Chapter 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.
As I type out the date and time, ready to begin taking notes, Colton rests his elbows on the table and clicks his tongue.
“We secured the Rogues contract.”
My head whips up, my eyes bulging out of their sockets. “But I thought you weren’t expecting to hear if we’d been hired for another couple of weeks.”
Colton looks delighted. “I actually have you to thank for that.”
Interest piqued, I sit up straighter in my chair. “How so?”
“Will Jones.”
I stop typing and eye my boss over the rim of my screen. Will signing with the Seattle Rogues this season isn’t exactly fresh news, although I remain clueless as to why that has anything to do with me.
For the past four years, Will and I have kept in light touch, only seeing each other at family events and the holidays. That said, I haven’t been totally oblivious to his time spent in college or while playing in the NCAA.
It’s hard to miss anything that boy does with his daily movements constantly shared on social media.
I internally roll my eyes at the memory of his posts from last week, when he arrived in Seattle and immediately bought a McLaren Artura Coupe in racing green with gold detailing, captioning the post: Touchdown in Seattle. Time to go Rogue.
From the first memories I have of Will to when I last saw him at Christmas, he’s always been the same—incredibly self-assured, to the point where he’s arrogant and impulsive, especially with money; committed to hockey, but not much else, especially women.
He’s the ultimate alpha playboy with a bank balance and athletic skill set to match.
Really not my type of man.
Yet, beneath all that bravado, there’s a person the world has yet to see. A kind heart that occasionally reveals itself in the gold flecks of the deepest brown eyes I’ve ever seen.
“What about him?” I ask, playing a little dumb.
Colton knows about my association with the star rookie forward and especially the history between our parents.
He hesitates for a beat when we lock eyes. “The Seattle Rogues have expressed some … concerns over his online conduct and public image.”
He scratches at the back of his neck. My boss is a huge Rogues fan, so I know he’s all too aware of the reputation Will carries.
“Ordinarily, the Rogues keep their PR in-house, especially for rookies, but when we pitched to them a couple of weeks ago and they started talking about Will being a potential client”—he winces a little—“I kind of dropped your name, and with your dad being the head coach, I explained that we would be well suited to offer Will the support he needed as he made the transition from collegiate hockey to the pros. Since he won’t be spending a year playing in the AHL, he’ll need all the help he can get to successfully navigate the huge jump. ”
Other than the date, time, and a couple of lines, I’ve barely made any notes since I sat down a few minutes ago.
My fingers pause over the keyboard. “You want me to assist you with representing Will Jones?”
When Colton shakes his head, I feel a stab of disappointment.
Sure, even in the infancy of his pro career, Will is already a bigger name than any of my existing clients, but I have a head start over anyone else working at First Line.
Even my boss. The new Rogues forward is a complex character, and I have him all figured out.
Colton points at me, eyes sparkling with something like excitement. “I want you to take the lead with Will and represent him. The Rogues think it’s a great idea, and I agree with them.”
Although I aim to sound more casual when I ask, “Are you serious?!” I actually come off as an overenthusiastic puppy who’s just been shown a bowl of their favorite food.
My boss chuckles low, nodding his head a few times.
“Yes, for real. Naturally, we’ll have weekly check-ins so you can ask any questions and we can talk about the progression of Will’s public profile, but I think you’re ready to expand your client list and take on something—or someone—a little more challenging. ”
I shut my laptop, brain spinning out and rendering me incapable of making notes.
“Does Will know anything about this?”
Colton’s eyes flick up to the clock positioned on the wall above my head. “He will in around an hour. The general manager will call him in for a conversation ahead of the preseason getting under way.”
“And my dad?”
Despite moving out of my parents’ home in Kirkland six months ago, I still speak to them almost daily, and Dad hasn’t breathed a word about Will or the contract being awarded to First Line.
He shrugs his shoulders. “I’m not sure how much Coach Callaghan knew about First Line’s interest in representing his players.”
I scrunch up my nose. “He’s only concerned with what happens inside the rink. As long as nothing from the outside affects his team’s performance, then he doesn’t care much beyond that.”
