FROM THE DESK OF CJ CARTWRIGHT:

AHHH! It's Release Day for Malicious Compliance! This little book baby is part of the Men of the C-Suite collection and I am beyond excited to share it with you.

Men of the C-Suite is a steamy collection that features executive-level alpha males ready to sweep you off your feet (and maybe onto their desk)! If power suits and dirty talk are your thing, get ready to devour this hot new series from your favorite group of romance authors.

If you're looking for a grumpy Hockey alpha, a spitfire of an assistant, pranks + banter, and just a hint of a power exchange/brat-taming relationship ... LOOK NO FURTHER! Malicious Compliance is your jam!

(Look at that beard and manbun on Max... le sigh. Yes. Please!)

I have included the first chapter of Malicious Compliance for you to check out today. Grab your own copy for only 99c before the price goes up!

mybook.to/WhatThePuck

BLURB:

Your entire life can change with a single message.

When former hockey legend turned CEO/investor Maxwell Valente downloaded a new top-secret dating app, he was mostly looking for a way to kill some time before his new position started. But when he finds himself drawn into flirty conversation at all hours with a mysterious and vivacious hockey fan that just so happens to live in his new city, he can’t help but let down his guard to share his deepest, darkest desires...

Ember Caldwell lives, works, and breathes hockey. As granddaughter of the owner of the Astoria Bay Thunder, she’s always known that the team would one day be hers. But as hard as she works, she plays even harder. When her grandfather tells her the promotion she’s been waiting her whole life for has been awarded to a secret stranger, her entire world spins on its axis. A clandestine and sexy conversation with an anonymous hottie on the internet seems like just the thing to help her get over her disappointment. She had no idea how quickly she’d get attached…

When Maxwell and Ember’s worlds collide, sparks hot enough to melt center ice will fly. When identities are revealed, will the connection they forged anonymously be enough to sustain them? Or will it be the wedge that drives them apart?

One-click Malicious Compliance today for a short, steamy workplace romance featuring a feisty heroine, a brat-taming Dominant hockey hero, and the boys of the Astoria Bay Thunder.

Malicious Compliance is a complete novella appearing in the Men of the C-Suite collection. It serves as the prequel to Astoria Bay Thunder, a steamy new hockey romance series by CJ Cartwright.

CHAPTER SNEAK PEEK!  MALICIOUS COMPLIANCE

© CJ Cartwright, 2021: All Rights Reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or shared without written approval.

Get Malicious Compliance here: mybook.to/WhatThePuck 

PROLOGUE ~ EMBER 

~10 years ago~

“And we’re tied, folks. The Astoria Bay Thunder against the Central City Icehawks, here in Game 5 of the Stanley Cup.” 

The announcer’s voice booms through the packed arena, and I shiver as a rush of pure adrenaline shoots through me. 

“Enjoying yourself, Ember?” My grandfather stops by my chair and smiles down at me fondly. It’s impossible not to grin back at him as I meet his steely blue eyes. 

To most, Hadrian Caldwell is the stony face of Caldwell Industries. A fierce competitor in the boardroom and an eccentric in his personal life. He’s what some would call ridiculously rich.

Hadrian Caldwell’s life is a mystery people have been determined to solve for decades. But to me, he’ll always just be Gramps. He rescued me when my worthless mother took off and raised me as his own. 

But here in this state-of-the-art arena nicknamed ‘Olympus’ - he’s just another rabid hockey fan cheering for his team. 

This place is our home away from home. It’s far away from boardrooms and mergers and whatever the hell else he does. 

Hockey is our thing. It binds us together.

I’ve grown up in this arena, gone to every home game, and spent countless Sunday nights having family dinners with the team. It's more than just a game for me, it's a huge part of my life. 

Over the years, Caldwell Industries has spared no expense to set the Thunder up for success.

Money is no object.

New arena (partially funded by the city, but only for show). State-of-the-art training facilities. The best coaches. 

In the quest for victory, the Thunder have everything they could ever dream of. But somehow, they’ve never quite been able to seal the deal.

Fans are packed in here shoulder to shoulder, drinks jostling and spilling. Young, old, and in-between—no one dares to breathe wrong as we watch our team edge closer and closer to the elusive victory we've never had. 

