SECRETLY PUCKING THE HOCKEY GOD

What were the odds? That the biggest hockey jerk on the planet would go from being the reason she lost her job to being her fake boyfriend in forty-eight hours. If anyone had told her that would happen, she probably would have laughed in their face. "We've decided to reassign the Hunter Callum interview.” That was all it took for her entire career to start collapsing because of the biggest hockey jerk on the planet. Three weeks. Three weeks of emails and calls and one genuinely humiliating afternoon standing outside a sports hotel for forty minutes rehearsing questions before his agent stopped her at the lobby door. "I'm sorry, Miss Adams. Mr Callum isn't accepting any interviews at this time." His agent had told her after hours of waiting. She'd smiled professionally. Then begged professionally. Then practically sold her soul professionally. Yet nothing. She grabbed toast on her way through the kitchen, kissed her mother on the cheek before she could ask questions, and was almost on her way out when the unmistakable roar of a hockey crowd stopped her cold. "Oh, for the love of God." Her younger brother grinned from the couch without even looking away from the screen. "Morning to you too." Ethan Adams. Nineteen years old. College freshman. Professional pain in her ass. And unfortunately obsessed with Hunter Callum. Onscreen, Hunter skated across the ice like he'd personally invented athleticism. The crowd screamed as he scored while commentators practically foamed at the mouth. She genuinely didn't understand the obsession. Okay fine. That was a lie. She understood it a little. The man unfortunately looked like sin wrapped in expensive sports gear. Tall. Broad shoulders. Sharp jawline. Dark hair always slightly messy beneath his helmet like he'd stepped out of a cologne commercial specifically designed to ruin women financially and emotionally. Still an asshole though. "You're watching this again?" she asked. Ethan finally glanced at her. "This was his hat trick game." "You say that like it's supposed to mean something to me." "It means he scored three goals in one game." "Congratulations to him and his violent ice soccer." Ethan gasped in mock offense. "Did you just call hockey ice soccer?" "Yes." "That's offensive." She bit into her toast. "You know what's offensive? The fact that this man has rejected me four times this month." "Maybe he's busy." "Oh, he's busy," she muttered. "Busy being insufferable." Ethan laughed. "You don't even know him." "And whose fault is that? Mister Hockey Royalty apparently can't spare half an hour for interviews." "You're just bitter because he ignored you." She pointed at him with her toast. "I am bitter because he ignored me." "At least you admit it." She scoffed, grabbing her bag from the chair. "I still don't understand why people are obsessed with him." Ethan stared at her like she'd personally offended the nation. "Because he's literally the greatest player in the League?" "Yeah," she said dryly. "And a stuck-up asshole too." Her brother grinned. "You talk about him a lot for someone who hates him." She froze. Then narrowed her eyes. "That sounded suspiciously wise for a teenager who still leaves cereal bowls in the sink." "You're deflecting." "Death is coming for you, Ethan." He laughed loudly as she leaned down and kissed the top of his head. "Love you," he said. "Unfortunately, I love you too." Something tightened in her chest as she walked toward the door. Something closer to fear. She couldn't afford to lose her job. Not with rent due next week. Not with Ethan's tuition. Not with her mother practically working herself into the grave trying to keep them afloat. These weren't abstract worries. They were numbers. Real ones. The kind that didn't care how hard she was trying. She needed this interview. She needed it badly. And Hunter Callum kept slamming the door in her face. By the time she reached work, her anxiety had fully returned. She barely sat down at her desk before Jessie appeared beside her holding coffee. "You look homicidal." "I'm considering it." She handed her the coffee carefully. "That bad?" "I had dreams about Hunter Callum last night." Jessie's eyebrows lifted. "Hot dreams?" "Violent dreams." "Oh." Before she could answer, her desk phone rang. She stared at it. Jessie winced. "That's never good." She picked it up slowly. "Maya Adams speaking." "Mr. Cross wants to see you immediately." Her stomach dropped in a way that had nothing to do with surprise. She already knew. The way you always know before anyone says anything. She hung up and stood. Jessie gave her a sympathetic look. "Want me to help hide the body afterward?" "If she survives, yes." She already knew something was wrong the second she stepped inside Cross's office. Chloe Miller sat across from him wearing a smug expression that immediately made her eye twitch. "Maya," Cross greeted. "Take a seat." He sighed heavily and removed his glasses. He looked tired more than angry, which somehow made this worse. "We've decided to reassign the Hunter Callum interview." Her stomach sank straight to hell. "What?" Chloe crossed one elegant leg over the other. "The board feels we've invested enough time into this already," Cross said carefully. "I just need a little longer. She can get it done." "Maya—" "I'm serious. She was close yesterday." That was probably a lie. "You've had three weeks." "Because his agent keeps blocking her." "Which is exactly why we need someone else handling it now." "No," she said quietly. "Please don't do this." The humiliation of saying please in front of Chloe Miller was something she would think about for a long time afterward. Chloe tilted her head. "I'm sure she tried her best." She wanted to throw something at her immediately. "This decision is final." She stood before either of them could see how close she was to losing her mind. Unfortunately Chloe followed her outside. Of course she did. "I honestly thought she'd cry in there," she said casually. She kept walking. "Then again, she's always been a little emotionally unstable under pressure." Still walking. Still breathing. Barely. "You know," Chloe added with a soft laugh, "I heard his agent blocked her number." That stopped her. Slowly she turned around and Chloe smiled. "Oh good. I finally got your attention." "You should leave her alone right now." "Why? Because she's embarrassed? Honestly Maya, maybe if she spent less time obsessing over Hunter Callum and more time acting like a professional—" "I said leave her alone." Several coworkers were already looking over. Chloe lowered her voice mockingly. "Maybe athletes just prefer talented journalists." And there it was. The final push. Weeks of stress and bills and pressure and humiliation. Hunter Callum's stupid perfect face everywhere she looked. Something inside her snapped violently. Before her brain could catch up, she shoved her. Hard. Gasps erupted around them. Chloe stumbled backward then lunged immediately. "Oh, you psycho b***h—" Suddenly they were both yelling. Hands grabbing at each other. Someone screaming her name. Papers flying everywhere. Chloe grabbed her hair and she nearly blacked out. "Get OFF me!" Then multiple hands grabbed them both. Jessie wrapped her arms around her waist from behind. "Maya! Stop!" Reality crashed into her instantly. What had she just done? Mr. Cross stormed out looking furious. Chloe was already performing for the audience. "She attacked me!" Cross looked at her with disappointment instead of anger. That hurt worse. "My office. Now." Twenty minutes later she was being escorted out carrying the contents of her desk in a cardboard box. Every step felt heavier than the last. Three years at Hart Publishing in a box that didn't even close properly. Suspended indefinitely. Jessie had tried defending her. It hadn't mattered. She stepped onto the sidewalk and just stood there while the city moved around her like nothing had happened. Because for everyone else, nothing had. Her phone buzzed. RENT DUE IN 3 DAYS. Then immediately after—PAYMENT FAILED. She laughed. A tiny broken sound. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Then the people around her started murmuring. Some stopped walking entirely. A massive digital billboard overhead flickered and changed. And there he was. Hunter Callum. Huge above the city in a sharp suit, expensive watch on his wrist, cold gray eyes staring down like he personally owned Manhattan. The giant words beside him flashed boldly. WINNERS NEVER CHASE. She stared at it for a long moment. Then she actually laughed. Louder this time. The kind of laugh that had nothing funny in it. Because of course the universe would put Hunter freaking Callum above her head the exact moment he'd finished destroying her life.