Ty nodded, his pulse rate slowly dropping down to normal. “Need a lift?” he asked politely, hoping it wasn’t too obvious that he wanted her to say “No.”
“We’ll just grab a cab.” She started moving in the direction of Theresa’s table, then spun back around as if she’d forgotten something.
“Thanks for the beer,” she said quickly. “And the dance. See you at practice Monday.”
“Yup,” Ty replied, watching her propel herself toward Theresa like a drowning woman making for a lifeboat. Some line had been crossed tonight and they both knew it. That’s why she couldn’t get the hell away from him fast enough. She was terrified. Normally, a woman treating him like he’d suddenly contracted a contagious disease would have pissed him off, but not tonight. If he could get away with it, he’d do the same thing, hotfoot it out of there with one of his pals and shove what had just transpired between them deep down into the cracks of memory, where it would never see light again.
In fact, that’s what he was going to do anyway.
He went back to his table, chugged down the remains of his beer, and ordered another. Then he joined some of his teammates at another table, and, working harder at it than he ever had in his life, made sure he had a good time.
CHAPTER 05
If it’s true that hearing voices is a sign of insanity, then I’m certifiable.
It was the Monday following her weekend shuffle ’round the dance floor, and inner Janna was cursing on an endless loop.
Mistake! Mistake, mistake, MISTAKE!!!! What on earth possessed you to tell Captain Perfect you hadn’t followed your entrepreneurial instincts?! Now he knows what a loser you are! Now he thinks you’re a quitter! You know how some men sleep with a woman they feel sorry for and call it a “Mercy Fuck”? Well, your dance with Ty Gallagher was a Mercy Dance! He asked you to dance because he felt sorry for you. And who can blame him? You’re pathetic. As if a man like him could feel anything for you. God, you are an idiot, you know that? A total idiot.
Theresa’s imagined voice then joined with inner Janna’s, the two beginning a harmonizing duet of charge and counter charge.
You and Gallagher have chemistry. Can’t you see that? When are you going to DUMP that DRAIN on society, Robearr?
Chemistry? Look who’s talking! You’re a perfect match for Michael Dante but you couldn’t see it ’cause you were too busy batting your eyelashes at Lex like some deranged Mae West impersonator! Chemistry? What a stupid soap-opera word. How many insipid press releases did we churn out at The Wild & the Free gushing about “incredible” or “undeniable” chemistry between two actors who hated each other off the set?! Chemistry, shmemistry!
Then a third voice chimed in, making it a trio in her head. A deep, rich, confident voice. Ty Gallagher’s voice.
You’ll hate yourself if you don’t start your own business.
HEL-LO! I already hate myself about that.
But the voice sounding loudest in her head wasn’t inner Janna, or imagined Theresa, or imagined Ty. It was a real voice, complete with New York accent, and it belonged to Lou. Two nights from now was one of the largest fund-raising events in the city, a black-tie dinner to raise money for the United Way. Janna had managed to coax former Blades Captain Roy Duncan, one of the most beloved players in New York hockey history, to attend, which was no small feat. But less than an hour ago, Lou had called her into his office to tell her that Duncan wouldn’t be able to make the dinner, because his brother had died in Vancouver. They needed someone else—fast. Someone who was as big a draw as Duncan, so that those who’d paid a helluva lot of money to hobnob with a hockey legend under the guise of a good cause wouldn’t be disappointed.
“Get Gallagher,” Lou had commanded, while murdering an egg and cheese sandwich. “Do whatever you have to do—beg, cry, sell your firstborn child—I don’t care. Just get him.”
“I’ll try,” Janna promised as she tried hard not to cringe at the yellow river of egg yolk cascading down all three of Lou’s chins.
“Get him,” Lou repeated. “Today. Now. And pass me a napkin on your way out.”
So here she was, less than an hour until game time, on her way to try, once again, to sweet talk the world’s most uncooperative man into doing the one thing he clearly despised. The timing couldn’t have been worse: while the team was usually available to the press on an informal basis around four-thirty P.M. or so while they worked on their sticks and skates, after that it was a closed shop except for the players, coaches and trainers.
