Page 76 of Secret Husband
“Women.”
“A-plus! I know it can be hard to decide who’s in it for you versus your big, fat signing bonus, but I’m getting the impression that Brittany?—”
“Bretony. With two E’s on the end.”
Jesus. “Breton-ee is looking for a meal ticket. You can’t be flying to Dubai on your off days during the season, Frisco.”
“What about putting her in a private jet to come here for games?”
“Well, you could. But it sounds like she’s in it for the clout and how good those private jet pics would look on her ’gram. That’s a surefire way of sending your money into a black hole instead of investing it where it matters. Did you talk to that advisor I recommended?”
“I was going to, but then I got a call from Thad.”
My antennae zinged. “My Thad?”
“Yeah, he had this great opportunity with a hockey-themed crypto fund. It’s called PUCK with a dollar sign where the C should be. How cool is that?”
My insides flipped. I felt a little nauseous, or maybe it was the peach yogurt I had for lunch. In fact, my stomach had been arguing with me all day, and now it felt like I’d gone ten rounds with it. I could feel sweat beading along my hairline.
“Yeah, cool. So how come you didn’t tell me about this?”
“It’s something you guys are doing together, yeah?”
“Actually, no. Thad’s business and mine don’t mix. How much did you invest?”
His maximum entry-level contract was just under a million, and the rookie bonus was capped at ten percent of that, so hopefully …
“A hundred K. That’s alright, isn’t it?”
Holy fuck. “Oh yeah, it’s fine. But I really need you to call Dylan Bankowski. He’s the financial advisor I recced and he’s a former player with the Rebels. Banks knows his stuff. Don’t spend or invest another dime until you’ve talked to him, okay?”
“Sure.” He paused. “But everything’s cool, yeah?”
“Of course!” My cheer sounded supremely fake, but this kid wouldn’t pick up on it.
I hoped.
I immediately reached out to Thad.
Me
Dinner tonight?
An hour later, he still hadn’t responded when Esme popped her head around the door. “I’ve set up the call with Arkady Volkov for tomorrow at two p.m. Oh, what’s wrong?”
My stomach gurgled, and not in an “I’m hungry” way. More like a “what did you do to me?” way.
“I woke up this morning with an upset stomach. No big—” I grabbed the wastebasket and hurled right into it. Shit. Where did that come from?
Esme squinted at me but kept her distance.
“You don’t look so hot. Any chance you’re—oh my god, are you pregnant?”
“No, Esme, I am not pregnant.” It had been a while, maybe a month, since I had sex with Thad, and I’d had my period since then. I was pretty sure that was how it worked. “I’m going to go home and work from there.”
“Okay, let me know if you need anything. I can send one of Kennedy’s minions over with chicken soup.”
I smiled thinly and gestured to the wastebasket. “Let me clean this up first.”
