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Daniella lifted her cup to me as I picked my own up to take a sip. “He’s a keeper, this orc boyfriend of yours.”

“He’s just a friend.” I’d said it out of habit, immediately knowing that we’d moved past friendship.

“Someone needs to tell him that,” Malik said. “The guy follows you around like a puppy dog. He’s in love with you, girl.”

Daniella swatted at him. “Don’t tell her that! You’ll scare her off! Abby needs to fall first, even if it’s clear that the guy is the one who has fallen first.”

I needed to change the topic. Now. “Have we confirmed the photographer for the calendar shoot? Lined up a printing company?”

Malik nodded. “It’s on Thursday. I put together a schedule, so we don’t have an eight-hour shoot with the whole team. We’ll do four of them at a time, and any photos that aren’t in the calendar can be bundled together into a fan pack or used as stills for autographs.”

“I sent the schedule to Willa, even though none of the shoot times overlap with her training sessions and am going to meet up with Ozar after the team is done with practice to go over the schedule with him,” Daniella said. “I also sent an email to the new coach, although he doesn’t start until tomorrow, so I don’t expect him to respond right away. The owner is in today, so I was going to walk a schedule up to him.”

The expression on Daniella’s face told me that facing the owner of the team was the absolute bottom of her list. Even with the angels in charge, lots of humans were justifiably wary of the demons that lived among us. I liked to live dangerously, and I wanted to meet with Escallates Johnson anyway, so I held out my hand.

“I’ll take it up. Just as soon as I finish my coffee and muffin.”

While rushing through my breakfast and caffeine fix, I sent a quick email to the new coach, requesting a meeting so I could make sure the marketing schedule didn’t interfere with anything he had planned. I also asked for weekly meetings so we could get ahead of any player changes or game lineups before the team took the ice. Throwing down the last of my coffee, I picked up the schedule for the calendar shoot and headed to the owner’s office.

Escallates looked like a mid 1970’s bookie with Brylcreem-slicked, mid-length dark hair. He had an attractive, if shifty-looking face. You knew right away he was intelligent, and absolutely canny when it came to maximizing a profit, no matter how he might change his appearance. Today Escallates had leaned into a retro look with a navy tweed jacket and a button-down shirt with giant collar points. His fat tie completed the image.

He looked up from his laptop and grinned at me as I peeked around his half-opened office door. “Abigail. Please come in. Have you seen the ticket numbers for this Friday? And the merchandise numbers? I had thought those things would only appeal to the local, in-person fans, but the majority of our jersey and keychain sales are out of state. We even have international orders.”

The demon was clearly in an excellent mood. It was quite a different greeting from the first one where I’d pitched our company’s services.

“Sir.” I handed him the schedule and sat down across from his desk. “We expect the calendar to be a big hit. And we intend on using the extra photographs for other promotions and social media.”

He nodded. “Good. Good. Let’s squeeze all the juice out of that lemon. If we’re paying for a professional photographer, we should be getting a huge return on that investment. Sell those pictures any way you can. Calendars. Signings. Trading Cards. Only Fans.”

I winced at the Only Fans comment, not bothering to let him know that would require live videos and not still photographs of our players posing with dogs or beach balls or a bucket of steamed crabs. I didn’t want to encourage the guy to pursue that sort of thing.

“Did you have a chance to look at the budget for Pawject Runway?” I asked the demon.

He frowned for a second. “The stray animal auction?”

I hid a second wince. “The local animal shelter’s fundraiser. Celebrities walk the runway with one of the adoptable animals. There is an auction of donated goods and services, but the animals are not auctioned off.”

“Seems like a missed opportunity,” he commented. “Beef prices have more than doubled this year. I’m sure an animal auction would raise considerable money and go a long way to providing the community with a new food source.”

Demons.

I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I believe there are human laws against such a thing.”

“Pity.” He shuffled some papers on his desk and found the proposal I’d put there last week. “One of the orcs is appearing with an animal, correct? And we are donating four VIP seats plus a post-game meet-up with the team for their auction items?”

I nodded. “You assigned charitable volunteer opportunities to the team to promote visibility and community relations, all with the long-term purpose of increasing attendance and merchandise sales.”

“Short-term. I’m not a huge fan of long-term,” he corrected.

“Short-term,” I agreed. “Bwat was assigned to animal welfare as humans often care more for helpless and abandoned dogs and cats than they do about humans in a similar situation. He is the one walking the runway with an adoptable animal, and I’m working with the animal shelter to coordinate cross promotion. I’ve also taken the liberty of purchasing a large table in the name of the Tusks for other players, their significant others, and team management to attend. It’ll be a great opportunity to get some visibility. I just need a list of who you’d like tickets to go to.”

He waved a hand. “You pick.”

I nodded. “Of course. Would you like to attend, sir? With a plus-one, perhaps?”

“Yes.” A look of diabolical glee appeared on his face. “Yes. I will bring the Ibis. She owes me a favor, and while that sad-sack of an archangel has claimed all breeding rights, that won’t prohibit her from attending a charity animal-auction with me. So put me down for a spot at the table. And a spot for the Ha-Satan.”

My eyes felt about ready to bulge out of my head. “Satan. You’re bringing Satan to a charity event?”