And now her.
Maybe, she thought, as she hurried along the labyrinthine concrete hallways beneath the arena, he’d cut her some slack. They’d turned some kind of corner on Saturday night, hadn’t they? Maybe he’d have pity on her and agree to help her out just this once.
The locker room door was shut tight. Discreetly, she tried the handle. Locked. Not good. Swallowing, she rapped hard on the door, twice. A second later, the door jerked open just a crack. In the crack stood Ty. He already had his “game face” on. He did not look happy to see her.
“What?” he barked.
“I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
“Now’s not a good time.”
The door slammed.
Janna stood there, the old familiar nausea creeping up her throat. She took a deep breath and knocked again. This time the door flew wide open. Behind Ty, Janna could see all the players assembled in a circle. A minute ago Ty had held their rapt attention. Now it was fixed on her.
“When is a good time?” she demanded.
“If this is about PR, then the answer is never.”
He moved to close the door again but Janna wedged herself between the door frame and the door. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Ty chuckled mirthlessly. “Yeah, you are.” Gently but firmly, as if she were light as helium, he picked her up and put her back down in the hallway.
“I’m going to wait right here,” she informed him. “Like I said, this is important.”
“Suit yourself.”
Once again the door closed with a frame-shaking bang. Alone now in the hallway, Janna propped herself up against the cold concrete wall. Why had Lou insisted she talk to him now, when the team was trying to concentrate on the upcoming game? It was like deliberately sending a nice, plump lamb into the lair of a vicious, snarling wolf. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Half an hour. Janna knew he was taking longer than usual to give his pep talk to torture her. She knew it. Just as she was about to whip out her cell phone and call upstairs to Lou to let him know he should feel free to fire her, the door flew open and Ty stepped out into the hall.
“Well?” He was less than half dressed for the game in boxer shorts, big, thick socks, and the long-sleeve, gray cotton T-shirts issued to the team. His wrists and ankles were taped. His gaze was hard.
“Look, I hate to bother you, but—”
“This is important,” he mocked. “What?”
“Wednesday night is one of the biggest black-tie dinners in the city. Roy Duncan was set to go, but his brother died and now he can’t make it.”
“So?”
“So I need you to fill in for him.” Before he could protest, Janna hurried on. “Please. If you do this one thing, I swear to God I will never ask you to do anything again.”
Ty blinked, unmoved. “Ask Kevin.”
“Kevin isn’t you,” Janna replied, glancing quickly around the empty hallway to make sure there was no one there to hear. “He’s not one of the greatest leaders in sports history. People aren’t going to feel they’ve gotten their money’s worth with Kevin.”
“ ‘Their money’s worth’?” Ty repeated, his handsome face distorting with contempt. “What are we, circus performers, there to amuse the rich little donors?”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?” Ty shot back, clearly unwilling to let her off the hook.
“Ty, this event raises a lot of money that goes to lots of wo
rthy causes. The United Way is an umbrella organization for groups like Meals on Wheels, Literacy Volunteers. The more high profile people there are at these events, the more people want to attend, and the more money is raised. When word went out that Roy Duncan was going to be there, a lot of plates sold. If the Blades organization doesn’t cough up someone comparable in his place, it’s going to look really bad. It could hurt our reputation.”
“You mean Kidco’s reputation,” Ty sneered.
Janna said nothing.
“It’s not my problem.”
“God help me,” Janna muttered to herself, her temper starting to simmer. “I’m begging you, okay? Please help me out just this once. Please.”
“No.” His gaze was unyielding. He raked a hand through his blond hair, frustrated. “You know how I feel about this stuff, Janna. Give it up.”
“Oh, that’s rich,” Janna snorted. “The man who told me that persistence is the key to achievement in life is now telling me to give it up! You should be happy I’m hounding you to death like this, Ty! It shows I took what you said to heart.”
“This is different.”
