“Whatever.” She reached again for Janna’s glass. “So tell me all about your first day of work.”
She recounted for Theresa what happened in the locker room with Ty Gallagher.
“Sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you, honey.”
“Oh yeah,” Janna roundly agreed, taking back her glass. “But he doesn’t realize who he’s dealing with.”
“The PR piranha.”
“You got it.” She drained her glass and rose. “Tomorrow I’m going to try using the sweetness and light approach to charm the pants off him.”
“Or on him, as the case may be.”
The two women laughed.
“Mark my words,” Janna called over her shoulder as she headed toward the kitchen to refill her glass. “By the time this season’s done, the captain is going to be considered one of the most caring, concerned, and respectable citizens on the planet.”
Strength and grace. Those were the two words that sprang to mind as she watched the Blades warming up before practice the next day, the entire team circling around the rink. It was amazing how all of them could make gliding on ice atop steel blades less than a quarter-inch thick seem so effortless. Again and again her attention was drawn to Ty, to his powerful skating stride. Back held erect, he swayed his arms from side to side while pushing off those strong legs renowned for quick acceleration. He seemed focused yet relaxed, his banter with his teammates light and easy. Janna thought she saw his eyes quickly dart in her direction, taking in that she was there, but she couldn’t be sure. For the most part, he and the team seemed oblivious to her, Lou, and the rest of the media who sat watching.
Her eyes might be glued to the ice, but her ear was cocked to Lou, who was happily schmoozing the writers. God, he was good, directing spin, fielding interview requests, deftly deflecting questions about players’ supposed injuries, dishing dirt on other teams and players in the league. Janna was impressed, and found herself glad once again that she’d taken the job. She could learn a lot from Lou.
The Blades were in the middle of a puck-passing drill when Janna noticed a small, pear-shaped woman with chin-length, light brown hair guiding two small, tow-headed boys toward some rinkside seats near the center of the arena. Before she could even process who it was, Lou’s sausage-shaped fingers were poking her in the shoulder.
“There’s Abby Gill. Go talk to her about your idea for the family profile. When practice is done, head over to the locker room and see if you can get some more guys to sign up for stuff, ’kay?”
“ ’Kay,” Janna returned, sliding out of her seat. The arena was virtually empty except for the media and the players, whose raucous shouts echoed off the cavernous, high-domed ceiling. Abby Gill watched her approach, her expression friendly and inviting as her sons excitedly pressed their faces to the Plexiglas framing the ice and tried to get their father’s attention.
“Boys, c’mon,” she gently chided. “You know Daddy has to concentrate right now.” She smiled up at Janna. “Hi, I’m Abby Gill, Kevin’s wife. And these two ruffians are Adam and Jacob.”
“I’m Janna MacNeil, the new publicist.”
“Kevin told me about you,” Abby said pleasantly, patting the seat next to her. Janna sat down. “He said Ty was a bit harsh with you yesterday.”
Janna grimaced. “I didn’t exactly get things between us started on the right foot.”
“Don’t worry about Ty. His bark is worse than his bite.”
“You know him well?”
Abby’s eyes drifted to the ice, where her husband was now hustling a puck toward the net. “He’s Kevin’s best friend. They started out together as rookies in St. Louis.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Oh, about a hundred years ago.” She laughed. “They’ve both been in the NHL since they were eighteen.”
Janna did some quick math in her head. Fifteen years. Ty Gallagher had been a professional hockey player for fifteen years. He had three Stanley Cups under his belt, and he wasn’t even thirty-five yet. Impressive, for an athlete.
“Abby, look, I was wondering—”
“About Ty?” Abby finished for her. “The answer is yes, he’s single.”
“What? No, no,” Janna replied quickly, embarrassed. Why did this woman think she wanted to know Ty’s bachelor status? That was something Theresa would ask, not her! “What I was wondering is if you and Kevin would be willing to be interviewed for a magazine about the longevity of your marriage, what it’s like to try to raise a family with an athlete’s crazy schedule, that kind of stuff.”
