Drew throws her head toward the ceiling and laughs so hard that I’m almost sure she’ll topple backward. Like her sister, she’s petite in build.
“You”—Drew points a manicured fingernail at me, one arm wrapped around her middle—“are anything but professional. I’m surprised the Rogues haven’t told you to remove ninety percent of your social media content.”
I frown. “What’s wrong with being honest and relatable? I thought that’s what fans wanted in celebrities these days.”
Drew shakes her head at me, another condescending expression overtaking her features. “And this is why I’m doing a degree in public relations—to help people like you from ruining your careers before you’ve even gotten started.”
The lines in my forehead no doubt grow deeper. “So, now that I’m officially drafted, I have to become boring?”
Hurt flashes through her eyes, and I hold up a hand.
“Not that I’m calling you boring. I?—”
“You are calling me boring, Will,” Drew interrupts me. “And that’s okay because slow and steady always wins the race.”
I stare down into my soda glass, watching the bubbles pop for a second. People like Drew might think I’m a loose cannon, who doesn’t give a shit, but they couldn’t be more wrong.
It’s hard, having the weight of four years in college on your shoulders, along with the expectations of an entire hockey team that’s waiting for when you graduate.
“Work hard, play harder,” I eventually respond to her idiom with one of my own.
Her eyes sparkle right before she holds out a hand, and I slide my palm into hers. Warmth and soft skin steal my thoughts for a second before she speaks again.
“Well, anyway, congrats on the draft, Will. I’m sure you’re going to be amazing.”
1
. . .
Drew
Four Years Later—Late August
Seattle
Fixing my black suit jacket, I clear my throat and push through the heavy wooden door into the briefing room.
If I had my own PR company, this isn’t how I would furnish it. These offices are too clinical, cold, and almost soulless. Only a floor plant, positioned in the far-right corner of the room, adds any kind of life or color to an otherwise bland box.
Still, the office decor wasn’t the reason why I joined First Line PR straight out of college just over a year ago. Colton Davis, the CEO, is renowned for signing some of the biggest names in sports and has a reputation for being forward-thinking when it comes to building and maintaining their brand.
When I completed an internship here in my junior year of college, I knew he was the guy I wanted to build my experience with, in the hopes that, one day, I’d be ready to open my own firm and replicate some of the best practices I learned while working here.
“Drew!” Hands in the pockets of his gray suit pants, Colton spins on his heel and invites me to take a seat on one of the white leather chairs surrounding an oval-shaped table.
Setting my laptop down in front of me, I opt for the usual seat, which gives me the best view of the projector, set at the front of the room.
I wouldn’t say that Colton intimidates me, even though he’s fifteen years older than me and also my boss. However, when he calls me into an early morning meeting with zero indication of what it will be about, I do grow a touch anxious.
This can’t be to do with my performance. At my review last month, he was happy with the portfolio of clients I had been building. Most of the names are smaller, such as a couple of major league rugby stars, but I did recently receive great feedback from upcoming tennis sensation Malcolm Leroy, who made a wild card entry to the Wimbledon Championships this year.
“Don’t look so damn worried, Drew,” Colton breathes out, sliding back the chair opposite me and taking a seat. He balances one leg over the other knee and casually leans back, chewing on his bottom lip.
I open the lid on my laptop and navigate to the Notes app. “Sorry, I was focused on getting here on time after I got your meeting invite late last night.”
Colton smirks and checks his watch. “We’re a half hour early getting started. I can’t imagine you being late to anything in your life.” He taps his chin, brown scruff lining a strong jaw and deep brown eyes narrowing in thought. “Come to think of it, I don’t think you’ve ever been late to work.”
I flush because he’s right.
