Maybe This Summer
Jennifer Snow
New York Boston
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Jennifer Snow
Excerpt from Maybe This Christmas copyright © 2017 by Jennifer Snow
Cover design by Elizabeth Turner. Cover photography by Claudio Marinesco. Cover photography © Tom Merton/Getty Images. Cover copyright © 2017 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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First edition: July 2017
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ISBN: 978-1-4555-4004-4 (ebook)
E3-20170425-DA-NF
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
A Preview of MAYBE THIS CHRISTMAS
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Jennifer Snow
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Newsletters
To Reagan, thank you for seeing past my scars and teaching me how to open up again. I love you.
Chapter 1
Did you do this?” Owen McConnell handed the inductee nomination form to his buddy before turning Ben’s Hummer into the parking lot of the Burn Treatment Center at the Colorado Hospital.
“Would I do that to you?” His friend’s grin answered that question.
“Asshole,” he muttered, glancing at the form. The Mascot Hall of Fame had selected him as one of the year’s six finalists in the professional mascot division. Now Bernie, the Colorado Avalanche mascot, would have his picture and profile displayed on their website, open to a public vote. He pulled to the far back of the lot and parked the vehicle on an angle, taking up three spaces.
“What’s wrong? You’re always complaining that you don’t get enough recognition for the team’s success. I thought you’d be happy.” Ben pulled down the visor and checked his hair.
The captain of the Colorado team could be bald and women would still fall at his hockey skates…or at least they had until he’d officially taken himself off the market when he’d proposed to his girlfriend, Olivia Davis—a lawyer who had once been out for his head on a platter.
Unlike his buddy, Owen had to work for his dates these days.
Climbing out of the air-conditioned vehicle, a wall of Denver heat hit him in the face. “Damn, it’s cooking.” Summer was here and Owen was looking forward to the break. Since the Avalanche won the Stanley Cup the month before, his alter ego had been booked for countless fan meet-and-greets throughout Colorado and promotional advertising for the team. He wasn’t complaining—he knew the job didn’t have an official off-season—but at thirty-six years old, he was starting to slow down a little, his slight limp from his injury overseas getting a little worse each season. In addition to his role as promotions manager for the team, Owen wore the costume and rallied the crowd two or three times a week during the season. The exhausting, high-energy routines were more work than anyone realized…or gave him credit for.
Okay, maybe Ben was right. Maybe a little recognition couldn’t hurt for all he did for the Avalanche. Of course, the credit would actually belong to Bernie. Other than the players, no one knew he was the man inside the costume.
It was one of the reasons he’d initially accepted the position when the previous mascot retired.
As they were walking across the parking lot, a beautiful tall brunette leaving the building caught his eye, and he nudged his buddy.
Ben shook his head. “Head down, eye on the prize for me, remember?”
His friend’s reformed playboy ways had robbed him of a wingman. Though at least now he had a shot. “Beautiful day,” he said to the brunette as he passed.
Only to be ignored.
Opening the door to the hospital, he was relieved when another blast of air-conditioning hit them. He checked the directory on the wall. “First floor, west wing,” he said.
“So? What do you think? Isn’t she everything I promised?”
He nodded slowly. The Hummer was the beast Ben affectionately promised it was, but the price tag on it was a little high. The ride was almost ten years old. If he was going to do Ben a favor by taking it off of his hands, his buddy would have to make the deal a little more appealing. “I’m not sure, man.” He wasn’t exactly pulling in seven-figure contracts. Not since he’d left the NHL.
“Oh come on. It’s a beacon for women.”
He shot him a look. “It’s an environment-destroying, obnoxious-sounding tank. Your fiancée is making you get rid of it.”
“Exactly! Because she knows it draws the ladies.”
“You’re a good salesman, I’ll give you that.” His friend certainly knew how to play to his weakness. The truth was, his own truck was becoming more costly to keep on the road than the payments on a new vehicle, and this win-win situation, as Ben referred to it as, solved both their problems.
Taking the west wing elevators, they entered the Burn Treatment Center offices.
“Ben Westmore—come in!” A slightly older woman in a light blue suit came around her desk to greet them. Tall and slender with a warm, welcoming smile, she lit up the otherwise muted, dimly lit office and its beige furniture and solitary abstract painting in various shades of bland.
“Paige?” Ben asked, extending a hand.
She took it. “No, I’m Isabelle Cartwright—her assistant. She’s just finishing up another meeting, and then she’ll be right with you both.”
“It’s not a meeting with one of my competing teams, is it?” Ben asked.
