The Aubrey Rules (4 page)

Chapter 6

The Aubrey Rules To Live By, Rule #6:
Always keep your business life and your personal life separate.

**Amendment**
Due to no fault of my own, my personal life imploded into my brand new job that I have been at for, oh, an hour and fifteen minutes? The potential client is a man who has stepped on my tampon. And I’ve accused him of having serial killer potential. Told him I was bloated. Oh, and he said one of my interview answers was pure bullshit.

**Note**
I’m so screwed.

My brain goes into complete panic mode. Everyone is doing the pre-meeting chatter, happily discussing the snow forecast, and I’m paralyzed with mortification.

Will Beckett say he knows me? Could this blow the account for ChicagoConnect? I mean, why would Beckett in his right mind want me to have anything to do with his account? Sure, laughing at my stories might be one thing, but it’s another to entrust his social media image to an account that I’m working on.

Then again, I’ll probably never touch this account.

I’ll be busy counting brown spots on bananas.

“Good morning, Aubrey,” Tom says brightly. He reaches for a Starbucks cup and smiles. “Gentlemen, this is Aubrey Paige, the newest member of our team. Aubrey, I’d like you to meet Evan Grayson, of the Evan Grayson Agency, and you might already know his client, Chicago Buffaloes Captain Beckett Riley.”

I shift my eyes nervously back to Beckett. His brown eyes register nothing but surprise at seeing me.

“Um,” I say nervously, “good morning. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, extending my hand to Evan.

“Likewise,” Evan says, gripping my hand firmly.

Then I turn to Beckett. I’m about to speak when he offers me his hand.

“Aubrey, pleasure to meet you,” he says softly. “Congratulations on the new job.”

I grip his hand and the second I do, butterflies shift manically in my stomach. His hand is
huge,
and his skin feels deliciously warm against mine.

I keep my eyes on his. And then he smiles at me, that crooked smile, and I know he’s going to keep the fact that he knows me a secret.

“Thank you,” I say, willing him to understand I’m thanking him for so much more. I reluctantly remove my hand from his. “Would you like some coffee?”

“I would,” Evan says. “With one cream, two raw sugars please.”

I direct my attention to Evan. “Yes, sir.”

“I’ll get my own, thank you,” Beckett says.

“We have plenty of muffins, bagels, and pastries,” Mallory says brightly. “So don’t be shy.”

While people are selecting baked goods, it’s just me and Beckett at the table with the coffee. I grab a cup so I can pour some for Evan.

And as I do, Beckett leans down close to me. “I told you they’d hire you,” he murmurs quietly.

His scent wraps around me, that sexy combination of pine and spice and citrus, and my nerves leap in response.

“I hear my bullshit answers are pretty good,” I say quietly, so only Beckett can hear me.

I shift out of the way, and while I’m getting some sugar for Evan’s coffee, Beckett pours his.

“They are,” he teases back.

I glance up at him. He’s smiling at me, and I find myself returning his smile.

I then clear my throat and finish making the coffee for Evan. I bring the cup to the table, placing it in front of him.

Beckett moves past me and takes the seat next to his agent. I pick up my notebook and pencil, along with a cup of coffee for myself, and place them at the vacant seat next to Mallory. There are plenty of left over bread items, so I help myself to a muffin and sit down. I feel Mallory’s eyes on me, and I wonder if she is repulsed by the fact that I eat bread products.

Then I realize she’s not looking at me. She is staring at my muffin. As if she’s about to pounce on it and swallow it whole.

I move my plate. She blinks and shifts her eyes away from my food.

“Well, why don’t we get started,” Tom says. “And I have to say it’s an honor to be one of only three agencies that will be presenting to you, Beckett.”

I watch as Beckett rubs his hand against the side of his face. The lightness is gone from his dark-brown eyes that was there when he teased me a few minutes ago. In fact, he appears miserable. As if he’d rather be doing anything but sitting in a board room listening to people give him a bunch of bullshit about running a top flight social media campaign for him.

“As you know,” Evan says slowly, and I can tell he’s used to speaking on Beckett’s behalf, “my agency does have an in house social media arm, but Beckett wanted someone outside of the agency to handle these affairs on his behalf.”

