Not many women could boast bossing around a locker room
full of buff, naked jocks as part of their job
description, but then again, there weren't many women with
a job like Janna MacNeil's.
A publicist specializing in retooling clients' images as
well as damage control, Janna had been hired by Kidco
Corporation to help transform the reputation of the New
York Blades, the NHL's Manhattan-based hockey franchise.
To put it politely, the guys on the team were renowned for
playing hard both on and off the ice. Never had this been
more obvious than last season, after winning the Stanley
Cup for the first time in twenty years. Everyone knows
boys will be boys, but these boys brought the Cup to a
number of strip joints around Manhattan, where they
enjoyed the rare and singular pleasure of watching ladies
with pasties and very little else "perform" with what many
considered the Holy Grail of sports. Worse, rumors
abounded that a photo existed of a group of players
gathered around the Cup with plastic straws up their
noses, heads reverently bowed to snort up a small mountain
of cocaine. No wonder Janna's crusty new boss, Lou "the
Bull" Capesi, guzzled Mylanta like it was spring water.
The team was a PR nightmare.
Janna was being paid big bucks to change all that.
Edging her way through the boisterous cluster of beat
writers hovering in the brightly lit, concrete hallway
near the locker room door, Janna steeled herself, knowing
what awaited her on the other side: naked, sweaty, male
bodies. Lots of them. Big, muscled men laughing and joking
with each other, flicking towels at each other's butts.
Men sauntering off to the shower. Men stretching,
massaging their battle-weary bones. She'd met these men-
all but their captain, Ty Gallagher, who was a day late to
training camp-in these very circumstances yesterday. Lou
had introduced her around, and not one of them seemed
fazed about parading buck naked or half undressed in front
of a petite female publicist. Janna, on the other hand,
had had to work hard to avoid the irresistible urge to
stare, slack jawed and salivating, at the well-sculpted
physiques of these guys. She made doubly sure she kept her
eyes north of the equator, too.
Once inside the locker room, the same scene she'd been
initiated into yesterday greeted her. Some of the players
lounged on the long wooden benches in front of their
lockers, chatting, half dressed. Others stood at a large,
rectangular table at the far end of the room, gulping down
mammoth-sized glasses of Gatorade they'd poured from huge
jugs. A few acknowledged her with nods; some, she thought,
deliberately looked away. A boom box blasted music. The
Who? Pearl Jam? She couldn't tell. The atmosphere was
exuberant, almost adolescent in its giddiness. Though it
was September, still pre-season, the Blades were clearly
psyched about making another run for the Stanley Cup in
the year ahead. She took a deep breath, trying hard to
ignore the pungent odor of male sweat that was
inescapable, and made for the bench closest to the center
of the room, climbing up on it. Then, with all the power
she could muster, she stuck her fingers in her mouth and
whistled. The room fell silent as all eyes trained on her.
"Listen up, guys: Now that I have your attention, I need
your help." She looked around the room, carefully making
eye contact with each and every player. "As you know, the
Blades organization was recently purchased by Kidco
Corporation, which prides itself on providing family
entertainment." Boos and amused chuckles filled the
room. "Kidco wants the Blades to be winners both on and
off the ice, meaning they'd like each of you to give a
little something back to the community you play in." She
held the papers aloft in her hand. "This is a schedule of
charity events going on all over the city over the course
of the next year. I've highlighted those that don't
conflict with your playing and travel schedule. I'd like
each of you to sign up for at least three."
"And if we don't?" a rogue Canadian voice challenged.
"If you don't, then I kick your butt, and believe me, I
can do it. I might be small, but I'm wiry." The players
laughed appreciatively, and Janna relaxed somewhat. None
of them could tell, but beneath her tailored suit she was
a bundle of stomach-churning nerves, something she was a
pro at covering up after years of practice.
"Speaking of butt-kicking, I just want to remind you that
no one is to talk to the press without clearance from the
PR office, understand? I don't care if some reporter stops
you outside Zabar's and asks if that's where you shop for
groceries. Everything-everything-has to go through me or
Lou. Not only that, but if God forbid you do find yourself
saying or doing something stupid, you're to call me
immediately. That's why I gave all of you my cell phone
number yesterday. I expect you to use it, day or night, if
you have a question about something or if an emergency
arises. Now, back to the business at hand." She flashed
them a quick, determined look. "Signing up for three
events now will save you the aggravation of me following
you around and nagging you to death for the rest of the
season-which I'm paid very handsomely to do." More
laughter. "So whaddaya say?"
She didn't expect them to come forward in droves, but she
was hoping a few might be willing to get the ball rolling.
