Drawn to You (Minnesota Mammoths #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Josie

I thought eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch every day at work was the worst.

It’s not.

Running out of jelly and bread before payday and eating a peanut butter sandwich made with the two heels of the bread loaf—that’s actually the worst.

“That looks disgusting, Josie,” my coworker Monica says as she unwraps the deli sandwich she had delivered from DoorDash.

“It’s not bad,” I lie, reaching for my water bottle to wash down the stale bread.

Monica is twenty-three and still lives at home. She doesn’t know what it’s like to be so broke you put five dollars’ worth of gas at a time in your car because it’s all you can afford.

I smile to myself because that’s the one upside of my car getting repossessed last week: no more paying for gas. But now I have to pay for bus rides to work, which costs more than gas.

FML. I thought by age twenty-seven, I’d be a senior publicist at JG Publicity, getting my hair and nails done on my Friday lunch breaks to prepare for a weekend of barhopping in downtown Minneapolis.

Instead, I spent the first half of my lunch break listening to horrible on-hold music for the electric company before begging them to give me another week to pay my bill, leaving the rest of my break free for my dry sandwich and clueless coworker.

“Eww, I told them no tomato,” she says, grimacing at her sandwich. “They mess my order up every time, I swear to God.”

I lock eyes with Linda, one of the secretaries. She’s a single mom of four who also has no tolerance for Monica’s nonstop complaining.

“You want an apple?” Linda offers, taking one from her lunch bag.

“I’m good, thanks.”

It’s true what they say about people who have the least being the most generous. Linda knows I struggle, and she checks on me to make sure I’m okay.

I’m not okay, but I’m hanging in there. Making payments on a ten-thousand-dollar health insurance deductible for an unexpected gall bladder removal surgery eight months ago has put a major strain on my already meager finances. Those monthly five hundred- and fifty-dollar payments are the reason I’m waiting tables on weekends and clipping coupons.

Good thing I’m in line for a promotion. If I get it, the salary increase will change my life.

Convincing my boss to promote me, though? That’s another story.

“Excellent font choices, Monica,” Jane Garver says during our two p.m. group meeting. “The client wants to see a full presentation. I’ll expect it to be ready by Monday afternoon.”

“Absolutely,” Monica says.

“Josie, did you steal that shirt from a homeless person?” Jane asks me, wrinkling her nose.

Or should I say, Aunt Jane. Having my aunt as a boss is worse than eating dry peanut butter sandwiches for every meal.

Monica cackles like the ass-kisser she is, and I smile tightly. My plain short-sleeved gray shirt may not have a designer label on it, but it’s perfectly fine.

“I’m not seeing clients today, so I decided to dress down a bit.”

Jane scoffs. “You’ll need to go home and change before our four o’clock meeting.”

“What meeting?”

She waves a hand. “I’ll fill you in before. It’s a job for a high-profile client, and you’re perfect for it.”

I straighten in my chair, taken aback. Perfect for it? Aunt Jane has never, since meeting me within a minute of my birth, thought I was perfect for anything.

“I’m sure you’ve all heard that Marnie is leaving us,” Jane says crisply. “That creates an opening for a senior publicist. Junior publicists, show me your best work in the coming weeks and help make my decision easier.”

Jane was so offended by Marnie’s resignation that she told her not to even work out a two-week notice. She takes it personally when someone quits.

This job for a high-profile client is my chance to prove myself. I’ve worked here for five years, starting straight out of college as an intern. I like my job, and I want to stay here.

Publicists get to make people shine. Sometimes, we come in for damage control, helping clients rebuild their images. I like being part of a team that consists of me and my client.

I also like paying my electric bill on time and having a professional cut my hair instead of doing it myself.

Which means I have to get that promotion.

“Wait. What?” I gape at my boss a couple of hours later after finding out what my special assignment is.

“You’ll be his...handler,” Jane says brightly. “It couldn’t be an easier job, really. You just watch over him and make sure he’s not getting into trouble.”

Arnold Morgan, owner of the Minnesota Mammoths pro hockey team, grins at Jane.

“I can’t thank you enough for this, Jane. Bill me whatever rate you think is reasonable. And if she can keep him out of trouble for the whole three months, there’ll be a considerable bonus.”

“Bonus?” I turn to Arnold, distracted by his offer.

