Puck Money

by Raine Miller

  “So, yeah. We let it happen, and sometimes in really not-smart ways, you know? We did bad things in this very room. Bad things that were captured on an audio recording.” She lifts her eyebrows. “Not my proudest moment as a professional, being called in by my boss for screwing around with a player in my workspace.”

  “Ouch.” I can’t help wincing.

  “I narrowly missed being fired. Georg got slapped on the wrist. But, somehow, it all worked out and we’re together and we still work here. The point is, I know a little bit about wanting what you’re not supposed to have.”

  “Thank you for sharing that with me, Pam. Truly. But I still don’t know what to do about Talia.”

  “Well, maybe this is oversimplifying, but what if you buy her some flowers and ask her on a proper date?”

  “What about our professional relationship though?”

  She shrugs. “I think it will all work itself out if it’s meant to be. You like her, she likes you, there’s got to be something worth exploring there. And if it doesn’t work out, you’re both adults and you can probably figure out how to continue to work together. I mean, shit, Georg and I only see our financial advisors a couple of times a year now. You’d barely have to see her if you really didn’t want to.”

  “Thanks.” I offer my knuckles for a fist bump. “For helping me.”

  “You’re welcome.” She bumps me back. “Keep me posted on how it goes with Talia.”

  I head out, Pam’s advice swirling in my head. What if I did take her flowers and ask her on a proper date? I mean, Pam is right, I do like her. I know I’m very attracted to her, and she seemed attracted to me. Of course, it could have been the alcohol…

  Der’mo. What if it was just the alcohol talking and now she very much regrets kissing me?

  I need to think carefully about what to do next.

  Because I cannot fuck this up more than I already have with her.

  Twenty

  You Should be his Sex Advisor, Too

  Talia

  Ugh. I can’t get my head into work stuff at all. My stomach is a flip-flopping disaster zone. My head hurts. My heart is racing. I’m not a panic attack kind of girl but this feels like one. Or maybe it’s karma. Karma for getting all hot and bothered over yet another of my clients. What is wrong with me?

  It’s been three days since that hot mess with Boris, and I haven’t heard a peep from him. I’ve been thinking about him, it, the situation. Ugh. Constantly. It just doesn’t go away, the thinking or the wanting. And to add to my anxious misery, I’m still totally hot for the guy. Totally turned on and wanting nothing more than his big hard—

  Stop.

  Boris rejected me. He had a change of heart apparently and then totally bolted from my apartment.

  But as he left, Parker came in and that’s when I completely lost my shit. Bawled like a teenage girl ditched on prom night. Seriously. Not just because he left. I think, probably, his leaving was the right thing to do. Still, it doesn’t mean it felt good to watch him go, even though I know he was as turned on as I was. But when Parker came back in? I fell apart, collapsing into a weeping mess on the floor. I was literally sick for letting it go so far, for being such a sluttress. Because I was one. One-hundred-percent-out-of-control-sluttress-trying-to-bang-her-client. How horrifyingly humiliating.

  He must think I’m so immature and unprofessional. I can’t even brush it off like, “No big deal, we were drunk,” because I wasn’t drunk and he wasn’t either. I was just my usual, awkward, idiot self, spilling tea on him. And then he was shirtless, and then he wanted me to read to him.

  “Oh my God.” I lean back in my chair and yell out loud into my empty office. “What an absolute fool I am!”

  Boris was totally turned on by my reading. He looked like he literally wanted to devour me, like he might eat me alive. And, frankly, I wanted him to go there.

  It’s embarrassing that I let myself get so worked up, so out of control. And then he tells me he doesn’t want to cross a professional line? Already crossed it when you looked at me that way, buddy. Crossed the fucking finish line when you kissed me.

  It probably wasn’t just professional courtesy that stopped him. I mean, he’s an athlete. A gorgeous, chiseled work of art. He’s famous and could probably have any woman he wanted. Why would he want some nerdy girl in thick glasses who can barely take a step without spilling something on herself or doing something weird?

