Before he hit the UP button for the elevator, the doors slid open and the Widow Duffy stood inside. A pair of sunglasses covered her eyes and her full lips were painted red. Ty placed his hand on one side to keep the door open for her. “Hello, Mrs. Duffy.”
“Hello.” She had a raincoat thrown over one arm, and she wore some ugly beige sweater set and pearls, like she was an over-fifty socialite on her way to some “save the starving orphans” meeting. Despite her sedate clothes, she was hot as hell and overblown sexy.
She stood there looking at him through the beige lenses and he was forced to ask, “Is this your floor?”
“Actually, I’m on my way up.” She pushed the glasses to the top of her windblown hair. “I’m a little distracted and accidentally hit the wrong button.”
Ty stepped inside and the door closed behind him. He hit the Number Two button and the elevator started to move. “Have a liquid lunch?”
She looked at him out of the corners of her eyes and clamped her mouth closed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said through pursed lips.
He shoved a shoulder into the mirrored wall and clarified. “I’m talking about you smelling boozy.”
Her big green eyes widened and she opened her bag to dig around inside. “I’ve had a very rough day.” She pulled out a piece of cinnamon gum. “Very rough.”
She owned a hockey team worth close to 200 million. How rough could it be? “Break a nail?” He half expected her to check her red fingernails before she stuck the gum in her mouth.
“My life is more complicated than worrying about a broken nail.” She chewed, then added, “Very complicated, and now that Virgil is gone, everything has changed. I don’t know what to do.”
He wondered if she was one of those women who liked to talk about their problems with strangers. Lord, he hoped not, and raised his gaze to the ceiling, purposely breaking eye contact so she wouldn’t feel free to unburden herself.
Thankfully, the elevator opened and Ty followed Faith down the hall to the conference room. He stepped ahead of her and opened the door.
She looked up into his eyes as she passed, close enough that her purse brushed the front of his sweatshirt. “Thank you,” she said, smelling like cinnamon and flowers.
“You’re welcome.” His gaze slid down her back to her behind, covered in a pair of dull beige pants, and he had to admit that the woman’s body did amazing things to her boring clothes. Stepping inside the room, he came to a sudden halt. He put his hand on his hip and stared at the billboard mock-ups propped up on easels about the space.
“Hello, everyone,” Faith said, all cheery as she hung her coat over a chair and took a seat beside her assistant at the conference table.
In contrast to Mrs. Duffy’s cheerfulness, Ty asked, “What the hell is this? A joke?”
A woman named Bo something or other from the public relations department shook her head. “No. We need to capitalize on the coverage we’ve received and all the media attention we’ve been getting.” She pointed to a drawing of two people standing back to back with the caption “Can Beauty Tame the Savage Beast?” “The media seems to think there’s a problem between the two of you, and we want to use that to our advantage.”
The PR director, Tim Cummins, added, “Of course we know that there is no real problem.”
But there was a problem. A big one. Ty took a seat across from Faith and folded his arms across his chest. He and the boys had worked their asses off the last four game nights and all the press had been able to write about was “the palpable friction” between him and Mrs. Duffy. In the sports section last Sunday, the Seattle Times had devoted a full three paragraphs to the supposed “sparks” before they’d gotten around to mentioning his hat trick or goalie Marty Darche’s impressive thirty-six saves. Frankie Kawczynski had broken a finger mixing it up in the corner with Doug Weight, and all she’d had to do was breeze into the lounge with her blonde hair and big boobs and the press corps lost its damn mind. If anything, he wanted her less visible. Less involved with the press. Not more.
Faith looked up from the press clippings in front of her. “I had no idea they blew that up and made something of it.” Her big green eyes looked up at him. “Did you?”
“Of course. You didn’t read the Chinooks coverage?” What had she been doing?
“Jules has given them to me, but I’ve been busy.”
With what? Meeting with the lover she’d been talking to the day of Virgil’s funeral? Is that what she’d meant by a rough day?
“We think this will pack the seats with fans,” Tim continued. “We’re all aware the ticket sales have not yet reached the pre-lockout numbers. If fans think there might be some friction between the team’s captain and the female owner, they might turn out to see it for themselves.”
Bo what’s-her-name added, “We think it
’s a good angle. Sexy, and as everyone knows, sex and controversy sells.”
Ty sat back in his chair and frowned. He didn’t like it. Not one bit. What were they planning on doing? Sexing up Mrs. Duffy? She didn’t need any more help. Or him? A T-shirt and jeans were as sexy as he got. He just wasn’t a hair-gel-wearing, blinging kind of guy.
“I think it’s a good idea.” The king of gel and bling, Jules Garcia, pointed to one of the boards with the caption “Beauty and the Savage Beast.” “I like the idea of Faith wearing Ty’s jersey, while he’s bare chested.”
Ty frowned. The guys would never let him live that down. “Forget it. I’m not going to be some ‘Savage Beast.’”
“I believe it’s some Sah-vahge Beast,” the drunk woman across the table pronounced dramatically.