Secretly Pucking The Hockey God.

The sound of her mother banging on her bedroom door dragged Maya out of sleep like a criminal being pulled toward execution.

“Maya! You're going to be late again!”

She groaned into her pillow, one arm flung dramatically over her face. “Five more minutes,” she croaked.

“You said that twenty minutes ago!”

Damnit.

Her eyes creaked open reluctantly, landing on the blinking numbers of her alarm clock.

7:43AM.

“Oh shit.”

She shot upright so fast her blanket tangled around her legs and nearly sent her crashing face-first into the floor. Her head throbbed immediately, punishment for staying awake until almost two in the morning trying to contact the most frustrating man in New York.

Hunter freaking Callum.

The country’s golden boy and media’s favorite arrogant asshole.

She rubbed both hands down her face before collapsing back onto the mattress for exactly three seconds.

Yesterday had been humiliation wrapped in expensive suits and rejection.

Twice.

The first time had happened outside the private sports hotel Hunter’s team apparently used whenever they were in Manhattan. She’d stood there for almost forty minutes rehearsing questions in her head before finally being allowed inside, only to be blocked by his agent before she even made it past the lobby.

Blocked politely too. The kind of politeness that somehow felt worse.

“I’m sorry, Miss Adams. Mr Callum isn’t accepting any interviews at the moment.”

She’d smiled professionally. Then begged professionally. Then practically sold her soul professionally.

Yet nothing.

Later that night, she’d called again from home after staring at her laptop for two straight hours while her deadline laughed at her from the top corner of the screen.

Rejected again.

Apparently Hunter Callum was too important to spare thirty minutes for an interview that could save her career.

She threw the blanket aside with unnecessary violence and stumbled out of bed. Her tiny room looked exactly like her mental state felt.

Freaking chaotic.

Clothes hung over her chair while papers littered her desk. An empty noodle cup sat beside her laptop like a monument to poor financial choices.

The ceiling fan above creaked weakly as it spun.

They really needed to move. Or fix the fan. Or win the lottery.

Any of the above would work.

“Maya!” her mother shouted again from downstairs.

“I'm alive!”

“Barely.”

She snorted despite herself and dragged her tired body toward the bathroom.

Twenty-five minutes later, she walked downstairs wearing black slacks, a cream blouse, and the last ounces of patience she possessed.

The smell of fried eggs and toast hit instantly.

Their house wasn’t much. Tiny kitchen. Old furniture. But right now, it sounded infinitely better than the publishing firm waiting downtown.

“Morning,” her mom said as she moved around the kitchen.

“Debatable.”

Her mother rolled her eyes affectionately.

Nurse scrubs peeked out beneath her cardigan, meaning she’d probably just returned from a night shift not long ago.

“Eat before you leave.”

“I’ll grab something later.”

“Maya.”

She sighed dramatically and grabbed a piece of toast. That was when she heard it.

The unmistakable roar of hockey fans coming from the living room TV.

“Oh, for the love of God.”

Her younger brother grinned from the couch without 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 moved 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.

The man unfortunately looked like sin wrapped in expensive sports gear.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Sharp jawline. Dark hair messy beneath his helmet like a cologne commercial 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 before narrowing 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 as she leaned down and kissed the top of his head.

“Love you,” he said.

“Unfortunately, I love you too.”

Her chest tightened briefly as she walked toward the door.

That was the problem.

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.

She needed this interview badly.

And Hunter Callum kept slamming the door in her face.

By the time she reached work, her anxiety had fully returned.

The giant glass building of Hart Publishing stood tall and intimidating against the morning sky. Usually, she loved this place.

Usually.

Today, the building looked like it wanted to fight her personally.

She barely sat down at her desk before Jessie appeared beside her holding coffee.

“You look homicidal.”

“I’m considering it.”

Jessie 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.

Jessie winced immediately. “That’s never good.”

No. No, it was not.

She picked it up slowly. “Maya Adams speaking.”

“Mr. Cross wants to see you immediately.”

Her stomach dropped.

Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

She hung up and stood with a tired sigh.

Jessie gave her a sympathetic look. “Want me to help hide the body afterward?”

“If I survive, yes.”

The walk to Mr. Cross’s office felt longer than usual. She already knew something was wrong the second she stepped inside.

Chloe Miller sat across from Mr. Cross wearing a smug expression that immediately made her eyes twitch.

Oh, she was definitely about to suffer.

“Maya,” Mr. Cross greeted.

“Sir.”

“Take a seat.”

Mr. Cross sighed heavily after she sat down. 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.

Mr. Cross continued carefully. “The board feels we’ve invested enough time into this already.”

“I just need a little longer,” Maya said quickly. “I can get it done.”

“Maya—”

“I’m serious. I was close yesterday.”

That was probably a lie.

Mr. Cross rubbed his temple. “You’ve had three weeks.”

“Because his agent keeps blocking me.”

“Which is exactly why we need someone else handling it now.”

Her chest tightened painfully.

“No,” she said quietly. “Please don’t do this.”

Chloe tilted her head slightly, fake sympathy dripping from her face.

“I’m sure you tried your best.”

Maya wanted to throw something at her immediately.

Mr. Cross ignored her. “This decision is final.”

The room suddenly felt too hot.

Everyone knew this interview mattered. Landing Hunter Callum would mean massive traffic for the magazine. Bigger sponsorships. Bigger visibility. Career-changing.

And now it was being handed to Chloe.

“Understood,” she forced out.

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 you’d cry in there,” Chloe said casually as they walked down the hallway.

Maya kept walking.

“Then again, you’ve 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 your number.”

That stopped Maya. Slowly, she turned around and Chloe smiled.

“Oh good. I finally got your attention.”

“You should leave me alone right now.” Maya warned.

“Why? Because you’re embarrassed? Honestly Maya, maybe if you spent less time obsessing over Hunter Callum and more time acting like a professional—”

“I said leave me alone.”

Several coworkers were already looking over now.

Chloe lowered her voice mockingly. “Maybe athletes just prefer talented journalists.”

And there it was. The final push after weeks of stress, bills, 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 Chloe hard.

Gasps erupted around them.

Chloe stumbled backward in shock before immediately lunging at her.

“Oh, you psycho bitch—”

Suddenly they were both yelling. Hands grabbing at each other. Someone screaming her name. Papers flying everywhere.

Chloe grabbed Maya’s hair and she nearly blacked out.

“Get OFF me!”

She shoved Chloe again while Chloe clawed at her sleeve.

Then multiple hands grabbed them both.

Jessie wrapped her arms around Maya’s waist from behind while another coworker held Chloe back.

“Maya!” Jessie hissed. “Stop!”

Reality crashed into her instantly.

Oh no.

What had she just done?

Mr. Cross stormed out of his office looking furious.

“What the hell is going on here?!”

Nobody answered. Mostly because Chloe was busy pretending she’d survived a war.

“She attacked me!” Chloe cried dramatically.

Maya opened her mouth then closed it again.

Because technically?

Yeah. She had.

Mr. Cross looked at her with disappointment instead of anger. That somehow hurt worse.

“My office. Now.”

Twenty minutes later, Maya was being escorted out of the building carrying the contents of her desk in a cardboard box like every miserable cliché movie scene ever created.

Suspended indefinitely.

Jessie had tried defending her. It hadn’t mattered.

She stepped onto the crowded sidewalk numbly while people rushed past beneath the towering New York buildings.

Her phone buzzed.

RENT DUE IN 3 DAYS.

Another notification followed immediately after.

PAYMENT FAILED.

She laughed. A tiny, broken sound.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Then people around her suddenly started murmuring. Some even stopped walking.

A massive digital billboard overhead flickered before switching to a new advertisement.

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 across the screen.

WINNERS NEVER CHASE.

She stared at it in disbelief before actually laughing.

Because of course.

Of course the universe would mock her with Hunter freaking Callum immediately after she lost her job chasing him.