  I’m probably destined to be a spinster cat lady whose only hobby is reading long fantasy books—maybe knitting a throw blanket once in a while when I really want to spice things up a little. Note to self: Look into finding a “knitting cat lovers” group on Facebook to join.

  At least there’s my sweet little LuLu who loves me.

  Of course, Parker had a totally different take on that night.

  * * *

  When she walked in, I busted out in big, stupid tears of regret. I told her what happened, the whole weird scene, and then admitted how much I genuinely liked the guy.

  “He’s kind and sweet and quiet.” I did my best to gulp back the tears but wasn’t very successful. “He’s not an arrogant prick like some of the sports stars we have to work with.”

  “Welp, I suggest you pull up your big girl panties, Talia my love, and go get him if you want him.”

  I hadn’t wanted to admit how very much I wanted him, not even to Parker, my best friend in the whole world. But she knew, because she always knows.

  “Look, I can see how hard you’re fighting against this, and I get it,” she said. “Believe me, I know what’s going on in that big brain of yours. You’re thinking what a cluster your last client fraternization ended up being. But the fucker was married with children and just wanted a side piece. And you were young and inexperienced, and you thought it was something more.”

  “Not helping.” I groaned and flopped back onto my chaise with great dramatic flair.

  “Hear me out though. I’m just saying you got caught up in something he never meant to move forward. It happens to many a good human, but I need to remind you not everyone is a prick like that last guy.”

  “He has a name…” I started to say.

  “No, he really doesn’t,” she replied, her lips doing the pursed, defiant thing they do when she’s done taking someone’s bullshit. “He doesn’t get to have a name because he’s a ghost. He’s nobody to you anymore. And this guy? Boris? He’s a real dude and he’s obviously into you but too much of a gentleman to push it very far. But you know? Maybe it’s meant to be?”

  “He is a really good guy,” I said, sniffling. “I looked him up. A lot.”

  I gave Parker a rueful, I-stalked-a-guy look and she laughed. “He’s also totally single, right?” she asked.

  “Totally. Not a one-night stand kind of guy, I’ve learned. Very honorable.”

  “And very hot,” Parker said.

  “That too,” I replied.

  * * *

  I think Parker was right. Boris is a real man, and he’s kind, and he pushes all my buttons. And yes, he is my client, but maybe that doesn’t matter so much…

  “No, dumbass,” I say to myself. “Of course it matters.”

  It won’t be surprising to hear that I’m not very experienced with men. I dated a few guys in college, had sex maybe twice and frankly never figured out what the fuss was all about. And even with Cameron the sex was just okay. It didn’t change my life or anything. I just enjoyed having someone who seemed to find me attractive. Lame. So very lame I know.

  Now, as I try to get myself under some semblance of emotional control, I know that I just hadn’t yet found someone who could make my motor hum, so to speak. And Boris got me from zero to sixty without doing much of anything at all. It was just a little taste, but now I want more. Now I want to experience what Parker has always gushed over. Hot. Sensual. Fucking. I want that, and I think Boris would have given it to me. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I stand up and shake my arms out, trying to will
my body to calm down. I head into the tiny bathroom to wash my face, but just as I look up at myself in the mirror, I hear the little bell on my door jingle and the hairs on my arms stand straight up. I know it’s him. I don’t know how, but I just know it’s Boris. My heart picks up its racing pace all over again.

  What if he says I was the one who stepped over the line? I mean, I was practically humping his leg. Suddenly, I’m just really, really embarrassed, and I want nothing more than to jump into a very deep hole and starve rather than go out and face his consternation.

  I take a quick, sharp breath and blow it back out, mentally preparing myself to get fired by Boris and, likely, by Harold once he finds out I’ve lost another important client because I can’t control my hormones.

  When I peek out, he’s standing awkwardly in the middle of my office, looking gorgeous in a plain, gray T-shirt and jeans. His hands are shoved into his pockets, his strong shoulders hunched. I step out into view and his eyes go wide.

