Page 366 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Gio

Dennis’ eyes bug out. He’s a little shorter than Rick, but he makes up for it with his bulk, which as I know, is not all muscle.

The man’s lazy enough to carry more than the requisite body fat, and yet, it hasn’t interfered with his role as a defenseman.

He has the size to block an opponent's shot and the strength to take the puck away and start play in the opposite direction.

So, I jump forward and grab his upper arm. "Stop."

His biceps flex under my fingers, and holy hell, it feels like I’m clinging to a bolt of lightning, attempting to defuse its power.

He stays poised, nostrils flared; the tips of his ears have turned white, a clear sign he's so angry, he’s close to losing control.

His chest heaves, the sinews of his throat stand out in prominence under his skin, but he stops.

He doesn’t lower his arm, but he pauses with his fist mere centimeters from making contact with Dennis’ nose.

"Rick, let him go," I imbue my voice with a calmness I don't feel.

The pulse at the base of his neck jumps. It’s the only sign he’s heard me. Every other part of his body is a crackling ball of tension, seconds from detonating in a roar of thunder.

"Rick, please," I implore.

He blinks and begins to lower his hand. He loosens his hold on Dennis, and the bastard coughs. His gaze darts from Rick to me, then back to Rick. He never was very smart. "Pussy-whipped, huh? You do realize she was mine first and—"

With a growl, Rick releases him, only to curl the fingers of his hand into a fist, on the arm I’m not hanging onto, and slams it into Dennis’ face.

"You beat up the captain of a rival team?" Edward glares at Mr. Cannot-Keep-His-Temper-In-Check across the floor of the office adjoining the 7A bar.

Turns out, Dennis also decided to leave L.A.

and move to London. He was traded to a British team, the Islington Sentinels—the London Ice King’s closest rivals— as their captain.

I moved to London to make a fresh start; the last thing I wanted was to see my cheating ex here.

And since he's the captain of the closest competitor to the Ice Kings, chances are, I’m going to run into to him again. It feels like a bad dream.

Nathan was at the bar and attended to Dennis right away.

Not that it stopped him from glaring at Rick and promising to press charges, despite the fact he's the one in the wrong.

He's the one who touched me without permission; Rick was only defending me. But when has logic ever stopped Dennis from acting in an impulsive fashion? It’s one of the reasons I left him.

"Thankfully, you didn’t break his nose," Edward snaps from his position behind the desk.

"Too bad I didn’t," Rick growls.

He’s seated in one of the chairs facing the desk. I’m on the chair next to him, attempting to bind his lacerated fingers. I tighten the bandage, and he winces. I pay no heed and tug on the dressing. He flinches again but doesn’t protest.

I scowl up at him. "You’re aware this is a PR nightmare. Hopefully, no one caught it on camera and—" My phone vibrates, as do Rick’s and Edward’s. I release Rick’s hand, pull out my phone and scroll the notifications that have popped up on my social media feeds. "Shit."

"Fuck!" Edward stares at his phone.

Only Rick seems unperturbed. He leans back in his chair and places his ankle over the knee of his other leg.

"You’re all over social media." I wave my phone in his direction.

He glances at it and raises a shoulder. "Whoever shot it got a good angle."

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" I glower at him.

He shakes his head. "Actually, I have more to say."

"Oh?" I tip up my chin.

"I should have thrown the motherfucker on the floor and stomped all over his hands for daring to put them on you."

I blink. A shudder of something like warmth suffuses my skin.

My pussy quivers. No, no, no, I did not find this entire neanderthal act of him wanting to beat up a man for touching me arousing.

I did not. I yank on the bandage so hard his shoulder muscles bunch and yet, he doesn’t protest. Stubborn asshole.

"Are you hearing yourself? This is not some street brawl. And even that would have made news, by the way, since you were involved. This involves you and one of the top athletes in the country."

"So?"

"So? This is going to wreck your career, asshole," I snap.

"He needed to be taught a lesson." His gaze narrows on me. "Why are you so concerned, anyway? I thought you don’t like me. Thought you’d be happy at my career taking a dip."

I jump to my feet. "My personal feelings don’t come into it. You’re my client. I work for the team. I’m worried about the reputation of each of you. If one of you takes a hit in the media, we all do, remember?"

He blinks at that.

"You didn’t think of that, did you?" I scowl.

"It was there at the back of my mind, but when he insulted you—?" He shakes his head. "Nope, all I wanted to do was make sure the motherfucker couldn’t speak for a very long time."