“Any bonus paid will go to the firm and it will be at my discretion what portion goes to you,” Jane says.

I furrow my brow, mentally reviewing this assignment. Jane basically wants me to babysit a pro hockey player twenty-four seven. Stay with him and as Arnold said, “keep him out of trouble.”

“Why?” I ask.

Jane’s eyes flash with annoyance. “Because I own this firm, Josie, and--”

I cut in. “No, not that. Why does this guy need a handler? What kind of trouble has he gotten into?”

Arnold sighs through his nose. “Jane, is this conversation covered by our NDA?”

“Yes. Josie signed a blanket nondisclosure agreement and can’t repeat anything from any client conversations.”

Arnold nods and continues. “Dane has always liked the ladies. He recently slept with a woman who is legally separated from a well-known actor, and the actor has been tweeting about it. Dane would tell you he just likes to have a good time, but he’s been dragged hungover from women’s beds by teammates to catch the team bus more than once. He was arrested last week for public indecency after having sex with a woman on a park bench and then passing out. The woman stole all his clothes and his wallet afterward and when the sun rose, the police were called.”

“What a headache for you, Arnold,” Jane says, shaking her head. “Let us worry about this player so you can get back to the business of running your team.”

Arnold exhales and smiles like he’s just dumped the weight of the world from his shoulders.

“I appreciate it, Jane. You’ve come through for me every time I’ve hired you.”

I want to ask what’s happening here. Because they can’t possibly expect me to do this job.

“How big is this guy Dane?” I ask.

“Dane Foster is six-three and a hundred and ninety pounds,” Arnold says, reciting his roster stats.

I gesture at myself. “Five-four and a hundred seventeen. How can I keep someone that size from doing anything?”

“Dane has been told this is his last shot,” Arnold says. “If he steps out of line, you’ll need to call his head coach immediately, and then this will all be over. No more PR nightmares; I don’t care how great of a player he is.” Arnold exhales hard. “But if you can keep him in line for the rest of the season--until the playoffs are over--that would be a great service to our team.”

“Consider it done,” Jane says, standing. “We won’t take any more of your time, Arnold. I’ll be in touch with the contract.”

“I can give you a business credit card for all her expenses,” he says, reaching for his wallet.

“No need. I’ll bill your accounting people with receipts.”

“Thanks, Jane.” He glances at me. “And thanks to you too, Josie.”

I smile weakly, not knowing what to say.

This assignment is bonkers. That’s what I want to say, but I don’t. And twenty-four seven? Who’s going to take care of my cat, Mr. Darcy?

Jane walks Arnold out and then returns to her office, glaring at me.

“Where was your enthusiasm, Josie?”

My lips part and my eyes widen. “I don’t see how I can do this. What this guy needs is more like a bodyguard.”

“No, he needs someone who can remind him how important optics are. Which is literally your job.”

I sigh softly.

“If you don’t want this assignment, I’ll give it to Monica.”

And see that twit get promoted before me? Never. I need this promotion.

“I want it,” I say. “I just want to succeed, and I’m not sure how.”

“You’re a bright girl. You’ll figure it out.”

A bright girl? I’ll figure it out?

“But...where will I sleep?”

Jane sits down behind her desk, looks at her screen and starts typing. “I’m sure he has a couch, Josie.”

“Do I get my own hotel room if I travel with him?”

She glares at me over the rim of her glasses. “Are you okay in the head? If you’re asleep in a different room, how can you keep track of where he is?”

My aunt wants me to stay in a hotel room with a six-three, one-hundred-ninety-pound man who “likes the ladies.” Just great.

“Listen,” she says, taking off her glasses and setting them on her desk. “I expect you to be within ten feet of this man at all times unless he’s playing in a game, in which case I expect you to be watching that game. You will stick to him like a fly on glue. You will eat with him, you will travel with him, you will sleep in the same room as him. That’s the assignment. And if you don’t want it, I’ll give it to someone who will jump at this opportunity.”

“I want it.”

She shakes her head, exasperated, and puts her glasses back on. “Get your things packed. You start tomorrow. You’ll need to travel light.”

I nod and stand up. “Okay. Thanks.”

Deep down, I wonder if I’m getting this assignment because Jane believes in me or just because it sucks and she doesn’t have the guts to ask another employee to give up their life for the next three months.

Either way, I’m going to succeed. I have to.