Instead, a stubborn silence filled the room. One second
passed. Two, three. Janna's heart began beating just a
little bit faster, her palms moistening. She took another
deep breath, steadying herself. You can do this, she
repeated in her mind. As the silence dragged on, she
wondered if this was how comedians felt when they "died"
on stage.
"Come on, guys, don't make this any harder than it needs
to be," she coaxed. "Either you sign up, or I start
putting your names down at random. The choice is yours."
She watched as their collective gaze suddenly shifted from
studying her to something on her left that was apparently
fascinating. She looked. There stood Captain Ty Gallagher,
a white towel knotted at his waist, his rock-solid body
still glistening with damp from the shower. His blond hair
was slicked back, and his deep-set, brown eyes were hard
and unwelcoming. Feeling Lilliputian, despite still
standing on the bench, Janna struggled not to let herself
become overwhelmed by the nausea gathering force and
momentum inside her. She smiled at him politely.
"Captain Gallagher?"
"The one and only." The voice was polite but guarded,
giving away nothing. Janna gingerly climbed down from the
bench and extended her hand to him. Gallagher took it,
briefly, for a very firm shake. Her hand grasped in his
looked doll-sized; the thought flashed through her mind
that with one quick squeeze he could easily ground her
bones to powder if he wanted to. Which, thankfully, he
didn't. Yet.
"I'm Janna MacNeil."
"I know who you are." He folded his strong arms across his
chest and continued staring at her, challenging,
expectant.
"I was just telling your teammates that as part of our
effort to improve community relations, Kidco Corporation
would like it if every player signed up for at least three
charity events. Maybe you could lead the way and sign up
first."
"No."
Janna blinked. "But-"
"No." He strode toward his locker and began dressing.
She'd heard from Lou that he was an arrogant,
uncooperative bastard. Here was her proof. Determined to
play his dismissal down, she turned back to the players.
"Moving right along," she continued smoothly, "is there
anyone who would care to sign up?"
"I'll sign up," a voice called out from the back.
Relieved, Janna stood on tiptoes and peered over the sea
of heads to see who had spoken. It was brawny, curly-
haired Kevin Gill, one of the team's assistant captains.
Janna had met him yesterday and had been utterly charmed
by how articulate he was. Truth be told, she hadn't been
anticipating too much in the brains department when it
came to dealing with these guys. They were hockey players,
after all. They made a living chasing a little rubber
biscuit around an ice rink. How smart could they be?
Kevin came forward, took Janna's list from her, and after
skimming it, signed his initials next to three
events. "Who's next?" he asked. Janna noticed that he shot
Ty Gallagher an annoyed glance, which the captain
responded to with an indifferent shrug. When no one moved,
Kevin sighed.
"I tried," he said to Janna, heading off in the direction
of the shower. Clearly, the guys on the team took their
cues from their beloved leader. If the great Ty Gallagher
didn't think signing up for charity events was worth it,
neither did they. God help me, Janna thought. It was going
to take a lot more work to polish these guys up than she'd
anticipated. Especially if she had to work through Captain
Gallagher to do it.
"Well," Janna called out to no one in particular, "if you
don't sign up today, I'll be here tomorrow, and the day
after that, and the day after that, until you do sign. I'm
not going anywhere, guys."
Her threat hanging in the air, she found herself
approached by the Russian prodigy, Alexei Lubov, which
surprised her. Lou had warned her that many of the foreign
players were hesitant about doing PR, because they were
unsure about their command of English. They had great
trepidation about involving themselves in anything that
might embarrass them. Lubov was obviously an exception to
the rule.
"Hello," he said carefully in a heavy accent, his innocent
baby face serious. "I am Alexei Lubov. You will call me
Lex."
Lex? Janna thought, biting her lip. Lex Lubov? Who was he,
one of Superman's archenemies?
"Hello, Lex," Janna said cordially. "Nice to meet you."
He gestured at her sign-up sheet. "I wish to sign."
"Do you have any idea what kind of events you prefer to be
involved with?"
"Girls," he declared, his baby blue eyes lighting
up. "Something with many, many girls."
Janna laughed. "There are usually women at all of them. Do
you want to participate in a golf outing? A black tie
dinner?"
"Yes, dinner." He leaned closer to her, as if he were
about to impart a secret. "You will be there, yes?"
"Yes."
"You would like to go out with me?"
It took Janna a moment to realize that what he had meant
to say was, "Would you like to go out with me?" At least,
she hoped that's what he meant. She patted his arm. "Maybe
some other time. But for now, I have work to do."