“Not that I don’t think Evan can,” Beckett explains softly. In fact, it’s almost hard to hear him. “But I want a different approach to this. If I’m being forced to do this, I want a new angle, people who can throw non-hockey perspectives at me for the bigger picture. From people who don’t know me.”

Then his eyes shift to me for a moment, and once again I see a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. But then Beckett represses it and directs his attention to Tom.

“Well, we would love the opportunity,” Tom says, standing up. “We’ll start with a presentation, including a concept for your website, one that we can tie into all social media fronts for you.”

His assistant, a beautiful blond named Neilson, dims the lights and lowers the video screen. A slick, glossy video promo comes on, one showing all the elements of a successful social media campaign, from assembling a capable team to choosing effective platforms. Words such as “real” and “consistency” are repeated throughout the presentation. And, of course, the point is continually hammered home as to why ChicagoConnect is the only firm that can bring the level of expertise and refreshing realism to a campaign for one of hockey’s rising stars, one who could transcend the sport with the right media coaching and campaign.

I cut off a piece of my muffin while designs for a sick “Beckett Riley” website are revealed. As soon as I pick up my muffin, Mallory’s head swivels to my hand, her eyes wide as she stares at my blueberry piece of evil bread indulgence.

I wrinkle my brow. I half-expect her to swoop in like an eagle and snatch it with her perfectly polished nude talons.

Then I feel eyes on me. I glance across the table and Beckett is watching me with a look of amusement on his gorgeous face. He must have seen my creeped-out expression, as I have a crap poker face at hiding what I’m feeling.

As soon as my eyes meet his, it’s all I can do not to laugh. But since that would get me fired, I avert my eyes away from his and pop the muffin piece into my mouth before Mallory pins my hand to the table and snatches it from me.

“We also have ideas for a logo, to develop Beckett Riley as a brand,” Alyssa says, standing up and taking over the presentation. She presents several different logos, including several with the initials BR. Alyssa goes on to show potential product lines for BR T-shirts and baseball caps.

Hmmm. So far they haven’t presented one item of women’s clothing, and from my sleuthing this week, women are a huge part of Beckett’s fan base. They need to present that to Beckett and tap into that market to expand his brand. After all, I can’t even tell you how many pictures I saw of Beckett on Tumblr with the caption ‘ovaries exploded’ underneath it.

Beckett would
die
if he saw those. He’s so shy and soft-spoken and the idea of women talking about him exploding their ovaries . . .

I bite down on my lip to keep from laughing. I steal another look at him, and he’s watching the presentation, but I have no doubt in his head he’s in a different place.

Like the hockey rink.

But all the same, I jot that idea down on my notepad. They need to tap the female fan base as part of his new branding campaign.

I lift my head and study Beckett once again. He’s so handsome, with the dark-brown hair and deep eyes. And he’s all athlete, all muscle, and his physical dominance on the ice is sexy as hell. From what I could tell from my Net research, he’s a top scorer, but isn’t afraid to mix it up and protect his teammates.

While he’s a beast on the ice, off it he’s not. When he speaks he’s soft-spoken. Shy. Gentle. The exact opposite of who he is on the ice.

And it’s easy to see why so many girls are crazy about him.

“Beckett, we know you have to leave for practice and we want to be sure you’re on time,” Tom says, standing back up while Neilson turns on the lights. “Do you have any questions for us?”

Beckett turns his attention to Tom. “I do. Who would be handling my Twitter and Instagram accounts? Will I have a dedicated person for it?”

“Mallory?” Tom says, deferring to her.

“Yes,” Mallory says. “Beckett, you would have a dedicated team to handle and monitor your accounts. We would provide responses and address issues, and of course, monitor posts to see what achieves the greatest reach, things like that.”

“I want one person,” Beckett says, his soft-spoken voice growing more firm. “Aubrey.”

Chapter 7

The Aubrey Rules To Live By, Rule #7:
If faced with an awkward situation at work, always keep up the appearance of being calm and in control.

**Amendment**
If said situation is on the first day of work, and the client is Beckett Riley, and he wants you to be in charge of his account even though you are obviously not qualified for it, REMAINING CALM AND IN CONTROL WHILE YOUR FACE IS A RAGING INFERNO AND YOU NEARLY SPIT OUT YOUR STARBUCKS IN SHOCK is freaking impossible.

