by Aven Ellis
Mallory nods, oblivious to the fall she is about to take. “Beckett, you are young. Single. No doubt dating, right?”
I can’t help it. A surge of jealousy hits me. No, he’s not dating, I think, staring at the Tinder proposal. He’s with me.
Okay, so he’s only been with me on three dates and could decide by tonight it’s not going anywhere according to logic and common sense dating rules.
But my heart knows he won’t.
And right now my heart is having none of this Tinder crap.
“Right,” Beckett says, answering her question.
I inwardly wince. Okay. Okay. What else was he going to say? “Well, I spent the night last night at your coordinator’s house, and spent all day with her yesterday, and have plans to cook dinner with her after work?”
Still. I don’t like this.
I chew on my lip as Mallory dives ahead.
“You could date on Tinder, Beckett,” Mallory says excitedly. “So many athletes and celebrities are doing it. And what if we could package this as a segment on Inside Chicago Buffaloes? We could film your dates, get a sponsor for it, and then see if you find your love match?”
I turn my attention to Beckett. He’s rubbing his hand against the side of his face. He’s embarrassed by this idea, and worse having to hear it in front of a group of strangers. Oh, this is so, so, not good.
“No,” he says firmly.
Mallory freezes while Tom’s eyes widen.
“Um, well, it was merely an idea,” Mallory says breezily. “Now, Neilson, if you’ll advance through—”
“If you had done any homework on me you should have known this was a horrible idea,” Beckett says, coming right back to Mallory. “Because not only do I hate this idea, I would never do this in a million years.”
Haaaaaaaaaaaaa! Mallory’s mask falls. Her face pales. Apparently she isn’t used to a client calling her out so bluntly.
“Well, Beckett, we know you won’t agree with every idea presented,” Tom says, rallying to save Mallory. “But our job is to push you out of your comfort zone on occasion to build your reach.”
“I thought your job was to help me build a platform that is genuine,” Beckett challenges. “Swiping chicks on Tinder is not me.”
I adore my Captain Smart Ass.
“Again, simply an idea,” Evan says, nodding at Tom. “Let’s see what else they have to say.”
“Okay, moving on–” Mallory begins, but she’s quickly interrupted by Beckett.
“I want to know what Aubrey has written down on her notepad,” Beckett announces.
Gah! What is he doing? I feel heat rise in my cheeks. Everyone is staring at me, and I know they don’t understand this odd fascination this hockey captain has with the girl with no experience.
“Um,” Mallory says, her face pinched into smile, “why don’t I finish up this presentation first?”
“Good idea,” Tom echoes, once again finding himself in a position to try and get the captain under control.
“Doesn’t it say on your website that contributions from all staff levels are encouraged at ChicagoConnect? Or was that some PR bullshit?” Beckett challenges.
Whoa.
Now I know why he’s such an amazing captain. He’s quick. He does his homework. And while he’s shy and soft-spoken, he will attack when needed. He stands up for himself and what he needs. For what his teammates need.
And I realize he’s now standing up for what I need, too.
Tom clears his throat. “It’s not bullshit. So Aubrey, would you care to share your notes with us?”
My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure Beckett can hear it across the conference table.
“Okay,” I say, ignoring the daggers that are flying from Mallory’s eyes. “First, I don’t see Tinder as a platform for Beckett for the same reasons he voiced. I can see him doing fun things on Twitter. Going out for dinner and posting a pic of his food. Posting pics of when he’s out with friends. Showing him doing regular things. Fans are desperate to see this side of his life. So I see Instagram, Connectivity, Facebook, and Twitter as easy ways for him to start to connect with his fans on a more personal level.”
“What else?” Beckett asks, studying me.
“The website. We only had designs for menswear. Women love Beckett. You only need to spend five minutes searching for him on Twitter, Pinterest, or Tumblr to see that. If you had clothing and yoga pants and pajamas for women with the BR design, it would fly.”
“Pajama bottoms,” Beckett says, his large brown eyes sparkling at me. “Girls dig pajama bottoms?”
Oh, I’m so getting him back for this later.
“A lot of girls wear them,” I counter.
Beckett flashes me that oh-so-sexy crooked smile. “Gotcha.”
Suddenly I have an idea for it’s a ‘Messy bun, pajama bottoms and Captain Riley’ kind of day T-shirt. Before I lose the thought, I scribble it on my notepad.
“She gets it,” Beckett says, interrupting my thoughts. I glance up, and Beckett is staring straight at Tom. “I’m willing to sign on, but only if Aubrey can accompany me out to some events so she can help guide my social media.”
What? With a jolt, I realize this is what he meant yesterday.
Beckett is laying the groundwork for us to be seen out together in public.
“You want Aubrey to accompany you as your consultant?” Mallory squeaks, unable to keep the repulsion out of her voice.
“Yes. She gets it. And if she’s going to represent me and my voice, she needs to see what my life is about. Come to some practices. Games. If I have a photo shoot or signing, I want her to attend.”
I hold my breath as Tom takes in his proposal. I see Tom wrestling with this. He wants this account so badly, to build a sports arm, but yet he knows this is not normal to put the account into the hands of a brand-new employee.