  “I wasn’t sure you were here, but the door was unlocked, so…”

  My cheeks going hot, I take a deep breath in and hold it. I gesture to the chair and find my way to my own seat, legs wobbly as fuck. As soon as we both sit, I start talking. “I’m so ashamed of myself, Boris. You must be completely horrified by my behavior the other night. I just want to tell you—“

  He puts up a hand and stops me. “No, Talia. It was me. I started it by kissing you. It is my fault. I am the one who is ashamed.”

  I bite my lip and look away. “Well, a few beers can make anyone look kissable, right?” I give a shrug and an awkward, nervous laugh.

  “I don’t know why you say such things. I don’t drink often and certainly not to excess. I was sober. It was a choice, and I am sorry I crossed the line with you.”

  “Wait, you’re sorry?” I’m dumbfounded. “Why would you be sorry? You weren’t the one acting like an animal in heat.”

  I can see Boris’s lips quirk. He puts his hand to his mouth and fakes a cough to keep from laughing. “I think there is more to talk about when it comes to this thing between us, but I want to start by telling you I called my financial advisors in Russia and they should be transferring all of the information about my accounts to you by end of week.”

  “You still want to have me manage your investments?” I’m sure the shock is written all over my face. “I thought you were here to fire me.”

  This time it’s Boris who looks shocked, his strong brows shooting up into his hairline. “Why would you think that? I need you.”

  “You need me?”

  “I need your help. I trust you. I very much want to continue working with you.”

  “Oh.” I don’t really know how to feel right now but I force myself into a more professional posture, back straight, legs crossed, as I look at my computer just to avoid meeting his gaze. I don’t want him to see that I’m at war. Yes, I want his business, but I also want him. And hearing him say he needs me…I should be happy, but the disappointment is there, because it’s my financial mind he needs, and nothing more. But, of course, Talia. He said lovely words about me being beautiful, but they weren’t really true. He wants my brain. Nothing surprising there. “I shouldn’t have stepped over the line. I apologize. But yes, of course, I’d love to continue to work for you.”

  Boris opens his mouth and then closes it again. His mouth is a razor, set tight. It takes him a minute to figure out what to say.

  “Talia, I truly blame myself for this. I am so sorry that I made you feel I would not want to continue our professional relationship.”

  “No, it’s—I’m just—it’s me. I was the crazy one. I don’t want you to feel badly at all.”

  “I do, though. I actually came here with a secondary motive to ask you on a proper date, but I suppose, considering how this conversation is going, maybe I should not?”

  This time, my mouth drops open. “What? You want to go on a date…with me?”

  “I thought perhaps—“

  “Wait. You cut things off the other night. You walked away. Now you want to ask me out? Isn’t that running a little hot and cold, Boris?”

  He sits back in his seat. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to offend you.”

  I put a hand up. “No. I’m not offended, but I am confused. You bolted like you were the one offended the other night and now—“

  Boris stands quickly, nearly knocking over the chair. “Never mind. Let’s just keep it professional, then.”

  I grit my teeth. “Okay, whatever,” I manage to say. “That’s fine. But sit back down. We have business to finish up.”

  Angry and hurt, I walk Boris through everything I need from his Russian investment managers and talk him through everything we need to do on this end to ensure a smooth transition. We already have accounts set up with his current wages, so I just need a small amount of paperwork to prepare for the transfer of overseas accounts. I read everything to him and make sure he understands before having him sign. Even though this thing between us is a total cluster—as Parker noted—I still want to ensure he doesn’t get or feel screwed again. He doesn’t deserve it.

  Once we’re done, he stands and reaches out a hand for me to shake. It feels forced and formal and I hate it. But I take his offer reluctantly, and probably wearing an expression akin to what one might wear when he or she has smelled a dead fish. Still, when we touch, there’s a zing of energy that goes right to my core. It’s that easy and I know he feels it, too, because his eyes go wide and he pulls away quickly, clearing his throat and saying goodbye before making a hasty retreat.