“My ass it is,” Janna snapped. She saw a mild blink of shock shudder across his face and laughed. “What, you’ve never heard a woman say ‘ass’ before? I seriously doubt that.”
“Say what you want, think what you want, and beg all you want,” was Ty’s unequivocally cold reply. “But I’m not filling in for Duncan.”
“So that’s that.”
“That’s that.”
“No PR, ever, no exceptions.”
“No PR, ever, no exceptions,” he repeated, turning to go.
“You know, you are one hypocritical, heartless bastard,” Janna hissed to his departing back.
Ty stopped dead. Janna saw him take a deep, calculated breath before spinning back around to face her. When he did, there were storm clouds brewing in his eyes, black and dangerous.
“What did you say to me?”
“I said you’re a hypocritical, heartless bastard,” Janna repeated, warming to her topic. He’d thrown the ball back to her, and like it or not, she was going to run with it. “Forget Kidco for a minute, okay, and let’s discuss the team. You talk about how important it is to ‘give back’ to the guys who work so hard for you. You treat them great, making sure everyone’s happy, making sure the poor scared rookies fit in so the Blades are just one big, happy, winning family. But you know what, Ty? Every one of the guys on this team has a pretty cushy life. There isn’t one of them who isn’t pulling down at least a six-figure salary.
“Did it ever cross your mind that it might be nice to give something back to the community that makes all that possible? If it weren’t for those fans that pay to see you play, you guys would be out of a job! How about giving back to the poor guy who can’t read very well, so he goes to Literacy Volunteers, but in the meantime every spare cent he makes at his menial job goes to buying tickets to watch the Blades? Ever think of him? Or the hockey fans stuck in the hospital who can only watch games on TV? Do you have any idea what a difference a visit—one lousy, stinking hour of your life—could make? Your celebrity is a special resource. Why won’t you use it? How can you not care about what goes on outside this locker room?!”
She reared back slightly, stunned and breathless from her outburst. Meanwhile, Ty stood with his hands on his waist, staring down at the floor. He was breathing hard, waves of resentment zigzagging off him, one after another after another. When he lifted his head, Janna could see he was furious, a vein in his left temple throbbing as he glowered at her.
“You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about. Not only that, but what I choose to do, or not to do, is none of your goddamn business to comment on, never mind judge. I play my guts out on the ice for the fans every night. If that’s not enough ‘giving back’ for them—or for you—then that’s just too damn bad. You got that?”
“Oh, I’ve got it, all right,” Janna replied bitterly. She straightened, buttoning up her blazer. “Thank you for your time, Captain Gallagher. It’s certainly been illuminating, as they say.”
She spun on her heel and began walking away, head held high. This was the part where he was supposed to come after her and grab her arm and say, “Wait a minute, I didn’t mean it, I’ll help you, Janna.” But it didn’t happen. Instead, all she heard was the sound of her own footsteps echoing down the hallway, and the locker room door slamming.
She was halfway back to Lou when she suddenly remembered an item she’d read in “Page Six” of the Post the morning before: Wayne and Janet Gretzky were back in New York for a week visiting friends.
“Idiot!” she said to herself as she started to run toward the elevator, laughing.
By the time she reached her desk, she was panting, her fingers fumbling for her Palm Pilot, where she kept every phone number she knew or thought she might need. She and Janet Jones Gretzky were acquaintances. They’d taken a kickboxing class together at the New York Health & Racquet Club when the Gretzkys still lived in New York. Janna had gotten her a cameo on The Wild and the Free. “If you ever need any help with anything,” Janet had told her, “don’t hesitate to give our publicist a call.”
Well, it was time to call in the favor. She found the number and, fingers crossed, dialed the number the wife of the Great One had given her. By the time she hung up the phone, nothing in the world mattered less than Ty Gallagher and his stupid refusal to help her out in a bind. Soaring on feelings of invincibility, she hurried downstairs to the street to hail a cab home.
Damn, I’m good! she said to herself as she hopped into the back of the taxi.
And for the first time in a long time, she actually believed it.