Abby looked uncomfortable. “Would it involve people wanting to come to the house to take pictures?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. Kevin and I are pretty private people. We really work hard to stay out of the public eye unless it’s absolutely necessary. Have you tried asking any of the other married players?”
“Not yet,” Janna admitted. “I came to you first because Kevin is both well-known and well respected. And since he agreed to help me out with some charity stuff, I thought you might be willing to help me out with this.”
Abby’s eyes shone with pride. “He’s got a big heart, my husband. But a family profile . . . I don’t know, I have to think about it.” Her gaze flickered back to the players on the ice. “Is this part of Kidco’s big push to reform the Blades’ image?”
“You got it.” Janna saw little point in candy-coating things, and was pleasantly surprised by Abby’s response.
“Personally, I think it’s a good thing. So many of these guys, especially the younger ones, are totally out of control.”
“I hear some of the older guys are, too,” Janna murmured.
A wry smile creased Abby’s mouth. “Are you referring to Ty?”
“Yup.”
“Aw, Ty’s not out of control,” Abby replied affectionately. “He’s just enjoying himself.”
“A lot.”
“Right.”
“With a new woman every month.”
“Right.”
“Corporate hates it.”
Abby hooted with laughter. “I can just imagine what Ty has to say about that!”
“If he’d just sign on to do a few appearances for charity, maybe tone down the high-profile dating during the season, they’d be happy. Any advice?”
“About handling Ty?” Janna nodded as sympathy rose up in Abby’s tired eyes. “Do you know how many women have asked me that question over the years?”
“Hundreds, I’m sure,” Janna replied. “What do you tell them?”
“To forget it. No one ‘handles’ Ty Gallagher; if anything, he handles them.”
“I can’t forget it, Abby. It’s a huge part of my job.”
Abby sighed. “Then all I can say is, try wearing him down. That’s the only thing that might work.”
“I thought so,” said Janna glumly. She rose, smoothing the front of her suede skirt. “Well, thanks for your time. And please think about doing the interview. It would really help improve the team’s profile.”
“I’ll be in touch,” Abby promised.
Janna smiled and returned to where Lou was sitting. Practice was coming to an end. One by one, the players began filing off the ice, though the press corps lingered. She’d barely had time to get resettled in her seat before Lou, ever subtle, pointed in the direction of the locker room. Taking the hint, Janna rose once again, following the players.
Approaching the locker room, she felt like a cowboy in an old western, swaggering toward a showdown. She wanted to stick Ty up, make him yowl for mercy. But that wasn’t the right approach. Today she was going to try being cordial. Sweetness and light. She would offer a compromise solution that might help both of them. She put a hand to her stomach briefly to quell the butterflies springing to life there, then plunged inside. You’re a piranha, you’re a piranha, you’re a piranha . . .
Some of the guys actually smiled at her; others made a point of deliberately turning away. O
ne or two murmured, “Hey Janna,” which pleased her; it seemed a friendly gesture, and it gave her hope. Before going for Gallagher, she made a point of walking around the room and reiterating to the players, as nicely as possible, that if they didn’t sign on for at least three charity events, she’d be forced to do it for them. No one budged, although she thought she detected some ambivalence in Michael Dante, one of the young, single players Lou had mentioned the day before. He seemed intrigued by the notion of taking part in a bachelor auction, but in the end stalled, telling Janna he’d get back to her. She knew what that meant; he had to go and see if God, aka Captain Gallagher, gave it his seal of approval. Lemmings. Janna wondered if they asked his permission to use the bathroom.
She found Gallagher in the small lounge off the locker room, leaning against one of the cement walls, watching ESPN on the big-screen TV, and drinking a large glass of orange juice, which he’d grabbed from the small banquet table set in the far corner. The table, laden with coffee, muffins, juice and fruit, made Janna’s stomach rumble with hunger. Or was it nerves? The minute the other players in the lounge spotted her, they cleared out, obviously expecting something to happen that they didn’t want to be witness to. Ty, meanwhile, kept his eyes glued to the TV screen—quite deliberately, Janna thought. Not a good sign.
