Page 100 of Breakaway Bet

I chuckle, and I stand and walk around the desk. I pull her up out of her chair and into my arms, and I let her cry a few tears as she processes all of this.

And then we get down to work.

It’s not just managing my social media. In a way, it’s managing me. She’s branding me into something that resembles the bottle of tequila we’re going to sell, and we’re not selling a party brand, so it’s time to lose that image.

We’re selling a brand that feels like that part of the night that comes after the party.

Dark, sexy, moody.

She’s got it all under control, and her real genius comes in when she connects the tequila to my team’s logo and colors so it feels hockey branded, too. The deep red. The black.

She won’t post pictures of me in my away white jersey, only in my home black-and-red jersey or our alternates that capitalize on the black.

This is where it feels like people are getting a piece of Cash Maddox just simply by drinking my tequila. She’s selling this fantasy to women that they’re getting me…and this fantasy to men that they could be like me just by drinking my tequila.

“Wait a minute. Would the Vengeance host a tequila-themed night to feature Nocturno?” she asks.

I shrug. “I don’t really know what they do. I’m focused on the ice, but I’m pretty sure they’d let me do some sort of promotion or sponsorship. It’ll be pricey, though.”

“Pricey is okay.” She twists her lips. “I’m thinking like tastings, signature drinks…maybe even a giveaway at entry to launch your brand.” She makes a note of it.

We sync calendars, and she sees a charity event next week on mine. She sends an order into a stylist with exactly what she wants me to wear, and she asks if I’m bringing her as my date since I didn’t even realize I had this event, then orders herself a complementary outfit when I confirm.

She coaches me on what to say to the press, and she logs into all my socials…including the one Ginny runs. She calls Ginny with me in the office, and we discuss all of it. Ginny’s still my publicist, but she won’t be running my socials any longer, and she and Ivy will very clearly become best friends as they’ll be working hand in hand together to launch this tequila and rebrand me.

We work well past the five o’clock mark, and she orders dinner into the office since we’re not done yet.

I feel myself admiring her—not just how she looks on the outside, but also that brain of hers. She’s a fucking natural. I wish I could hire her as my personal assistant on top of everything else she’s doing for me. She’s capable, organized, and incredibly intuitive at all of this, and we’re really just getting started.

I can’t wait for all that’s coming.

CHAPTER 33: Cash Maddox

Silent Auction

Ivy meets me down in the kitchen the following Tuesday evening in a gorgeous black gown, her hair all done up in some fancy twist and dramatic makeup that makes her look more glamorous than I’ve ever seen her. I left her alone to get ready in the bedroom we now share since she moved all her stuff into it, and it was well worth the wait.

“Wow,” I say softly, and I let out a low whistle.

Her eyes travel up and down my length, which, of course, speaks directly to my cock, and she says, “Wow yourself.”

After she takes in my black suit and black shirt underneath with no tie, the collar opened casually at the neck, she steps into my orbit, and I pull her into my arms.

“We’re going to be the hottest couple there tonight,” she says.

“Only because of you,” I say.

She chuckles, and I drop my mouth to hers for a quick kiss that she pulls out of far too quickly for my liking.

I shoot her a wounded look, and she smiles as she shakes her head. “Don’t start that or we’ll be late.”

“Maybe I want to be late,” I tease.

“Sorry, but that is no longer on brand for you.”

“Yeah, if I’m supposed to be like the after-party, then late is one hundred percent my brand.”

She laughs and rolls her eyes as if I simply don’t get it, and maybe I don’t.