The dinner was being held at Tavern on the Green on Central Park West. The restaurant looked absolutely magical at night, the tiny white lights in the surrounding trees twinkling as limos, taxis, and private cars pulled up one by one to dispense guests who were dressed as if attending a ball. Janna was enchanted, the more so when she was escorted to the banquet room where the party was being held. With its glass walls, high-domed ceiling and shimmering Baccarat chandeliers, this room always reminded her of a wedding cake: light, airy, delicate. She gave herself a minute or two to enjoy her surroundings, listening to the light jazz being played by a young man at a white piano in the corner. Then she helped herself to a flute of champagne offered by a passing waiter and began to work the room.
Thanks to her previous job, she already knew a lot of the people in attendance and made a point of reconnecting with them, especially the magazine editors, to whom she blatantly pitched ideas for pieces on all the young, sexy players. An editor she knew from Seventeen seemed interested in a possible photo shoot with Lex or Michael Dante. Janna took her card and promised to call her on Monday. When there was a break in the action, she headed off in the direction of the Bull, who looked to be doing a great job of working the room himself, even if his hand did shoot out every time the waiter carrying the canapé tray breezed by.
“Happy?” she asked him.
“Happy? We’ve got Wayne freakin’ Gretzky here! If I was sure I’d be able to get up again, I’d get down on the floor and kiss your tiny little toes.”
She squeezed his arm. “I aim to please.”
For forty minutes Janna made the rounds, her confidence genuine. She knew how to do this—knew how to schmooze, how to sell the Blades as a potentially active force in the community without pushing it. As a result, two individuals from two different community programs had agreed to work with the PR office on a charity event. As if that weren’t reason enough to celebrate, people were going nuts over the Gretzkys’ presence, and Lou hadn’t spilled anything down the front of his tux. The only fly in the ointment was her oily coworker, Jack Cowley, who’d been shadowing her ever since he’d arrived. So far, Janna had managed to stay one step ahead of him and avoid contact. But when both Lex and the man she was chatting up from Hockey on the Hudson excused themselves to go t
he men’s room, she was left defenseless and Cowley moved right in.
“Janna.” Even the purring way he said her name made all the tiny hairs on her arms stand up on end. “You’ve been a very hard lady to catch up with.”
“I’m working, Jack. You should try it sometime.”
He gave a hearty laugh phonier than a WWF match. Oblivious to the hint, his eyes slowly toured her body, making her wish she’d worn a potato sack, and not the tight, midnight blue sheath she relied on whenever she really had to play dress up.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “I’ve always said good things come in small packages.”
“Like diamonds and poison?” Janna replied sweetly.
“And such a dark horse, too,” he drawled on.
“I don’t understand.”
“Telling us all that you could get Gretzky but not Gallagher, then getting them both. Nice surprise, Janna. Lou’s going to love it.”
She turned her head, following Jack’s gaze to the front of the banquet room. There, drop-dead handsome in a tux and looking like he owned the room, was Ty Gallagher.
And on his arm was her sister, Skyler.
Pain jackknifed through her but she refused to give in to it. “Listen, Jack, I have some other people I need to talk to,” she said hastily, politely pushing past him. The room felt like it was contracting. Ty would be looking for her, she knew he would, if only to say, “Look, I’m here, I did what you asked.” Look, I’m here with your sister. Bastard!
She drained her champagne glass and reached for another. The temptation to guzzle it down, to anesthetize, was strong. What was that old saying? “Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it?” Well, God knows she’d wanted Ty Gallagher to cooperate and do some PR—but not like this, not with her beautiful, lissome sister in tow. Talk about a swift kick in the head. Ty and Skyler. How could she not know about this? She took another quick sip of bubbly for fortification and decided there was only one way to deal with it, and that was to launch a preemptive strike. She would go to them, endure small talk, and get it over with. Then she’d be free to carry on working the room until dinner was served. As if she could eat now. As if she’d be able to get through the rest of what would now be an absolutely interminable night without crying, vomiting, or both.
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