"Yes, all right," he said somewhat impatiently, and walked
off. He was adorably cute. And God knows Kidco was
confident he was destined for stardom. But he seemed a
bit...boyish. Definitely not her type. And his name! Lex
Lubov! She couldn't wait to tell her roommate Theresa that
one.
Things began to wind down, and the locker room started
emptying out, players departing in groups of two and
three. Out of the corner of her eye, Janna caught sight of
Ty Gallagher, now dressed, swinging his gym bag onto his
shoulder. He donned sunglasses and was about to leave when
Janna approached him.
"May I speak with you a minute?"
Lowering his sunglasses ever so slightly, Ty peered down
at her with an irritated gaze. "What's on your mind?"
"Well, it's this. Since you're the team's captain, I'll be
honest with you. I've been hired to help make over the
team's image."
"We don't need a makeover."
"That's debatable. Kidco Corporation, which now owns the
team, as you know, was less than pleased with how you guys
behaved when you won the Cup last year."
Ty suppressed a smirk. "We shared the Cup with the city.
What's wrong with that?"
"You brought it to strip clubs." Janna saw immediately
that she'd hit a nerve-the wrong one. The chiseled
features of his handsome face stiffened, and she got the
distinct impression that he was struggling to keep his
infamous temper in check, a temper that once supposedly
drove him to threaten to push a player off a moving bus if
the guy didn't improve his game. She waited, held deep in
the prolonged freeze of what was now, unmistakably, a
glare.
"Let me explain something to you, Miss MacNeil." His voice
was a low rumble, carefully controlled. "Last year, my
guys busted their asses out there on the ice night after
night, and for one reason: they wanted to win the Cup.
When they did win, it was their right to do whatever the
hell they wanted with it, whether it was take it to a
strip club or let their dog eat Alpo from it. You
understand?"
"How about snorting cocaine from it?" Janna asked
sharply. "Were they free to do that?"
"That story is bull, and you know it."
"I don't know it, and neither does Kidco. Ultimately, it
really doesn't matter if it's true or not. What matters is
that a rumor like that hurts the team's image. It's
unacceptable."
"And so your job is to-what? Turn us into choirboys?"
"Kidco doesn't expect the players to go home at night and
bake cookies, no. But they do expect all of you to give a
few hours to do some good old-fashioned PR to help offset
the party animal image dogging the team."
"No offense, but none of the guys on this team, especially
me, owe Kidco anything."
Janna chuckled, almost a snort. "Oh, really? Who do you
think signs your checks now? Who do you think pays that
mega salary that makes it possible for you to squire
models around? Kidco owns the Blades, which means they own
you, whether you like or not."
Now it was Ty's turn to laugh, and it was a contemptuous
one. "If it wasn't for me, all those soft boys in their
suits wouldn't know who the hell the New York Blades were.
The only reason they bought the team was because we won
the Cup, and the only reason we won the Cup is because I
was brought to New York specifically to turn this club
back into a winning franchise, which I did. So don't tell
me I owe them. I already did my part for the suits
upstairs."
Momentarily stunned into silence by his colossal ego,
Janna merely blinked in reply. She stared up into his
rugged face, which bore small, telltale marks of how he
made his living-a tiny scar beneath the chin, another
across the bridge of his nose-and then shook her head
incredulously. "You don't get it, do you? Kidco
Corporation has very deep pockets, captain. Their money
could buy the best talent out there come trade time. But
there's no way they're going to shell out to build a team
that embarrasses them off of the ice. My suggestion to you
is that if you want to keep winning Stanley Cups, you'd be
wise to play it their way."
The icy glare returned. "Are you threatening me?"
"I'm giving you the lay of the land. Your teammates
clearly respect you, to the point of asking 'How high?' if
you ask them to jump. You do PR, and the rest of the guys
will follow suit. I don't think it's too much to ask."
"Yeah? Well, I do." He pushed his sunglasses back up so
his eyes were once again obscured. "Do me a favor, will
you? Tell Kidco to take their 'involvement in the
community' and shove it. If I feel like doing a good deed,
I will. But in the meantime, my humanitarianism isn't a
commodity. You got that?"
"Got it," Janna replied tersely. Against her will, the
nausea she'd been keeping at bay began bubbling in the
back of her throat.
"Good. Enjoy the rest of your day."
"You, too," Janna returned through gritted teeth as he
strode past her. She waited until she couldn't hear his
footsteps echoing anymore through the empty concrete
hallway. Then, gathering up her papers, she hustled
briskly out of the locker room and slammed through the
door of the nearest ladies room. Quite unceremoniously,
and with a force that frightened her, she threw up her
breakfast.