"What Dennis did was wrong.” Edward rakes his fingers through his hair.

“If I were in your position, I’d beat him up, too, but fuck, if this doesn’t put us in a bind.

The eyes of the media and the fans are on this team.

We’re the underdog. And with the negative publicity with the journalist, then with this incident with Dennis, it’s making it too easy for people to write us off.

It makes us look like amateurs, like we’re not focused on the game. ”

"You’re the manager for a reason, aren’t you?" Rick lowers his chin to his chest. "I’m aware it’s not going to be easy to fix this in the media, but no way was I going to let that asshole walk away after insulting her."

Edward looks at him in frustration. "You’re called Stone for a reason. You’re the one who keeps your cool under pressure. You’re the one who thinks on your feet and doesn’t make risky decisions. You’re the one who’s supposed to set an example for the rest of the team."

"And he did—" The door to the office is pushed fully open and Finn strides in. He’s followed by Manning and Enzo, while Jagger crowds the doorway.

Realizing he failed to close the door completely, Edward snaps, "Shut the door, or do you want the rest of the club to listen to whatever bullshit you assholes are gonna spew?"

Jagger steps inside and pulls the door closed behind him.

The space had already felt crowded, thanks to Rick’s hulking presence.

But now, filled with six men over six feet tall, with huge shoulders and bigger egos, it feels stifling.

I resist the urge to edge toward the wall and brace myself against it for support.

If I’m going to work with these guys, it’s important they respect me.

Which means, now more than ever, I’m going to stand my ground.

"It is bullshit, Priest, and you know it." Finn folds his arms across his chest.

Edward leans back in his chair and taps his fingers together.

"Anger, fear, aggression. The dark side are they, but sometimes one has to give in to temptation to find oneself," Enzo murmurs.

Behind him, Jagger groans. "Care to translate that for us, Yoda?"

He refers to Enzo as his nickname, so bestowed due to his penchant of speaking like the character from Star Wars.

"I heard what that asshole said to her." Enzo looks between me and Rick. "Rick did the right thing. If he hadn’t, I’d have lost respect for him."

I stiffen. "You heard what my ex said?"

"He’s your ex?" Rick asks in a hard voice.

I shuffle my feet.

"Gio, answer me." He infuses his voice with a command that slices through to my core. A tone that insists I obey. A pitch that hooks into a primal part of me deep inside and insists I answer.

Before I can stop myself, I find myself nodding.

I’m not looking at him, but I sense him stiffen.

Damn, why does it feel like I’ve done something wrong?

I didn’t engage with that bastard. He's the one who grabbed me, and Rick's the one who reacted when I didn’t need him to fight my battle.

Also, there is no connection between Dennis and me anymore, so why do I still feel like I owe Rick an explanation?

I keep my gaze averted and scowl at Enzo. "Thanks for feeding his ego," I snap.

Enzo’s features soften. "I understand why you feel responsible, but you don’t need to be. Rick did the right thing and almost all of us agree."

"Almost?" I frown.

"The Prick?" Rick drawls.

"The Prick," Finn agrees.

"The Prick?" I look between them.

"That’s Caspian’s call sign, one he’s not happy about," Enzo adds.

"Never known a name to be more apt." Manning smirks.

"He’ll come around," Rick declares.

I turn on him. "And if he doesn’t?"

"He will, end of story." He cuts his palm through the air in a sign that says he won’t brook any argument. I glower at him, and he meets my gaze with a raised eyebrow, as if daring me to defy him. Which I so badly want to do, but I’m not stupid enough to do it in front of everyone.

I haven’t known him too long, but common sense dictates it’s best to pick up on this when we’re alone.

So, I contend myself with glowering back at him.

And that, for some reason, makes his lips twitch. Bastard.

"And what about Dennis?" Edward cuts in.

"What about him?" Rick wrenches his gaze away from me and some of the tension drains out of my muscles. Being in such close proximity to him is like imbibing a testosterone overload, one that’s making my belly quiver and my breasts tighten in anticipation. I shuffle my feet, then squeeze my thighs together, in the hope of relieving some of that tension in my core. Only he senses it, for his nostrils flare. He doesn’t look at me, though, thank god.

It must be my imagination that he’s as tuned into me as I am toward him, right?

Edward’s phone rings. He looks down at his screen and his gaze widens. He answers the phone. "Priest." He listens to whoever is on the other side, then his brows knit. He rubs the back of his neck, looks at Rick, then nods again. He sets down the phone and his features tighten.

"What?" I clear my throat. "What is it?"