The woman smiled. “You know we’d never consider asking any other NHL team to sponsor the event.” She touched his arm.
Ben’s flirtatious grin was on autopilot.
“Head down,” Owen buried in a cough.
Grin fading, Ben shot him a look. “This is Owen McConnell—the team’s promotions manager.”
Finally, the woman noticed him. “Hi, nice to meet you,” she said, extending a hand to him. “Have a seat. I’m sure Paige will be out to greet you shortly.”
Her office door opened before they could sit.
“And there she is,” Isabelle said.
&n
bsp; Owen wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been the sexiest woman on the planet. Dressed in a black, slim-fitting suit that stood out in contrast to the pale office décor, his eyes bulged slightly as he took her in. Three-inch black open-toed pumps made her look nine feet tall as she stepped out into the waiting area behind her current appointment, and if the heels were a source of discomfort, she hid it well as she practically glided across the waiting room. Tied back in a low ponytail, her long blond strands nearly reached her waist and swished from side to side like a silk curtain. Under the jacket, she wore a white turtleneck that covered a long, thin, graceful-looking neck. She looked cool and professional.
He was suddenly sweating.
He averted his gaze to the two men leaving as she addressed them.
“Thank you for coming in. I’ll look forward to hearing from you both,” she told the football players he recognized from the Denver Tigers.
Her voice wasn’t what he’d expected either—deep, rich, smooth as honey—unusual coming from such a sleek, thin frame. An irresistible combination.
He ran a hand through his hair and straightened his tie.
“Hey, Westmore,” Clint Fields, the Tigers quarterback said as he passed. “Great season.” The guy was in shorts and a polo shirt. So was his teammate—running back Alex Carr. In fact, no one was as dressed up as Owen was.
Maybe he should have gone casual as well. But at least the suit jacket covered his less-than-professional tattoo sleeves and the sweat pooling at his lower back. It also helped his confidence level in these meetings. Despite years of working as promotions manager, he still got nervous as hell before these one on ones. Once he started talking, he usually relaxed, but another glance at Paige told him that wouldn’t be happening today. The suit jacket would be staying on.
“Yeah, you too,” Ben said, shaking both players’ hands as the “you’re great, no you’re great” banter continued for several seconds.
The football stars turned and waved to Paige as they left.
“Hi. Thanks for coming in,” Paige said, turning her attention to them. She shook hands with both, but naturally her gaze never left Ben.
Owen shoved his hands in his pockets. Why the hell was he still friends with the biggest cock-block in Colorado?
Following them into the boardroom, he watched as Paige gracefully made her way to the front of the long mahogany wood table. Hips swaying to a beat only in his mind, her blond ponytail continued to swish from side to side down her back. He decided the suit had to be tailored for her because it fit like she had been born wearing it, smooth across her back and tapered at her tiny waist. In contrast, his felt tight and constricting across his shoulders, and the size 34 pants had fit a little tighter that morning. He worked out with the team, but maybe he needed to up his cardio.
“Before we start, I just have a short video I’d love for you to watch.” Paige’s voice stole his focus as she hit the button on the remote to turn on the large flat-screen on the wall.
On the screen, a group of kids played at what looked like a summer camp. The words BURN CAMP PROGRAMS scrolled across the bottom as various kids appeared to talk about their experiences.
Paige remained standing, her attention glued to a video she must have seen a million times, and he took the opportunity to study her—so serious and put together—just his type. He loved the challenge of trying to break a steely exterior, to get a smile or laugh from someone so seemingly guarded.
She crossed one foot over the other and rotated a thin, delicate-looking ankle.
Ah, so the black, skinny-heeled pumps obviously weren’t as comfortable as they were sexy.
His gaze went to her left hand. No ring. He smiled. Then again, maybe she just didn’t wear it to work. There was no way she was single.
Hitting the Stop button a moment later, she sat across from them. “That is why I asked you here today. This year’s celebrity charity golf tournament will be raising money to send some very deserving kids to camp in August. Children come from all over the US, and every year, we have scholarships for kids who wouldn’t normally be able to attend, but this year the demands for them are higher, and we don’t want to say no to any of these children.” She handed them each a binder featuring the pics and profiles of all of the children who’d applied for the scholarships. “Each of the stories in there is moving and touching. These kids have been through a lot and have overcome so much.”
As Owen flipped through, he felt his bank account emptying from all the way across town. He’d pay the tuition for these kids himself if he could.
“The goal with this year’s tournament is to raise thirty thousand dollars,” Paige said.
That was all? Most of the charity fundraisers they participated in had goals of hundreds of thousands of dollars.