As soon as the words escape Beckett’s lips, I begin choking on my coffee.

Wait. What? What did he say?

Beckett wants me to be in charge of his social media accounts?

I’m praying I misunderstood him.

But since the conference room has gone silent, and everyone is staring at me with a mixture of stunned and confused expressions on their faces, I apparently didn’t.

Blood rushes to my head. Damn it. Damn it. I know it matches my hair, as my face burns red hot.

“Um,” Mallory begins, “why Aubrey? Not that I don’t think she’s incredibly talented, otherwise we wouldn’t have hired her, but this is her
first day
. That’s asking quite a lot of her to take this on at this point in her career.”

This is humiliating. Mallory made my position at ChicagoConnect very clear, that I didn’t know shit, basically, and had to work my way up to her level of expertise, and now the client is challenging that. I’ve only known her for, oh, less than three hours but I know she’s
fuming
over this.

My new coworkers look utterly mystified, and to be honest, I am, too. I mean, Beckett’s seen me at my
worst.
He has no clue about my qualifications. I don’t have to worry about an ulterior motive, as I’m not the kind of girl he would date, I’m sure, so that’s off the table as well.

So why is he doing this?

Beckett appraises Mallory for a second, as if he’s putting weight to her thoughts. Then he shifts his gaze to me. “What’s your background?”

Okay, maybe not.

So much for banana brown spot counting and not speaking today.

I clear my throat. “I studied communications at the University of Washington. I did two internships with social media firms in Seattle each summer.”

“So, Beckett, as you can—” Mallory begins, but Beckett cuts her off.

“I’m not finished speaking to Aubrey.”

Oh shit.
Shit.
I flinch. His voice is strong, and it’s obvious that the determined
captain
is going to direct the conversation from this point forward.

The room is silent. I feel Mallory stiffen next to me, and I’m sure she’s livid that Beckett isn’t interested in listening to her.

“What did you handle?” Beckett asks, his eyes focused on me.

“I created posts for various social media platforms, researched trending content, and analyzed data.”

“This included tweets and Instagram, right?”

“Of course.”

Beckett leans back in his chair, apparently satisfied with this answer. “I want her to handle my Twitter and Instagram.”

“Why don’t we leave this open for discussion in our next meeting?” Evan suggests.

“Why?” Beckett asks. “I know what I want.”

“While I have no doubt Aubrey is one of our future talents,” Tom says, trying to wrestle back control of the conversation, “we feel it’s best to have her work as part of a team on your account at this point in her career. You need the guidance of experts, and that’s why you sought us out, Beckett. Let us do what’s best for you.”

Okay. Okay. Good answer.

“No,” Beckett says.

Gah,
no?
Why is he so hellbent on me? And before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Why me?”

“You’re my age. I need someone who can understand where I’m at and reflect that,” Beckett says. Then he turns to Mallory. “And Mallory, while you might have more experience, I don’t think this person is you.”

Gah! I’m so screwed, and it’s not even noon.

“And,” Beckett says, continuing and interrupting my thoughts, “I think Aubrey is the person who can do this for me.”

My thoughts shift away from Mallory with his last words. I feel my heart pound against my ribs. In our short time together, Beckett thinks I can
get
him. That I can carry his message forward into the world in a way that is genuine and real.

And the fact that he wants to put his brand, his image, his future into my unproven hands means the world to me, even if it doesn’t happen.

Beckett pushes back the sleeve on his watch, checking the time. Silence fills the room again. An incredibly awkward silence, because Beckett had pretty much thrown down his terms for gaining his business.

Me.

And then it hits me. I’m the linchpin to ChicagoConnect landing Beckett Riley and building a sports arm to the agency. This is insane.

And exhilarating at the same time.

Evan finally clears his throat. “I think we all have a lot to think about, and we’ll be in touch soon,” he says, rising.

“We’d really love the opportunity to build your image and brand, Beckett,” Tom says, coming around the table to shake his hand. “I’ll see you both out.”

We all rise to say goodbye, with me holding my breath as Beckett gazes at me from across the room. Then he turns and walks out with his agent and Tom, Alyssa and Mallory following behind.