We don’t win things here. Some call us unlucky. Others say we’re cursed. 

Whatever it is, we’ve all learned the hard way that Astoria Bay will break your heart.

Every. Single. Time. 

Something always happens.

But, like the lovestruck fools we are, we’re back - season after season - hoping this year will finally be our turn. 

I glance around the packed arena and smile. The crowd’s enthusiasm iswas at a fever pitch. It's been a sweetheart of a season. The Thunder have been unstoppable, winning left and right, and the possibility of a trophy has teased our entire fanbase into a frenzy. 

There’s an energy in the air that speaks to all of us. 

Game Five.

It’s further than we have ever been. 

More raucous cheering draws my attention back to the ice and the reason for the crowd’s enthusiasm skating down center ice in his bright blue uniform. 

Maxwell Valente. 

At only 22 years old, he’s one of the youngest power forwards in our league. At 6’2” and full of muscle, he’s a force to be reckoned with out there. Commentators across the league whisper his name in awe. We all know we’re watching a true hockey prodigy. 

During one of his scouting missions a few years ago, Hadrian had found a lanky kid languishing in some high school program in the middle of nowhere and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. As soon as he graduated, Max was sent to our training team and quickly ranked up to play for the Thunder. It was his first season in the jersey, and he’d led our team to this championship playoff in one hell of a pro debut. 

His skills on the ice have made him a favorite among hockey fans, but his ice-blue eyes, long brown hair, and penchant for smoldering smirks have elevated him to a god-like status for the world at large. 

The way he moves? Mmph. 

There’s a reason he’s the guest star in dreams all over Astoria Bay, including mine. 

If he pulls us through this, I can guarantee he won’t ever pay for a drink in this town again… among other offers… 

“MAX SPEED! MAX SPEED!” The crowd chants as Maxwell flies up the center of the ice, barreling down towards the goalposts. 

I love watching him fly up the center, effortlessly moving around defenders with his eye on the prize. Power emanates from him. 

“Do you think our boy will do it?” Gramps asks, appearing suddenly at my shoulder. 

I can’t take my eyes off the ice, and I reach for my lucky pendant and rub my thumb over it. 

“Central City has the brute strength - those Vasily twins shouldn’t be counted out, but Valente is fast. Unnaturally fast. I think he might,” I murmur, eyes still glued to the puck. 

My pulse taps giddily and I can’t sit still. He’s almost there. 

“C’mon, you sexy fuck, shoot it in the goal!”

Three people glance over at us with amusement as my best friend Madeline presses a kiss to her hand and then smashes it down on Max’s face printed on her shirt. 

I grin and grab her hand. 

We really, really need this win. 

He lines up the shot, and it’s like the entire freaking arena forgets to breathe. His form is beautiful and the ice in front of him is so clear, I swear to god it sparkles. 

One more point and we take the lead. 

Less than 4 minutes left in the game. 

This could be it - the moment we’ve all been waiting for. 

“Shoot it!” I pray, gripping Madeline’s fist hard. 

Time slows down as his stick swings back. I’m so focused on Valente’s movements that I don’t notice the flash of a black jersey behind him.

Until it’s too late. 

Impact comes just as Valente’s stick touches the puck. Sticks up, the Vasily twins charge him, crashing into his sides and sandwiching him between them. 

Max’s helmet flies off, and the referees’ whistle is barely audible over the crowd’s outrage. My heart lodges in my throat when his head snaps backward on the impact, and his arms flail as he struggles to catch his balance. 

The crunch of the hockey player sandwich reverberates throughout the entire arena. Tears prick my eyes. 

When the Vasily twins finally push away from him and throw their sticks to the ground, Valente falls forward. The furious roar of the crowd greets them when they toss a rude gesture up at the fans. 

“Get-up-get-up-get-up,” I whisper. The rest of the Thunder team skates furiously to avenge their brother. 

The ref forces the Icehawks back to their bench while the Thunder circle around Valente, blocking him from view. 

“Oh my god, those fuckers. Did you see that hit? Is he going to be ok? Tell me, he’s going to be ok, Em. We can’t lose him!” Madeline is distraught. We both peer down to see what’s happening on the ice. 

A single tear drips down my face when the trainers and coaches motion frantically for the medics to join them. 

The entire arena grows silent. Waiting. 

