When she lifts her gaze back to mine, the stern look in her eyes is unmistakable.
She goes to speak and then stops, picking up her black purse and unzipping it.
Drew pulls out a black pen and then a small notepad, and I burst into hysterics.
“Why did you bring stationery to your birthday meal?”
I don’t get a response, only a click of her pen and a quirked brow.
“Rule one”—she begins scrawling—“Never address the publicist as Baby.”
Thoroughly entertained with the way she’s lecturing me like I’m not the next biggest talent in hockey, I revel in the way it oddly puts me at ease.
“Rule two: From now on, all official meetings between the client and publicist must take place in the First Line PR offices.”
I wait for her to finish writing before clarifying, “This isn’t an official meeting. We’re here to celebrate your birthday as friends.”
I’m ignored once more.
“Rule three: The client should never show up at his publicist’s apartment without her prior knowledge or approval.”
I nod my agreement since I hate unannounced visitors too.
When Drew bites the end of her pen in thought, my throat runs dry, and I pick up my water glass to take a sip.
“Rule four”—her eyes lift to mine, mirth sparkling in her blue irises—“There is to be no judgment about what the publicist eats or drinks. That includes any working lunches the client and publicist might share or events they might attend together.”
“Wait.” I hold up a hand. “Why would you come to events with me?”
Drew blows out a breath, although I see the subtle pink flush as it stains her cheeks. “Why wouldn’t I? I’ll be responsible for writing speeches you give and curating your overall image. The best way to gauge how you’re received in the public eye is to witness it firsthand. Obviously, I’ll be keeping a low profile. In fact, you’ll barely know I’m there.”
If you’re wearing dresses like the one tonight, I’ll definitely fucking notice.
I smile and nod my agreement. “Makes sense, I guess.”
“Rule five: The publicist will require the client’s credentials and around-the-clock access to all of his social media accounts.”
I balk. “Why the hell do you need that?”
She throws me a confused look and holds out a hand. “Does that really need an explanation? To be honest, you might as well give me your usernames and passwords now so I can log straight in and start posting on your behalf. Our content creator already has a brief from me. First, we’ll start with a post that confirms how happy you are to be joining the Rogues since there isn’t any sign of that from you.”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “No way. I run my social media. If I hand it over to someone, then people will notice a change.”
Drew’s chuckle is dark. “That’s precisely what we’re aiming for. We’re looking to create a more personable profile with less of the jackass attitude your followers have come to expect.”
I’m sure I look offended, and that only makes her laugh more.
The server returns to our table, and Drew orders … a fucking Caesar salad?!
“Have you turned vegetarian?” I quickly ask before the server leaves.
Drew’s eyes dart from the server to me. “Um, no. I just didn’t want?—”
“We’ll go with two filet mignons, please. Both medium rare,” I confirm.
The server nods his head and makes a note. “Any side dishes to go with your filets? I can recommend the garlic greens.”
I can feel Drew’s eyes as I say, “One of each dish, please. My girlfriend has eclectic taste buds.”
