My head tilts as a petite woman in a pink blazer, with the most perfect Barbie ponytail I’ve ever seen, stands before me. I shift my eyes down the hall, trying to figure out if my food is on the way or if this is some sort of bizarre joke. My pulse quickens. Please, God, tell me this isnota singing telegram. That seems like a stunt my immatureboyfriendwould pull.
“You must be Kennedy. I’m Hannah Lavoise, PR rep for the Boucher family,” she introduces herself.
My head pulls back. “Oh. Hi! Yes, I’m Kennedy.” I extend my hand to shake hers. “Please, come in. I’m…sorry, I’m confused. Jordan said you were going to call me…”
She smiles widely, her blue eyes bearing a resemblance to Jordan’s. “He did. But once he left for morning skate, he called and asked if I wanted to come and meet you in person. He didn’twant you to have to deal with this alone. I don’t get very many chances to see him play in person, so it was a good excuse to hop on the family plane for the day.”
My jaw clenches at the unpleasant reminder of rich assholes on jets. But I let it go, realizing Hannah doesn’t fit that mold. And now something tugs in my chest, a spark that’s too sharp—he’s making sure I’m okay.
“It’s nice to meet you, Hannah. You really didn’t need to come all this way.”
She waves me off. “It’s really nothing. Someone has to check up on my cousin once in a while. Can we sit down?” She gestures to the table.The goddamn Table of Disappointment.
I purse my lips, preparing for anotherfunconversation. “Sure, after you.”
At first glance, Hannah looks sugary sweet, like a poof of cotton candy, but the confidence in her speech demands respect—this woman is on top of her shit.She’s in full-on crisis management mode, giving me a play-by-play of what to say to the media. Where to go. What to avoid. I try, and fail, to stifle the yawn that escapes. I do appreciate her professionalism, but I’m also exhausted and would rather ditch the niceties and cut to the chase.
“Hannah, I appreciate everything you’re saying, and I know your job is to treat this as a business transaction between your cousin and me. But…can I ask you a favor?”
“Of course,” she says in her extremely professional tone, but the slight tilt of her head gives her curiosity away.
“Would you shoot straight with me? I know you’re trained to talk corporate and say the right things, but I’m not big on bullshit. Jordan says we can trust you, and he seems to have a lot to lose if this gets out, so tell it to me like it is. What am I going to be dealing with here?”
She huffs a laugh, her eyes narrowing as she leans forward in her chair. “JJ said you were no nonsense, and he wasn’t kidding. I’m the same actually. How about we start over?”
“I’d like that.” I smile, my cheeks appreciating the slight reprieve from the perma-scowl I’ve had on my face most of the day.
“Perfect. So, the Boucher famil—crap. Sorry.Myfamily. We’re very…guarded. Every story about us in the news is because we allow it to be there. It’s not that we’re hiding anything; we just prefer to keep our lives as private as possible.”
I can’t hold back the snort that escapes. “Jordan Boucher likes to keep his life private? He’s got a new story about him on a gossip site every day.”
She smiles through her teeth, something hidden behind her eyes. I blink. She seems intelligent, but there’sno wayshe’s a fan of her cousin’s rich playboy image and having to cover up what can only be a multitude of indiscretions, right? She must be good at her job, though, because outside of what I’ve seen about his latest flings, there isn’t much else about him out there except for his hockey stardom.
Clearly, she’s a PR genius.
She takes in a deep breath, fiddling with the hot pink pen resting on top of her pink notepad. “Believe it or not, JJ prefers to keep a lot of his life private. His public persona is…well, that’s a little complicated.”
My jaw clenches.Why does everyone keep telling me it’s complicated without elaborating? And JJ?
“I’m sorry, JJ?”
Her eyes go wide. “Oh my gosh, sorry about that. Bougie? Jordan? He goes by a thousand names. I’m not sure what you call him.”
Is this what they mean by complicated? His fifty-thousand names?
“Jordan is all I’ve ever called him. You call him JJ?”
“All the family does. His middle name is Joseph, and it just kind of stuck when he was a kid.” A small smile softens her face. “JJ and I have always been super close. He has three older sisters, and I have two older brothers, so we were always left to our own devices while they were all out doing older-kid stuff. Plus, our parents were the closest of all the Boucher siblings. We actually lived on neighboring lots in Montreal. If we weren’t all at one house for dinner, we were at the other for game night and movies. I honestly can’t imagine growing up any other way than having that big house full of people, a million kids running around, and all the memories we made. Because of that, we have always been tighter with each other than the rest of our family. He’s actually more like a brother than a cousin.”
I rub my fingers across the seam of my sleeve as warmth spreads through my chest. I open my mouth to ask a question, but my brain can’t seem to send the words fast enough before she continues singing the praises of the immature fake boyfriend I’ve accidentally acquired. The one that, apparently, has a warm, loving, super close family.
“Oh! You should see him with his nieces and nephews. Talk about uncle of the year—it’s like no one else exists when he comes home to visit. Everyone loves Uncle JJ.” Her eyes go out of focus, a memory I won’t get to see taking hold. “Family is everything to the Bouchers. He keeps trying to get me to move to Milwaukee now that I own my own PR firm, but that involves things like work visas, moving literally everything I own, and leaving all the delicious Canadian snacks behind. Who knows, though, maybe someday down the road I’ll find myself in the States again.”
My body stills as my brain officially has a computer blue screen of death, trying to comprehend her words.This is not what I was picturing when he said his PR agent would call me.Especially now that she’s here. The way she’s talking about him is in no way, shape, or form the Jordan I’ve seen. Or the Bougie. Or JJ. Or whatever the hell we’re calling him today. I glance toward the door between our rooms.Are we talking about the same person?She’s talking about him as if he’s being nominated for a top gentleman of the year award despite living the playboy life every night.
Grilled Cheesus, make this make sense.
“So, how about you, Kennedy? Are you close with your family?” she asks.
