The Faker: A Marriage of Convenience Hockey Romance (Boston Hawks Hockey) Gina Azzi (series like harry potter TXT) 📖

“Thanks for having me,” I say, offering him a grin.

We take a seat at a conference room table as Josh introduces me to a handful of men, one of them being Stu Sanders. Bingo. It figures there’s not a woman in the room. I lean back in my chair and study each of the men. “Tell me about the vodka.”

“We’re really enthusiastic about working with Saint Vodka and love the idea of having athletes, such as yourself, represent the brand.” Josh launches into his sales pitch, telling me all about Saint, about Hendrix’s marketing vision, about shooting a commercial, yada, yada.

But my focus is trained on Stu Sanders, who must pick up on my vibe, because about a third of the way into Josh’s little speech, Stu starts shooting me worried looks.

I smile, feigning politeness when I really want to reach across the table, grab him by his collar, and demand to know every inappropriate time he touched, spoke to, or thought about my wife. The thought leaves me reeling because yes, Rielle is my wife. But God, she’s so much more than that. Over the past few weeks, she’s become my…everything. My sounding board, my advice-giver, my shoulder to lean on, my ride or freaking die. The little prick scared to make eye contact with me deserves a hell of a lot more than my fist to his face and it pains me that today, I can’t even do that. Because, playoffs.

But I can clap my hands when Josh is finished speaking, sit straighter in my seat, and chuckle. “It sounds like a great product. Really, it’s definitely something I would order at the bar. I like the direction you’re going in too. The athletic component, the moody, gritty, masculine vibe. I wish I could say yes to the endorsement opportunity.”

Josh’s mouth opens and closes twice before he sputters, “What do you mean? Why can’t you sign on? Your agent and lawyer didn’t see any type of conflict of interest.”

“It’s personal.” I glare at Stu Sanders, narrowing my eyes. “I believe my wife used to work for you, under Stu over here.”

Stu visibly pales, his eyes nearly falling out of his head.

I lean closer, my voice quiet, laced with all the threats I’m not at liberty to openly throw at him. “Name Rielle Carter ring a bell?”

He drops his head and moves to stand from his chair.

“Sit back down,” I bellow, my restraint snapping.

“Now, now,” Josh mutters, stepping toward the conference table with his hands raised. “I’m sure there’s some kind of misunderstanding—”

“Why don’t you tell your boss, all the men in this room, how there wasn’t a misunderstanding. How you took advantage of my wife’s work ethic for months before sexually assaulting her.” I keep my eyes trained on Stu for a long moment. The atmosphere in the room drops to freezing, everyone around the conference table shifting uncomfortably in their chairs. Good. They should be uncomfortable. I glance around the table. “Unless you all knew about it and—”

“No, no. God, no. Of course not.” Josh shakes his head, looking truly disturbed at my words. “Stu?”

Stu’s hands are shaking and he looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest, waiting.

He licks his cracked lips nervously, his beady eyes almost tearing up.

I lift my eyebrows. We’re fucking waiting, Stu.

“I didn’t mean—” he starts.

I frown.

“I thought Rielle—”

“Try again,” I snap.

“I’m sorry for putting my hands on Rielle,” he mumbles.

“My wife.”

“Your wife,” he repeats, his eyes drawn to the carpet.

“And...?” I prompt.

“I never should have said the things I said to her or done the things I did.” His shoulders slump and I want to kick him in the balls so hard, they’ll come up out of his mouth.

My hands clench into fists as I try to control my accelerated breathing. Just hearing him say those words, imagining the things he said and did to Rielle, has me seeing red.

I glare at Josh who, thankfully, can read a room a hell of a lot better than Stu.

“We’ll be launching an investigation into Stu Sanders’ relationship—”

I clear my throat harshly.

Josh amends his statement, “treatment of Ms. Carter.”

“Mrs. Hansen,” I correct. “Immediately.”

Josh nods as Stu shuffles around nervously, unsure whether to stay or go. What a dick.

I stand from my chair. “Well, gentlemen, it was nice to meet all of you today. Too bad it couldn’t be under more pleasant circumstances. As a result of that man’s”—I point to Stu—“disgusting, revolting, not to mention illegal actions, I take great pleasure in letting you know that no members of the Hawks franchise will be signing any endorsement deal with your marketing firm, to represent Saint or any other product you have. What happens next, regarding the legal and professional actions taken against Stu, will determine just how much I share this story with other athletes, both in hockey and in other sports. Thank you for your time.” I stride to the conference room door, keeping my head straight ahead. Right before I reach the handle, I snap my fingers and turn back to the room. “Oh and since Rielle was fired for not sleeping with Stu, she needs a letter of recommendation. A glowing one that highlights her more than proficient qualities and high standards of professionalism while working here.”

Josh clears his throat, glaring directly at Stu. “I’ll take care of it personally. I’ll email it today.”

“Glad to hear it.” I nod once and push out of the office.

I wave to the receptionist as I pass by her desk, smile politely to a man I pass on the way to the elevators, and head to my SUV.

Once I’m behind the wheel, I let out a deep breath and pull my ride to the front of the building where I can get a clear view on who’s coming and going.

Not twenty minutes later, a red-faced Stu Sanders pushes out into the daylight, carrying