his direction, and Manning 'Odds' Leblanc, one of the defenseman and an original member of the team, winks at me. I glare at him, and his grin widens. Motherfucker. I squeeze my fingers into fists.

"Don’t let them get to you, bro." Finn nudges me. "They see your weakness, and they’ll be on it like sharks."

"I don’t need to take lessons in how to be a team captain from you, Hand," I growl.

"Hand?" He frowns. "The fuck does that mean?"

"Figure it out, bro."

"Something you want to share with us, Captain?" she calls out.

Both Finn and I look up to find she’s staring at us with a raised eyebrow.

Someone clicks his tongue from behind. "You’ve been caught: you think she’ll want to punish you?"

"She can punish me anytime," someone else replies.

More laughter fills the space.

I resist the urge to turn back and tell off the turdwarts. I’d hear no end of it if I did. Hate to admit it, but Finn is right. If I show these men they’re getting under my skin, it’ll only encourage them. No, I’ll have my punishment on the ice, not to mention, during practice. I am the captain.

Ahead, Gio stiffens. She marches down the aisle past the row where Finn and I are sitting, all the way to the end.

She stares down at the man with the scar around his neck, who replied to the earlier comment: "Jagger Hemsworth, jersey #21, loud when sober, intolerable when drunk. And not a patch on Thor, I might add. I hereby christen you, Shrek."

"What the—?" Jagger’s face falls. "Shrek? The fuck does that mean?"

"Oh, didn’t I tell you?" I jump in. "I’m assigning call signs for all you bastards, and I do believe Mac here has the right idea with Shrek."

"Now that you mention it—" The guy next to him looks Jagger up and down. "I see the resemblance."

The only man on the team taller and broader than me slumps in his seat. "I don’t suppose I have a say in this matter?"