“Couldn’t straight donations accomplish that rather easily without the expense of a tournament?” Ben asked, obviously thinking the same thing.
“Yes, they could,” Paige said. “But we also want to create awareness for the cause. The hospital does a lot of fundraising, but those funds are distributed among various wards. The Burn Treatment Center is sometimes forgotten about, as the conditions are not seen as life threatening in most cases.” He picked up a hardened note in her voice, but the edge was gone again as she continued. “This fall, we are launching a rather big campaign to purchase equipment needed to perform cutting-edge skin replacement and rejuvenation surgeries. As you can appreciate, some of the equipment has a price tag of over two hundred thousand dollars. Therefore we’d like to generate some forward momentum before then—generate public awareness and launch our new campaign during the camp.” She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table, her hands clenched together, the only sign that she was finding this meeting any bit uncomfortable or trying. Owen got it. Fundraising and garnering support wasn’t easy. He’d done his share of convincing the public to open their wallets and give of their time. Not an easy job. Yet, Paige did it with far more finesse and dedication than he’d ever been able to muster.
Next to him, Ben nodded. “Makes sense. When people see their donations in action, it encourages them to continue their support.”
“Exactly.”
“So, what do you need from us?” he asked.
“Just your time…mostly,” she said with a reserved, yet polite smile. The demeanor of a woman used to negotiating to get her way.
She wouldn’t have to work hard to get him to do anything. One glance his way and Owen would give her anything she asked for.
But of course, she was focused on Ben—the all-star athlete. Man, he loved his buddy, but most days he could just as easily punch him in the throat.
“Sounds easy enough. Count me in,” Ben said.
Paige smiled and her shoulders relaxed a little. “Great.”
Ben took his iPhone out of his pocket. “When is it?”
“July twentieth. I apologize for the short notice, but we had scheduling issues with the first golf course I booked, so we needed to move the tournament up by two weeks.”
If that change of plans frazzled her, it didn’t show.
Ben scrolled through his calendar. “I’m free that day. No problem.”
“Perfect,” she said, looking relieved that it hadn’t been a tough sell. If she knew anything about Ben, she wouldn’t have worried. Ben was all for any charity that helped children.
So was he. Unfortunately, at every charity event he attended, he was hidden behind an even bigger shadow—a big Saint Bernard–shaped one. No one even knew he was there.
Paige slid the players’ signup form across the table. “If you can add your name to the list and sign, that’s all I need for now. We will be making teams of four—two pro athletes and two registrants who have bid the highest to play with you. There’s no guarantee who you will be paired with—will that be a problem at all?”
“Just make sure they can play. I hate losing,” Ben said with a wink.
Owen waited
for her ovaries to explode, but for once a woman didn’t melt into a puddle at his buddy’s feet.
He smiled. He liked this woman even more.
Ben slid the signup form toward him, and he reached for the pen.
“Oh, actually, sorry. We only have eighteen spaces for pro athletes, and we were hoping to fill them with recognizable players from the major league teams. Of course if we can’t fill all eighteen spots, there will be some openings for team managers and coaches…” Paige said.
Right. “No problem.” He dropped the pen and sat back in his chair. Very few days he found himself missing his former hockey-playing career, but today he wished he still scored goals for a living. He’d been top scorer for the Avalanche for two seasons before he’d given up his first passion to serve his country as a Marine, hearing a call to do something more fulfilling with his life.
Of course that career was cut short, too.
Paige was talking to Ben. “I do have one more favor to ask. Do you think we could get Bernie at the event? There will be lots of kids there helping out and participating—they would love it.”
Of course they would—everyone loved Bernie.
Ben glanced at him and he nodded, not having to check his alter ego’s calendar. Any day this beautiful woman needed him or the mascot, he’d reschedule his own funeral to be there.
“That would actually be Owen’s department. He works directly with Bernie—organizes his calendar and appearances and stuff.”
Paige appeared reluctant to turn her attention back to him. “Oh. Okay, well, do you think he can make the event?” she asked as their gazes met.
“I’ll have to check with him, but I’m fairly confident he can.” So much for golfing that day. Sweating his ass off it was.
But Paige smiled. At him this time. It was small and fleeting, but he’d take it. “Thank you.” Turning back to Ben, she handed him several sponsor forms. “The only other thing I’ll ask of you is to please take these, and if there’s anyone you can think of who might be interested in sponsoring, or bidding on a golfing spot, tell them not to hesitate to contact me.” She handed him her card as well.
Maybe This Summer Page 1
