And here I am, married to him after knowing him for about as long as it takes to watch one of his games. I’m sure it looks suspicious and confusing to the outside world.
As an experienced lawyer, I know there’s always more to the story. If the rumors about Boone’s engagement are even half-true, there might be an opportunity here. Which gives me an excellent idea for how we can spin the PR angle when this marriage inevitably ends in three months.
I pull my phone out, realizing I need to send this message to my team before the stadium literally turns intoMayhem.
I quickly type an email to Krissy, one of my key contacts at our sister PR firm while trying to think over the deafening roar of the fans.
***
To:Krissy@PrescottandAssociatesPR
From:Rosie@PrescottandAssociates
Subject: Boone’s PR Angle – An idea…
When the marriage ends, I think we can position the narrative as Boone wanting to stay in the league and renew his contract, while I’m pushing for him to quit and start a family.
That creates enough friction to explain the divorce and paints him as loyal to the team and city.
Sounds like a similar thing happened to him a few years ago with his ex-fiancée so it’s believable, too.
See attached news article.
Let me know what you think.
Rosie
***
Between Krissy, Cain, my father, and me, we’re the only ones who are privy to the intricate details of this arrangement. At the firm, we operate on a strict need-to-know basis, and the fewer people who know this is a marriage of convenience, the better for Boone.
I make my way to the will-call window, adjusting the oversized sweatshirt that I’m wearing.
Yes, it’s a little much and something that I would never normally wear in public, but I’m nothing if not committed to the angle we’re working. And right now, the angle is “adoring, completely-in-love newlywed wife” to a professional hockey player who just so happens to be the number one center in the country.
That’s why I had this sweatshirt overnighted. It’s one of Boone’s, with his number, name, and the team logo emblazoned across the front and back.
Underneath, I’m wearing a pair of fitted, black leather shorts, sheer black tights, and a low-cut maroon top to match the team colors. But what I’m wearing underneath doesn’t matter because the sweatshirt is my pièce de résistance. My public declaration of commitment.
“Hi. My name is Rosie Prescott. There should be a ticket on hold under Boone Tremblay,” I say, smiling at the attendant.
The woman at the counter types something into her computer before glancing at me with a surprised look. “It’s nice to see Boone finally brought a guest. We set these tickets aside every game, but no one ever claims them.”
Interesting.
I thank her and take the ticket she hands me, glancing at the row and seat number. It’s practically behind the bend in the rink—seat 16.
A bit closer than I’d prefer for getting any work done, but I smile and head there anyway.
Note to self: check out the WAGs skybox later.
After showing my ticket to the guide at the entrance, I make my way toward my seat. And that’s when I see something that has my stomach sinking. There’s a woman already sitting in seat 16, chatting animatedly with someone next to her. And they look comfortable.
Great. This is awkward.
I’ve never been great at confrontation—unless I’m in a courtroom or negotiating for a client, of course. Outside of thosespaces, I’m painfully conflict-averse, awkward at relationships and sorely lacking meaningful friendships.
The idea of asking this stranger to move, even though I have every right to, makes my stomach twist.