Colton hums his agreement. “I’d be the same if I were him—another bottom-of-the-league finish last season has got to be weighing heavy on his shoulders by now.”
I smile at my boss, though it’s only to mask the truth in his statement.
Sometimes, I wonder if Dad regrets taking on the role and relinquishing the college hockey job he had before the Rogues were formed.
With the Scorpions flying high each season, it feels like the city is divided, and while Emmett Richards’s appointment a few seasons back has definitely helped, I know Dad is holding out for Will’s arrival to make an impact on the team and start turning losses into the wins they desperately need.
And regardless of his cocky nature, Will absolutely possesses the type of generational talent it takes to alter the fortunes of a team and inspire its fan base.
Quickly, excitement over the prospect of working with Will—along with the exposure this could bring for my own career—fizzles out, leaving behind the reality of what I’ll be taking on.
Will hasn’t hit one puck in the NHL yet, and he’s already got millions of eyes on him across North America.
I swallow hard, and Colton notices the shift in my demeanor.
“Is this something you want to take on, Drew?”
I pause on answering for the briefest second.
“Because I personally think you are ready.” He continues talking. “Sure, Will is a handful—we all know that—but I really think this is a great chance for you to get your name—”
“I want the job.” I don’t even let Colton finish his sentence.
He smiles and clasps his hands on the wooden table in front of him. “And you know I’ll be here to support you, right?”
I nod once, pushing all self-doubt to the back of my mind.
It’s Will, for Christ’s sake. If he gives me shit, I’ll just tell him to get a goddamn grip and start acting like a professional. We’ve known each other for years, and he isn’t about to screw this up for either of us. He wouldn’t do that to me.
“Good. That’s settled then,” Colton confirms, dropping his leg and standing. “I think your priority is to first study his existing social media—along with any other public platforms he may have—and work out what needs to be archived.”
Just the entire past decade then.
Reopening my laptop, I hastily begin taking notes.
“I also think it would be wise to draft up a tailored crisis management plan and have Will approve it within the first week of you two working together.”
My fingers still. Crisis management is a part of what we do as publicists, but it’s interesting Colton wants me to pull one together so quickly and one customized for Will.
“What about brand partnerships?” I question. “Do we need to steer Will’s image in a certain direction and align with particular companies?”
Colton nods. “I understand that Will’s team has several potential deals in the works, although nothing has dropped as of yet.
” Lines form across his forehead. “Apparently, a deal with a huge, and very influential, new sneaker brand went south a couple of weeks ago, and that’s contributed to the Rogues seeking external PR expertise. ”
My jaw pops open. “Are you talking about Repeet? They’re making waves in the leisure industry right now.”
Colton nods and grimaces at the same time.
I rack my brain, trying to think over what Will could’ve posted or said that would put a brand deal like that in jeopardy.
When Colton gets a call on his cell, I take advantage of the pause and pull up Will’s socials.
Nothing on TikTok.
Or Threads.
Nothing on Instagram.
Fuck.
Will got into an online argument with a New York Blades fan two weeks ago over …
Potato chips?
He doesn’t even eat junk food.
“My body is a temple and should be treated as such.”
Once again, I internally roll my eyes, recalling a line Will has regurgitated so many times around the dinner table. I’d happily shove a brownie down his throat just so I didn’t have to hear it again.
“So, yeah”—Colton ends the call and picks up his previous thread—“right now, the priority is curating his image into something approachable and humble.”
How I don’t snicker I’ve no idea.
“Sure,” I say with a sweet smile, tucking my laptop under one arm before I stand.
“I’m certain you’re already aware of this, Drew. But I want you to make Will your top client. And if that means relinquishing some of your smaller clients for the benefit of this relationship, then I don’t want you to hesitate in coming to me.”
I nod once and make for the door, ready to start work the second I reach my desk.
With my hand on the door handle, I turn around to face my boss.
While I might be the obvious choice to represent Will, considering our history, the risk Colton’s taking isn’t lost on me—I’m good at my job, but I’ve also been a full-time publicist for just over a year, and compared to a lot of my colleagues, I’m very inexperienced.
“I really appreciate this chance,” I tell the man who has believed in me from the second I walked through his doors. “And I won’t let you down.”