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For passes and shots and scoring goals. For hits and skating fast and leading a locker room.

For hockey.

Now, I’m just trying to make certain that I have an exit strategy, a fallback plan.

Not just a hockey player—something more.

“Did you need something, Ally?” I ask my agent as I resume my set, counting off the reps in my head, quads burning, punishment in full effect.

“Oh yeah,” she says on a moan, predatory eyes fixed on me through the screen. “I need something.”

Fuck.

This is why you never sleep with your agent.

She’s had my dick, and now she wants it whenever she’s broken up with her current boyfriend (which is often).

Bonus points, she also has the ability to ruin my career.

So…that’s cool.

Sighing, I bend and unhook the dumbbell from my shoulder, allowing the weight to fall to the black rubber mat with a thunk. Then I yank my foot out of the band and straighten—both of my legs groaning in protest. I grab my towel, throwing it around my shoulders before I snatch up my phone, cutting off Ally’s view of my something.

“How about this?” I say. “Did you need something that’s not my dick, oh agent of mine?”

She sighs, flops back in her office chair—and I know it’s that one because she hardly ever goes anywhere else. Always at her desk, always working. And when she’s not negotiating deals from that pristine corner office, she’s at industry events…working.

Networking. Making new connections.

Trying to sell her clients.

Yup. Sell them.

Including me.

But, considering that my bank account can afford to send a certain matchmaker a two-million-dollar electronic transfer without being too sad, I put up with Ally’s shit.

Just like I’ll keep putting up with it in order to score this next big-ass payday.

Life-changing money.

Something more.

And I know that Ally’s the one to make that happen for me because she’s the woman who saw me before I made it big, saw my potential, and…she dreamed of dollar signs. And has worked her ass off to get them since.

For both of us.

I always know where I stand with her—something that’s a rare feat in my line of work.

Money first, everything else—including pesky things like happiness—don’t matter.

“I always need your dick, Ace My Face⁠—”

I roll my eyes.

“—but this is a business call.”

“Of course it is,” I say dryly. “What is it this time?”