An hour later, Georgia was in the owners’ box, trying not to speed-eat the Brazilian cheese puffs a food-service worker had just dropped off. But she was both hungry and nervous—a dangerous combination.
Fifty yards away in the press box, reporters were waiting for the starting lineups to be announced. And it was taking longer than usual tonight. They were getting grumbly, and fast.
And they weren’t the only ones. Nate paced like a lion, watching his phone for updates. He didn’t say anything, but Georgia could feel his impatience with her father. The big boss was chugging imported water, his drink of choice. That was something she and Nathan had in common—neither of them liked to drink at games.
“Honey?” Becca said as Georgia grabbed her seventeenth cheese puff. “Sorry to interrupt one of your regular feedings. But the reporters in the box are getting antsy for the starting lineup. The guy from the Post just asked me if there was some kind of problem.”
“Ugh.” Georgia drained her water glass. “It doesn’t help that I’ve been ducking them all night. Excuse me.” She skittered out of the room, down the hall, and then stuck her head into the press room. A dozen heads swiveled around to see whether anyone important had appeared. Usually those heads would swivel right back again. It wasn’t that Georgia wasn’t often useful to them. It’s just that she wasn’t newsworthy.
Unfortunately, the reporters’ glances lingered tonight. “Is there any word on whether the rookie will play tonight?” a guy from ESPN called out. “All the women on my staff are asking about him.”
She held back her groan. “The new coach is settling in,” she said. “He’s taking his time speaking with the players tonight, making sure everyone knows he isn’t going to run in and start knocking heads together. I’ll get you the lineup as soon as I have it.”
The answer satisfied no one, not even her. The men who came out to cover games were hard-core sports writers—not gossip columnists. But she hated the feeling of being sized up for newsworthiness. That’s why she’d been avoiding the press box all evening.
When the PR chief had to duck the press, it was always a bad sign. But she didn’t know how else to play it until her name and face dropped out of circulation.
Standing around in here was uncomfortable, though. It would be fine when the game started, and the press had something to watch. But for now, she was going to bail out again. She pulled the door open again and took a step outside. But she didn’t get far, because a big wall wearing a purple tie was suddenly in the way. And she walked right into it.
“Oof,” Georgia said.
“God, I’m sorry.” The rough timbre of the voice in her ear made her neck tingle.
Georgia leapt backward, removing herself from Leo Trevi’s chest. “Sorry,” she echoed, her voice a squeak. “Didn’t, uh, watch where I was going.”
Leo grinned at her, his smile spreading slowly across that handsome face. “I was just looking for you.”
At close range, it was hard not to notice how broad his shoulders were now, and how massive his arms looked inside the sleeves of his suit jacket. She was staring. “Um, what?”
His smile became a chuckle. “I was looking for you. We really should talk.”
“Talk?” Apparently she was only capable of speaking in one-word sentences.
“Yeah, Gigi. Talk—for once in six years. I suggested coffee. But you wanted to have a publicity meeting, right? Well here I am.”
Here indeed, sucking up all the available oxygen with his smile and all that muscle. Pull it together, Georgia. “Um, sure. Where shall we talk?”
He lifted those massive shoulders in a shrug. “I’m the new guy. You’re supposed to know these things.”
Right.
Georgia glanced around herself. Privacy was at a premium in the stadium, even on the VIP level where they were now. There was a very posh bar just down the corridor, but anyone might be in there. Instead, Georgia led him several yards down the giant, curving corridor and over to an upholstered bench along the wall. She sat down and crossed her legs self-consciously.
The bench shifted slightly under Leo’s weight when he sat down. It was a roomy enough place to sit, but still it felt unbearably intimate. Even from this distance his scent was distinctive—clean shirts and a woodsy aftershave.
She put her damp palms on her knee, over the hem of her skirt. “So.” Where to begin?
“So,” he echoed, his voice warm. “This is your meeting. What does the queen of PR do to break in the rookie?”
Was it her imagination, or was the question meant to sound so . . . suggestive? Gah. “Well, um. There are some events you’ll be asked to do. There’s the, um, benefit I mentioned the other day. Those black-tie events don’t come up that often, though. It’s usually a hospital visit, or skate with the team to raise money for cancer research . . .”
“That doesn’t sound too hard,” he said, his hand landing on the cushion between them.
Georgia lifted her chin so she wouldn’t have to think about all the marvelous ways that hand used to touch her. But that was a mistake, because it meant she was now looking right into his beautiful brown eyes. There was heat in them, too, or was she crazy?
Yep. Definitely losing her mind. And her train of thought.
Damn it. She cleared her throat and got back to business. “There’s a spiel I give everyone about being in the public eye. I’m sure you’ve heard this all before, but the stakes are higher now, because people will pay more attention.” She relaxed a little bit now because she’d delivered this speech many times before, and it was a comfortable topic. “Whether you like it or not, you’re representing the team at all times. So when you’re in a public place, always assume that someone may photograph you. Anything you say online will be scrutinized. I always follow players’ social accounts just to make sure there aren’t any red flags.”
Leo stopped her with an elbow nudge and a grin. “But you unfriended me on Facebook, Gigi.”
And, crap. She had. After she’d said good-bye to Leo, he hadn’t changed their relationship status. So every time she logged in, it made her heart hurt. For some reason, she just couldn’t click that box to make it say “single” again.
Then, during their freshman year of college, her feed began to fill with pictures of Leo surrounded by new faces. Teammates she’d never meet. Girls. Those photos made her crazy. That’s when she’d done it. She’d unfriended him completely so she wouldn’t have to see that he’d moved on.
She swallowed hard. “Well, uh, I meant Instagram, Twitter if you use it . . .”
Leo snorted. “Not a fan.”