“We can try it,” Tom says slowly, leaning forward in his chair. “As long as Aubrey is okay with the arrangement and working strictly on this account.”
Ahhhhhhhhhh! I want to jump out of my chair with joy, but I need to portray a thoughtful, mature response.
I pick up my pen and tap it against my lips as if I’m considering this and weighing out the pros and cons of working with Beckett.
“I would love to have the opportunity, Tom,” I say slowly.
“Okay. I think it’s best that Aubrey report to me on this from this point forward,” Tom declares.
Ooooooh! Mallory has been removed from the account! She stands at the front of the room, her mouth open. But when she feels my eyes on her, she abruptly closes her mouth.
“I think at this point we can end the meeting,” Evan says. “ChicagoConnect handles the social media and website for the Beckett Riley brand, with Aubrey running the social media accounts.”
“I’ll get with Aubrey, and we’ll develop a new plan for you, Beckett. And Alyssa will work on some women’s wear designs to show you as well,” Tom says.
“Okay,” Beckett says, nodding.
Tom finishes up the meeting, with new deadlines set for another proposal, and he encourages me to set up my own meetings with Beckett, too.
As hands are shaken and people leave, Beckett clears his throat and turns to Evan.
“I’m going to take a minute to talk to Aubrey, I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
“Okay,” Evan says, nodding.
“Here, let me walk you out,” Tom says.
Finally it’s just me and Beckett.
“Well played,” I say softly to him.
Beckett flashes me a smile, and my pulse burns in response.“We have a lot of work to do.”
“I know, you’re terrible at social media,” I quip.
I can tell Beckett is tryin
g really hard not to laugh.
“I’m a dork. You need to change that.”
“No, you’re not,” I say firmly. “But I’m going to put you out there more.”
“You’ll have to come to practice tomorrow. Games.”
“I don’t know how I’ll manage it,” I tease.
“We’ll have to have strategy meetings.”
“Agreed.”
“I have an autograph session Wednesday night,” Beckett continues.
“So apparently I have plans.”
“Apparently you do.”
Happiness radiates through me. Not only am I going to do Beckett’s social media exclusively, but we’re going to spend time together in the only way we can right now. Well, at least according to my rules it is the only way we can, but I’m going to be with Beckett. In the real world.
And I can’t wait to see him in action with fans on Wednesday night.
Chapter 21
The Aubrey Rules To Live By, Rule #21: When working onsite in a professional capacity, maintaining an air of being in control, pleasant, and being able to anticipate and respond to any needs that arise is a must.
**Note** It is very hard to maintain control and a pleasant demeanor when I see women losing their shit over meeting Beckett.
**Note #2** WAIT. WAIT. HE SHOULD NOT BE SIGNING BODY PARTS.
**Note #3** I anticipate wanting to throw a water bottle at this girl’s head but that would be breaking a major rule.
**Note #4** Beckett is so good with children.
**Note #5** See note #4. I’m falling in love with this man.
“You ready for this?” Beckett asks as he eases his car into the player parking area of the Chicago Buffaloes arena. It’s Wednesday night, and I’m accompanying Beckett to his autograph signing in an official capacity.
I can’t help but laugh at the serious tone in his voice. “I think the question is, are you ready for this?”
Beckett shifts his Escalade into park and is quiet for a moment. “These aren’t easy for me. I never know what to say, other than ‘hi.’ I know fans expect more from me. But with so many people, you have to keep the line moving. I feel like I disappoint them because I’m not Landy.”
I hate the way he’s comparing himself to Landy, his flashier, outgoing friend. And I’m going to put a stop to it before we go inside.
“Okay, for starters, they’re coming to see you, their captain. The fans love you and how hard you work, don’t diminish that.”
Beckett sighs. “But this is so easy for Landy. He can talk to anybody. I’m not like that.”
“People don’t expect you to be Landy. They want you to be Beckett.”
Like I do, I think as I study his handsome profile. I want you to be Beckett, exactly the way you are. Awkward and sweet and sexy and commanding. All these complicated things, all rolled into one incredible man.
“Right,” he says unconvincingly.
“Trust me, women think you’re just as hot as Landy,” I tease.
“Stop it,” Beckett says, blushing.
“I speak the truth.”
“Stop.”
“But seriously, you can make this easier for yourself. If you see something interesting on a shirt, make a comment about it. Or a cool baseball hat, or anything. They’ll answer you, and that can direct a little conversation. Trust me, it will help.”
Beckett turns to me. “I do trust you.”
My breath catches in my throat. He’s talking about more than conversation skills, I know he is.
I’m about to respond when the sound of a loud car engine zooms by us. I glance out the window and see a sleek red Ferrari slide into the spot next to Beckett’s.
“Landy,” Beckett explains, opening his door.
I follow suit and step out of the car, meeting Beckett around the back of the SUV. A moment later the Ferrari engine is shut off and the door opens, and out steps the infamous Landon Holder.
Good Lord. He’s gorgeous. Landy is tall, about 6’2 or so, with longish jet-black hair that peeks out from underneath a wool black beanie. I detect a slide shading of stubble against his jawline. He’s wearing a black cashmere trench coat and has on jeans and cool black boots.
