Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 50840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Logan Moreno
Being a problem, I can handle. Being one of my sister's problems? Not so much. I've done everything I can to keep her out of the press…even when it's meant watching my reputation take hit after hit.
But I did not expect things to get this complicated.
Because a reporter won't stop sniffing around…and I just met my assistant in a bar and took her home. I probably should have warned her about my sister and her kid.
Now, Peyton thinks the kid is mine. And she hates me.
The only solution to both of my problems is obvious. I tell the world that we're dating.
It's true. At least, it will be as soon as I convince her that what she's feeling isn't hate. It's the makings of forever.
Peyton Cloud
Going home with the goalie who looks like sin is a bad idea, but I go anyway. Color me surprised when I realize he has a wife and kid at home.
I run out faster than an Olympian in a foot race.
Only to find out he's the player I'll be working for come Monday.
Why does Baby Jesus hate me?
Logan swears I've got him all wrong and that the kid isn't his. As if I haven't heard that before. My dad said the same thing—about me.
But this time, I really want to believe it. There's something about this ridiculous man I can't resist. Even when he announces to the world that we're dating.
For the record, we definitely aren't. Ever. I don't think.
These hockey stars are at the top of their game on the ice. But off the ice, their lives are wrecks. Between dodging puck bunnies, the paparazzi, and an endless parade of endorsement deals, they don't have time for love...until they do.
They say the bigger you are, the harder you fall. But these ice giants won't know what hit them when they fall face-first in love. For a chance at forever, they'll play the dirtiest, steamiest game of their lives. And the winner takes all.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Peyton
Either God hates me, or the devil is breathing down my neck. I'm not sure which it is. But I do know a few things for sure: my potential future boss is one of the professional hockey players seated in the booth at the back of the Players' Club, I'm not entirely sure which one he is…and every single one of them is gorgeous. I also know there's no chance this ends well for me. No chance at all.
"What exactly did Jenna say?" my best friend, Serena asks, her gray eyes locked on the team over the rim of her cocktail glass.
"Aside from the fact that my life is over? Nothing much."
Her quiet laugh whispers across the bar. "I'm serious, Peyton. What did she say?"
"One of the guys on the team needs an assistant. Something about a baby or family issues causing him to miss important stuff?" I take a gulp of water. I may have been too busy freaking out to pay attention to the details. "I'm supposed to meet with their publicist on Monday to discuss the details."
"I'd climb any of them like a frigging tree," Serena mutters, still staring at the booth in the back where they're all cloistered. "How are you supposed to work for one of them?"
I cast a furtive glance at the tables around us before shooting her a death glare. "Keep your voice down."
Her full lips curve into a smirk as she meets my gaze. "Please. Every woman here is thinking the same thing." She nods at a nearby table—one packed with women in low-cut tops and barely-there dresses. "They even came dressed for battle."
She isn't wrong about that. How do you even walk in a dress that short without the whole world seeing your ass? I don't know. It's a mystery I have yet to solve, and believe me, I've tried. My attempts led me to the conclusion that I am not nearly graceful enough to pull it off.
I've always been a duckling in a sea of swans. Except I never actually turned into anything else. I'm short, curvy, and I have trust issues. Snark is my love language, and I hide behind it like it's a shield.
There's no way I have my shit together enough to work for one of the world-famous athletes at that table without making a total ass of myself. They're literal hockey royalty. Every single one of them graces magazine covers, has brand endorsements and legions of fans screaming their names.
You know what I have? Student loan debt, a fifteen-year-old car, and a couch with a spring that jabs me in the ass if I sit in the wrong place. For the record, having extra padding back there doesn't help when metal is hellbent on performing an unsolicited rectal exam.
I need this job. Hell, my bank account needs this job. But…gulp.
I cannot talk to men who look like them. I can't even deal with men who look like them. It always ends in disaster. Mostly because I'm mouthy and combative. Guys who look like them don't like mouthy and combative. They like classy and cute.
How the hell am I supposed to work for one of them?
You've got four days to figure it out. Tick tock.
"Crap," I groan, grinding the palms of my hands against my eyes for a moment. I pull them away and glance at the table again. Nope. They're still hot. Especially…Jesus. I don't even know what color blue that is. Cornflower? Cerulean? Navy? Whatever. The giant with the wicked smirk and the gorgeous blue eyes who looks like he'd fuck you dirty against the wall without breaking a sweat? There's something wild in his expression that's a little too attractive.
Judging by the way half the women in the bar keep eyeing him up like he's cattle on the block…I'm not the only one who thinks so. He's definitely not going home alone tonight.
I'm not jealous. Nope. Not. At. All.
So we're lying instead of breathing now, huh? the angel on my shoulder asks.
I pointedly ignore that judgmental bitch.
"So did Jenna say which is your future boss?" Serena asks.
"I have no idea," I whisper. "She didn't give me a name." I groan quietly. "Why did I say yes to this?"
"Because you need a job that actually pays." Serena squeezes my hand. "And because you've got this, Peyton. You can handle it."
I shoot her the look. She knows which one. It's the same one I've been giving her since we were college freshmen together and she convinced me that I could run a marathon.
Spoiler alert: I could not run a marathon. I have asthma!She just grins in response, tucking strands of her dark hair behind her ears. "Don't look at me like that. You know I'm right. You're going to freak out and do the whole Peyton thing because it's what you do, but then you'll be a boss and nail the interview. You'll organize his whole life because that's also what you do. Frankly, it's about time you do it for someone who can afford to pay you what you're worth."