  In the end I decide not to dwell on it. Well, I dwell on it a little, kicking myself for not being nicer when he said he wanted to ask me on a date. He caught me off guard and I’m not proud of the way I responded. Well crap.

  Still, I have work to do. A career to maintain. And I can at least report that I have not lost Boris’s business when I call Harold later.

  “Hey, Talia, he says. “How’s Sin City this week?”

  “Sinful,” I say.

  “Good to hear,” he says. “More sin means more money will need investing.”

  “True. I do have good news on that front.”

  “The sinning or the investing?”

  “The investing, duh,” I say. “The Ice Dragon is moving all of his Russian puck money to us, to add in with the new accounts we set up for his Crush contract.”

  “Puck money.” He chuckles. “Cute. I love it, and really good news, T. The whole shebang, huh?”

  “Yep. We’ll see how it all shakes out. These guys were screwing him royally. I can get it under control, but I need to see what they send to me first. I’m sure they’ll try to fuck him over one more time before losing his business.”

  “Well, let me know if we need to call in the lawyers.”

  “Will do, chief.”

  “Congrats. He’s a big name to land. You’re killin’ it out there. Glad I sent you.”

  “It was a good move for both of us,” I answer. “Hey, what do you know about Boris?”

  “Why? He creeping you out?”

  “No, not at all. He seems really decent, but I know sometimes we can’t judge by the wrapper.”

  “Scott tells me he’s a good dude,” Harold says. “Quiet. Not a big partier. Not a womanizer. Kind of boring by pro athlete standards. His words.”

  “And as a player? He worth the hype?”

  “Haven’t you watched his highlights?”

  “Some,” I say, not wanting to admit that it’s the still photos of him shirtless that seem to garner my attention lately. And my skin burns just thinking how hot and strong and yes, sexy, touching him had been.

  “He’s courteous, a good sportsman. Strong player, super consistent. He scores like crazy. With Evan on the wing…damn. The Crush is definitely favored to take the Cup this season.”

  “And the Russian connection?”

  “Some shady ties, but that’s kind of par for the course, to mix my sports metaphors. A
ll those guys who played Russian puck are tied to some dark characters, either directly or indirectly. It’s Russia, you know? Boris somewhat less than most, though.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Thanks. He seems great. Just wanted to confirm. I’ll let you know when the transfers are all in place.”

  We hang up and I put my head down and force myself to get some work done. Still, I find myself edgy and cranky by five, so I knock off earlier than usual with plans to get a giant, messy sandwich made of all the meats and then take it home so I can feed my feelings in private.

  I wander down the street to a little deli that has fast become one of my favorites, heading straight to the counter to order a Rueben with extra meat. I pay and stand to the side, waiting for my food, as a familiar-looking guy wanders in, sunglasses on even though he’s inside.

  He stares at the board for a long time before placing his order. When he steps near me, he lifts his sunglasses and stares at me with piercing blue eyes, lots of tats peeking out of his collar and shirt sleeves. He looks young. Blond and fit, and it occurs to me that I’ve seen this guy at the arena.

  “Do I know you?” he asks.

  “No, but you play for the Crush, right?”

  He nods and extends a hand. “Tyler.”

  “Talia.” I shake his hand.

  He considers me for a second then it dawns on him. He laughs softly. “I know those glasses. You’re the hot librarian who was looking for Boring Boris that one day. And the one he was drooling over at the club the other night.”

  “He wasn’t drooling. Come on.”

  He shrugs and makes a face that says otherwise. “He was being a class-B creeper, looking at you from afar for the longest time. Took no interest in any of the many tasty treats I tried to feed him through the night.”

  “That sounds sexist.” I can’t help cringing.

  “It sounds like a compliment, lady. He was all about you and only you, even though I know he didn’t leave with you. Poor sap-bastard probably fell asleep with his cock in his hand and a sexy nerd on his mind.”