“Becks,” Landy says, flashing him a huge smile as he approaches us. “Ready to greet your adoring public?”
Okay, that smile, that perfect smile, the one that reveals dimples in his cheeks, could make a million girls drop their panties on the spot.
But not me.
I shift my attention to Beckett, my sexy, sweet, Captain Smart Ass, and know that is the man I want to be with. While Landy is attractive, there’s no doubt, he pales in comparison to Beckett in my eyes.
“Landy, this is Aubrey Paige, my social media consultant,” Beckett explains.
I’m caught off guard by the introduction. Beckett hasn’t told Landy about me? His closest friend doesn’t even know I exist?
I swallow hard. I told him I wanted to keep us on the down low, but I didn’t mean this low.
Unless Beckett wants it this way.
“Hi,” Landy says, extending his hand to me. “It’s nice to meet you, Aubrey. The team will be thrilled to know Beckett will finally have someone teach him the fine art of tweeting,” he says, winking at me.
I bury down my insecurities and focus on Landy, flashing him a smile.
“I won’t let him escape technology anymore,” I declare.
Landy laughs. “Good. You’ll make him tweet more than once every two months on a holiday, right?”
I nod. “And don’t tell him, but I’m going to make him Instagram, too.”
“No,” Landy fake gasps, his blue eyes shining. “No way. Instagram? He might crack under the stress of having to use both.”
I can’t help but laugh. Landy has a good grasp on Beckett and a sense of humor.
“I know,” I say, grinning at him. “It’s a horrible circumstance your captain finds himself in, but I’m here to guide him through it.”
“You are obviously an angel descended from above to answer his social media prayers,” Landy quips.
Beckett clears his throat. “Can we go inside now? We’re going to start in ten minutes.”
I turn my attention to Beckett and, whoa, he’s irritated. I can see it in the eyes that say so much without his saying a word. Wait. He can’t be jealous of Landy, can he? After all, he’s the one who didn’t tell Landy he was seeing me.
“Don’t worry, the girls aren’t going to run off if we’re late,” Landy asserts, breaking through my thoughts.
Okay, Landy, you can shut up now.
We walk into the underground concourse of the stadium, and Beckett and Landy are met by a slew of Chicago Buffaloes personnel, some dressed in team navy and gold polo shirts with the Buffaloes logo on them. I’m introduced as part of Beckett’s personal media team, and I reach for my phone out of my tote, ready to take a lot of pictures and send some tweets on his behalf.
We take an elevator up to the concourse, to the area outside the team shop. This event was coordinated as part of a sale, so fans could not only stock up on gear but have a chance to meet Beckett and Landy, too.
“We have cut the line off at 500,” a man explains as we exit the elevator. “No selfies.”
“I’m doing selfies,” Landy insists.
“You’re aware these aren’t your selfies, right?” Beckett deadpans. “You don’t get to keep these pictures of yourself.”
“They’ll all be on Twitter before we leave,” Landy says.
He’s right about that, I think.
We turn the corner, and suddenly screaming and a loud cheer go up from the large crowd. We’re faced with a huge line of adoring fans, most decked out in Buffaloes gear, and they�
�re going crazy at the sight of Beckett and Landy.
“Ready?” Landy asks, waving at the crowd.
“Yes,” Beckett says, glancing at me.
I wish I could squeeze his hand. To tell him he’s done this a million times before and people love meeting him. That he doesn’t have to be Landy 2.0.
All they want is the real Beckett.
Just like I do.
Beckett and Landy are at the same table, and people going through the line will get to meet both of them. Landy takes off his overcoat, and he’s wearing a plain white T-shirt that reveals his heavily inked, muscular arms.
“It’s snowing out,” Jordan, the representative with Buffaloes, says as he takes a seat at the table. Beckett told me Jordan helps keep things moving, supplies the stash of glossy 8 x 10 pictures, and makes sure Beckett and Landy have everything they need. “And you’re in short sleeves?”
“Ladies enjoy seeing the tats,” Landy says, draping his coat over the back of his chair. “Can’t disappoint my fan base.”
Boy, Landy gets the importance of his fans. He’s a touch arrogant, but very savvy, I have to say. I’m impressed by that.
I turn to Beckett, who is studying me, his brow furrowed. Once again, he appears agitated, but I don’t know why.
I wrinkle my brow back. I long to yell, “What?” but I can’t.
Beckett slips out of his coat, and he’s wearing a gorgeous black V-neck sweater, with a gray T-shirt layered underneath. His chest is so broad in it, so massive and huge, and it’s hot. Very hot.
His fans will go crazy over that.
My stomach tightens a bit at the thought. I gaze down the line, taking in his fan base. Lots of women. Gorgeous young co-eds, younger than me. Kids.
Did I say co-eds?
“Ready?” Jordan asks.
“Can’t wait,” Landy says, picking up a Sharpie.
Beckett nods. I position myself across from him and Landy, and Beckett catches my eye. I point to my shirt as a reminder, and he smiles at me.