Ironically, a major part of her job was to find the person beneath – the inner part that was truly who they were. And with luck, and mostly some gentle coaxing, help the client feel comfortable enough to show their authentic selves to the world. It was the part she loved the most too.
Because Hannah knew first hand how empowering it was to escape the clutches of outside expectations to truly be at ease with yourself. Like she finally had after leaving small-town Ireland.
As with all her clients, she wanted to make a good first impression, but since this was an evening meeting, she needed a change of clothes after a full day at the office. So she went with professional but casual – her hair pulled back into a ponytail, a salmon-coloured blazer and a crisp white shirt beneath, jeans and metallic mid-heel slingbacks. Then opened the top button of her blouse, figuring it looked a little less austere considering she was meeting an athlete, who tended to be more relaxed about dress codes. She’d never worked with an ice hockey player, before though.
‘McKenzie isn’t just a hockey player, honey,’ Zoe tittered when Hannah initially ran through the client list with her over the phone. ‘The stories about that guy are legendary.’
‘Really? Can’t say I’ve ever heard of him.’
While Lotus PR’s West Coast office represented countless athletes, Hannah’s interest in sports just about extended to the games she used to go to with Rob.
‘Yup, he’s a legendary jerk. Cute though.’
Great.
Intrigued, she’d briefly scanned McKenzie’s online presence in the meantime, though as a general rule, Hannah preferred not to know too much about any client ahead of meeting them in person, so as not to cloud her judgement.
But even basic research on the athlete seemed to suggest that her friend had a point. The most cursory online search suggested a boozing womaniser with a penchant for brawling and shooting his mouth off. ‘WildCat’ McKenzie didn’t seem to have that great of a player achievement record to support such an inflated ego.
No personal social media that she could find either, but that was a good thing, given his apparent lack of decorum. Nor professional photographs other than generic team shots in full player garb andhelmet, or blurry snapshots and video footage taken by the public of McKenzie falling out of bars and getting into drunken scrapes. Clearly, she had some work to do to turn his reputation around, and she figured that her new bosses were truly testing her mettle with this guy. WildCat indeed.
Hannah picked up her purse and headed for the foyer, whereupon she spied another note beneath the door.
Another delivery for you downstairs. Next time somebody calls on me to take a package meant for you, I’m gonna hurl it out the window. P-1
She stood there for a moment, mentally counting to ten.
Great – not only did she have to tackle an egotistical Neanderthal for work, but at home needed to contend with another entitled male who, age aside, still hadn’t figured out how to behave like an adult.
Story of her life.
She tried her best to keep an open mind, but the moment Hannah entered the Hell’s Kitchen bar McKenzie had suggested – or ratherinsistedupon – for this evening’s meeting, she found her initial estimation of the guy sink even further.
The place was a dump; dark, nasty-smelling and full of TVs with the sound up so loud she could barely hear herself think. Which was probably exactly why he’d chosen it. But he presumably hadn’t reckoned on Hannah’s heritage and that, unlike Zoe who detested Irish bars, she was right at home in places like this.
As the barman eyed her with interest, she gazed around and quickly spied a guy wearing sunglasses and a Panthers sweatshirt at a corner booth. Even through the shades, she could feel hisinsouciant gaze on her as she approached. There was the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips and Hannah took a deep breath, determined to remain calm and professional. She was still a bit rattled from the latest note from P-1 and now having to deal with an overgrown schoolboy who clearly wanted nothing to do with her was rubbing salt into a wound.
When she reached the booth she smiled, hand extended. ‘Ward? Good to meet you. I’m Hannah Ryan from Lotus PR.’
He barely glanced up as he limply took her outstretched hand, which instinctively got up her nose.Deep breaths, Hannah, she muttered inwardly.But then, looking closer at his clean-shaven face, or more to the point spotting the pair of crutches poking out from beneath the table, a sudden jolt of recognition shot up her spine.
‘Oh!’
And to her horror, Hannah realized that the Good Samaritan who’d offered to pay for her coffee (and whom she’d repaid by tripping), and her brand-new client, were one and the same.
He seemed to have come to the same realization at the same time, whipping off his sunglasses in surprise.
‘Cannoli Girl?’
Hannah nodded shamefaced. ‘I’m so sorry I … I had no idea.’ She dropped her hand and slumped down across from him in the booth, unexpectedly rattled now.
‘Is this some kind of joke?’ he said, his voice sounding more like a snarl.
‘More of a coincidence, I think,’ she replied, nowhere near loud enough to be heard over the blaring TVs projecting various sports games in session. She raised her voice. ‘Believe me, this is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you.’
‘I doubt that.’ His arms were folded and his stance was even more closed than before.
She could hardly blame him.