Gramps’ hand on my shoulder grounds me. Providing a steady anchor and preventing me from losing it. Even so, a profound dread permeates my soul.

“Come on, Max. You can get up,” I whisper again.

The stretcher crew rolls out on the ice, and a quiet shuffle echoes through the crowd. Thunder fans and Icehawk fans both stand in respect. Blood rushes to my ears when I stumble to my feet. 

Numbly, I watch as the paramedics carefully lift Max onto the rolling stretcher. He is strapped to a spinal board, his body is unnaturally still. 

“How is this happening? How could they hit him that hard?” Madeline hisses next to me, wiping her own eyes with her fist. 

I don’t have an answer for her. The hit was clearly illegal and designed to injure Max. 

The paramedics wheel him off the ice, and the entire Thunder team skates in formation behind him. 

After that, it’s a blur. 

Hadrian’s phone rings off the hook, and hushed conversations take place all around me. 

My chest is tight, and my cheeks are wet with tears. 

Madeline growls a litany of profanity as she bangs on the glass of our protected box when the Vasily twins are ejected from the game. 

But it doesn’t matter. 

I curl up into my chair and hold my knees to my chest. 

The game finishes out with a victory for Central City, but I can’t even muster the energy to protest or shout my anger at their ill-gotten win. 

Gramps pulls me into a hug, and together, we shuffle to our private elevator. As soon as we break free from the bustle of the box, I let my tears fall. 

I am crying over a hockey player who doesn’t even know I exist. It makes no sense. 

“He’s strong, Em. Our medical team is world-class.” 

He tips my chin up and meets my tear-blurred gaze. I blink and manage a nod. 

“Good girl. Remember this feeling - this brokenness that reminds you we’re alive in this deeply flawed human race. It will fuel you later and give you valuable insight when you’re the one making decisions for men you’ve never met.” 

I am lost in my grief and thoughts. When I’m the one making decisions. 

The familiar lightning and cloud logo emblazoned on the elevator wall brings clarity. 

He means me. And his beloved Thunder. 

I chance another glance at him, and he gives me a small, knowing smile. 

Making decisions for the Thunder? The thought is daunting. I grew up in this arena and hockey is basically the first love of my life but… 

But… 

Anxiety and determination war against each other as we step out of the elevator. Without thinking, I pull my sunglasses on and fish the ball cap out of my bag and slam it on my head. By the time we turn the corner, my strawberry blonde hair is tucked safely up under my hat, and my oversized sunglasses shield my identity as best they can. 

The flash of the press cameras and clamor of reporters begging for a statement greet us as we carefully make our way to our waiting car. I’m so used to it, I move on autopilot and barely notice that Gramps isn’t by my side until I am nearing the car. 

Turning around in confusion, I see him standing in a knot of reporters, gesturing wildly with his arms. They press closer and I can tell he is finding his stride. 

“The old man still knows how to run the press, I’ll tell you that.” 

I face our driver, Duane, when he leans against the passenger side with me. Together, we watch as Gramps whips the mob of reporters into a frenzy. 

“Do you think I’ll ever be able to do what he does?” I ask softly, pulling my lucky pendant out one more time. 

“Oh, girlie - Hadrian is like a tornado. He comes to town, sirens blazing and fucks shit up and leaves mayhem in his wake. But you? You’re like the eye of a hurricane. Calm, collected — you’ll lull them into complacency before you rock their entire world. Count on it.” 

For the first time since they wheeled Max off the ice, I managed a genuine smile. 

“What’s that necklace you’re always messing with?” Duane asks me. 

I open my hand to show him. Nestled against my Thunder jersey, there is a small golden charm with the number 10 on it. 

He raises an eyebrow at it, and I shrug as I climb into the car. 

“My birthday is August 10th.” 

That’s enough for Duane. He’s worked for Hadrian forever. Duane knows when to ask questions and when to push. When Gramps gets in the car, we speed off into the horizon. 

Besides, it’s not like I was lying. August 10th is my birthday. 

That Maxwell Valente also has number 10? Pure coincidence. Obviously. 

I look back at the twinkling lights of the stadium, and a small smile curves my lips. 

One day, the Olympus and the Thunder will be mine. 

Continue the story here: mybook.to/WhatThePuck

xo, CJ

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