“Ty?”
“Miss MacNeil. What a surprise.”
As he turned slowly toward her, her heartbeat began doubling its tempo. She was anxious, yes. But she realized there was more to it than that: clad in sweatpants, he was shirtless, a twisted white towel casually slung around his neck, the perfect six-pack of his abs glistening with hard-earned sweat. He aroused in her a desire that could only be called primal. She’d never experienced anything so elemental and so strong. That the sight of this man should generate it only made it worse. It was like being a teenage wallflower and finding yourself attracted to that one dumb jock in your high school who always made fun of you at lunch. Her body was betraying her. She closed her eyes for a moment.
Think piranha!
“Look,” she began contritely, “I want to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I fear I may have gone a bit overboard in trying to convey Kidco’s expectations to you. I’m sorry.”
She braced herself, waiting for him to curse her out. Instead, he responded with an uncomfortable clearing of his throat and a distinct unwillingness to hold eye contact.
“Yeah, well, apology accepted. I had it down on my agenda for today to apologize to you, too. I didn’t mean to bite your head off the way I did.” His gaze returned to the screen.
“It’s okay.” Janna glanced at the TV. Some newscaster was talking about the Mets game the night before. “I was thinking . . .” she began.
“Mmm?” Ty tore his eyes from the screen, and took another gulp of juice.
“I have a compromise solution that I think could benefit both of us.”
“And that would be?”
“I know you don’t want to do any PR. But if you could use your influence to get some of your teammates to cooperate with me, then perhaps I could use mine to persuade Kidco not to be so gung ho about wanting you, specifically, to participate in community events.”
Ty nodded thoughtfully, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “Let me make sure I’m getting this straight. You want me to surrender some of my guys to save my own ass.”
“ ‘Surrender’?” Janna repeated incredulously. “What is this, a hostage negotiation?”
“In a way.”
“Oh, please.” She knew she sounded scornful, and tried to pull back. She was this close to letting inner Janna break loose and ruin everything. “All I’m asking for—”
“Is me to do your job.”
“No,” Janna replied in an extremely controlled voice, “that is not it at all.”
“Janna.” His eyes finally met hers and held. For a split second, she could have sworn he was checking her out. “I thought I made it pretty clear yesterday that I don’t think any of the Blades owe Kidco anything. I understand you have a certain job to do, and I promise you I’m not going to interfere with your doing it, even though I think it’s bull. If one of my guys decides on his own that he wants to put on a penguin suit and go to some three-hundred-bucks-a-plate dinner to raise money for beriberi, that’s his business. But there’s no way on earth I’m gonna help you out.”
“Even if doing so is an investment for the team’s future.”
“Back to that again, the deep pockets argument?”
Janna held her tongue, trying to keep the rising tide of anger and desperation within her in check.
“Look, I told you. If I feel moved to do something at some point, I will. But in the meantime, I think you’re wasting your time and energy trying to change my position. I’m not gonna budge.”
Janna looked down at the floor, counted to three, then looked back up. “Can I ask you a question?”
“You can ask me anything.”
Janna checked his expression; was he flirting with her? She decided he was not.
“Would it kill you to do just one appearance at a hospital or hit a few golf balls for cancer? Would it?”
“Funny, Kevin said the same thing yesterday.”
“And what was your response?”
“My response was that Kidco doesn’t care about the integrity of the game or about anyone playing it, so as far as I can see, I owe them nothing, least of all any of my precious free time.”
Janna stared at him. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“You said that yesterday,” Ty pointed out, mildly amused.