I don’t exhale until they are out of sight. And then my head nearly explodes from all the thoughts swirling in it. That Beckett ended up here, in the same meeting, with me. That he only trusts me—the girl who has been nothing short of a loon in front of him—to handle his media. That not only does he want me to be his person, he’s demanding it.

“Wow,” Neilson says, scooping up her plate and napkin off the conference table. “I bet you never thought you’d see that on your first day, did you?”

I shake my head as I begin gathering up the cups and napkins strewn about.

“No,” I say softly.

Neilson smiles at me as she drops her stuff into the trash. “Obviously having someone younger represent him is important,” she muses aloud. “Kind of crazy, because he doesn’t know you.”

No,
it’s even crazier because he does know me. In the worst way possible as far as being a professional.

Unless calling your future client Captain Smart Ass and telling him you are bloated is the new version of being a social media pro.

Oy.

“Anyway, you can put leftovers in the break room. Down the hall and to your left. They’ll be devoured before lunch.”

“Okay,” I say, nodding.

“And welcome to ChicagoConnect,” Neilson adds, pausing before heading out the door.

“Thank you,” I say, smiling at her.

But as soon as she leaves, my smile evaporates. Mallory is going to be
pissed
that Beckett didn’t want her direction or her team for this account.

And prefers the services of the banana spot counter instead.

I finish cleaning up the conference room and take the leftovers to the break room. Then I find my way back to my new desk, and before I can even put my pen down, I hear Mallory.

“Aubrey, please come into my office.”

Shit.

I steel myself and walk through her door. To my amazement, she has her back to me and is now viewing shoes on the Neiman Marcus website.

Seriously, the first thing she does after an incredibly tense meeting is look at shoes? What about emails? Phone messages? Text messages? Anything?

“Yes, Mallory?” I say to announce my presence.

Mallory minimizes her screen. Then she swivels around in her chair, cocking her head to one side. “Aubrey, you shouldn’t date clients. It’s so unprofessional.”

What? What the hell? Dating?

“I’m sorry?” I ask, taken aback by that comment. “What are you implying?”

“It’s obvious Beckett has some interest in you,” Mallory says, her eyes laser sharp on mine. “For
whatever
reason.”

Okay, it might be my first day, but I don’t put up with crap. From anyone, including my new boss.

“I think Beckett has more interest in my age being closer to his,” I say truthfully. “And he thinks, rightly or wrongly, that I can add a more authentic voice to his account. Which I will happily do if that is what this agency desires.”

“I think that’s a possibility,” a voice from behind says.

I turn around and see Tom standing in the doorway.

“This is a highly unusual situation, but Beckett is our first potential professional athlete client, so we are going to have to be flexible with him. And we can help guide you behind the scenes, too. But I want this account. It would be huge for ChicagoConnect, so if this is what we need to do to land it, we’ll do it.”

I feel exhilarated by his words. I’m going to get a chance to do something substantial right out of the gate. And not working on something mundane or boring, but with
Beckett.

With Beckett.

Okay,
while this will pose its own challenges, you know, like me being attracted to him, I know I can find a way to manage it.

Which will be easier because Beckett sees me as the funny girl, not the hot girl he’d ever want to date.

So why does that idea bring down my elation a notch?

“Right, Mallory?” Tom says directly, interrupting my thoughts.

I glance at her. She looks as if she’d rather eat cut glass than agree with him.

“Sure,” she says, forcing a pinched smile on her face.

“Anyway, are you ready for our conference call with Wilson Ketchup?”

Mallory rises. “Yes, I am.” Then she turns to me, smiling sweetly. “You can get situated at your desk. Stuart, our human resources rep, will see you this afternoon to go over all your paperwork and insurance options.”

I nod. From the eye she’s giving me behind Tom’s back, I’m sure she’d rather be filling out my termination papers.

“Okay,” I say.

They walk down the hall together, and I sink down into my desk chair. I decide to distract myself by thinking of the things I’d like to add to my desk area to decorate it, such as a small lamp and some pictures, when my phone rings.

I glance down at it. It’s an external call, because I can see the whole number on the caller ID.

I clear my throat and pick it up. “ChicagoConnect, this is Aubrey.”

“Aubrey, this is Captain Smart Ass.”