“And I’ll say it again, because it’s true. You’re so hung up on sticking to your principles you don’t even realize you’re shooting yourself in the foot. Fine, refuse to do PR, suit yourself. But understand this: I am not going to give up. I’m being paid to hound you and your teammates, and I will. Every time you turn around, Captain Gallagher, there I’ll be, with my dreaded list of community events. I’m going to be the pebble in your shoe you can’t get rid of, the annoying song lyric you can’t get out of your head. You better get used to me bugging the hell out of you, because it’s going to be one of the constants in your life from now until the season ends in June—assuming you make it to the Playoffs, of course.”
“Oh, we’ll make it to the Playoffs,” Ty replied breezily, casually massaging the back of his neck with his towel. “The real question is whether you’ll last that long.”
With a knowing wink, he finished the last of his juice and sauntered away, leaving Janna standing there, a white-hot ball of fury beginning to coalesce in her gut.
Had he just made a veiled threat to see to it that she lost her job? Or was he simply insinuating she didn’t have what it took to stay the course? Either way, his parting shot made her furious.
Of course, she was the one who’d taken aim first, she had to admit that.
She had to go and make that jibe about the Playoffs. She couldn’t just bite her tongue. And what did it get her? Nothing, with the possible exception of an enemy for life.
She went over to the buffet table, picked up a gleaming red apple, and bit into it, hard. So much for sweetness and light. Ty Gallagher had thrown down the gauntlet. She would pick it up. The battle had officially begun. He might have won the first two rounds, but in the end, she would win the fight. She was expected by Kidco to win. She was being paid to win. She’d fight Ty Gallagher to the bitter end. Not because she wanted to, but because she had to.
CHAPTER 03
“Tyyyyyy. Tyler-Wyler. Wakey, wakey.”
Ty cracked open one weary, bloodshot eye. The bodacious redhead he’d brought home the night before was playfully straddling him as if he were her own personal hobbyhorse.
“Could you please get off me,” he muttered politely, the jabbing headache behind his eyes surging every time she bounced up and down.
“That’s not what you said last night,” she teased, leaning forward so her breasts grazed his chest.
“This isn’t last night,” he replied, closing his eye. His head felt bolted to the pillow, the pain was that heavy and intense. All play and too much Rémy Martin makes Ty a hungover boy. The woman whom he’d brought to screaming ecstasy the night before—Laurie? Laura? Lauren?—stopped bouncing, but she made no move to unwrap herself from his torso. In fact, her face was now buried deep in his neck, which she was biting in the hope he would revive and give a command performance. It wasn’t gonna happen.
“I mean it,” Ty said gently. “I need you to get off me, I’m not feeling too great.”
The woman clucked her tongue disappointedly then rolled off, allowing him to feel like he could breathe again. He forced open both eyes, and with what felt like every ounce of strength he had, slowly turned his head toward his night table to see the time. Ten-thirty A.M. Oh, shi—no wait, wait. Ten-thirty A.M . . . Sunday. Whew. For a second there he’d been seized with panic that he’d overslept and had missed practice. But then he remembered: Last night had been Saturday, and he’d gone with a couple of the guys to check out some private club down in Noho. The club owner, clearly thrilled to have a sports celebrity in his midst, had told Ty he could drink on the house. And Ty had, the sharp edges of the night growing increasingly fuzzy the more cognac he enjoyed. He remembered ducking into a cab with the redhead now beside him, and could somewhat recall the acrobatics they’d engaged in the night before. But the fact that she was here in his bed was proof he’d had too much drink. Usually, if he was interested in making love to a woman, he made sure they went back to her place. That way, he could leave after a respectable interval of afterglow and not have to spend the night. Now he was stuck.
The redhead was sighing contentedly to herself and snuggling down beneath the covers, clearly intending to go back to sleep. Ty propped himself up on his elbow, and as nicely as he could, gently shook her shoulder.
“I hate to do this, sweetheart, but there’s somewhere I need to be.”
“That’s okay,” she mewed in a kittenish voice. “You can just leave me here.”
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