“Good to know I won’t embarrass you.”
She took a sip of champagne. “Not with that body you won’t.”
“I see how it is. You’re just using me for my model physique. You don’t appreciate my brain or my superior hockey talents.”
“I do appreciate how smart you are.”
He laughed. “Come on, gorgeous. Introduce me to all the bigwigs here.”
She loved that he was comfortable in his own skin, that he wasn’t intimidated by the large crowd that had started to gather, including a doubled Secret Service team.
By nine p.m. the house was packed with people, many of whom Carolina knew, some she didn’t. But her parents, of course, knew everyone in attendance, and Carolina had no problem introducing herself to those she didn’t know. There were television personalities who’d finagled an invitation, as well as throngs of media willing to give up their Christmas Eve to be in attendance at the vice president’s personal residence.
She’d long ago lost sight of Drew as she was called away for family photographs and then an interview about her new fashion line, which she was glad to do. Anything to bring attention to her work was a good thing, even though she was asked the typical questions.
“Miss Preston, with your family money, connections, and of course, now that your father is the vice president, do you think it will be difficult for your fashion line to be taken seriously?”
“Miss Preston, do you believe the fashion world will have a hard time believing someone of your background is all that serious about fashion, given that many will think you’ve bought your way into your own line?”
“Miss Preston, how much influence has the Preston name, money, and the vice president had on launching your line?”
She had to smile and grit her teeth through all the insulting questions, and explain that she went to college and majored in fashion design, that it was her dream to be a fashion designer long before her father ever became the vice president, and that she had worked for several designers as an apprentice, seamstress, and assistant designer before she ever decided to launch her own line, and that she may have the financial resources, but she believed she also had the talent to design. And that come Fashion Week, she hoped she’d be able to prove that.
What she wanted to tell them all was that she’d paid her dues, she’d worked hard, and she’d proven herself a capable designer. She also wanted to tell them all to shove it, but she had to be polite. The media could make or break a fashion designer, and being a rude bitch wouldn’t gain her any favors.
When she finally managed to pull herself away, she found the nearest waiter and grabbed another glass of champagne. She headed down the hall into one of the private rooms off-limits to guests. After two rather large swallows and several deep breaths, she had managed to calm down, though not nearly enough.
“Wow, those were tough questions.”
Drew.
She nodded. “Yes, but not the first time they’ve been asked, and probably not the last time, either.”
“They were insulting.”
“The media always feel they’re entitled.”
Drew nodded. “I get that a lot, especially after a loss. They shove a camera in your face after you’ve played what you think is the lousiest game of your life and then they ask you how you feel? How the hell do they think you’re going to feel? You feel like shit. And then they either want you to talk about why your previously awesome game play has suddenly disappeared, or they want you to throw one of your teammates under the bus. It’s a no-win scenario with the media. Even if you win and are on top of your game, they find something to criticize.”
He led her over to one of the sofas and sat her down. She took another couple sips of champagne. “I have three strikes against me before I ever launch my line. One, I’m the daughter of the currently sitting vice president, which makes me high profile. Two, I’m a Preston, and I come from money, which will lead everyone to believe I staffed out the creation of this line to ghost designers and it will be anything but original. Three, because I worked for David Faber, everyone will be watching what I send down the runway to be sure I haven’t stolen any of his designs. Which means I have to fight twice as hard to be taken half as seriously as other designers.”
He swept his hand down her back. “It’s a lot of pressure on you.”
“Yes.” She finished off the glass of champagne and laid it on the table in front of her.
“But you’re smart, and I’ve seen your work. You’re very talented. And because you’ve lived in the public eye so long, I think you handle the media very well.”
She shifted her gaze to his. “Thank you for that. I appreciate your confidence in me.”
Drew leaned back against the sofa. “When I was in college, I struggled. School was tough, the whole studying while playing a sport kicked my ass, and I wasn’t the best player out there. I wanted to party with my friends who didn’t have to work as hard as I did. For a while there, I wasn’t sure that I could cut it. It was just too tough on me and I wanted to take the easy way out. But I got some really great advice from a mentor who reminded me that I’d been playing hockey since I was a little kid, and it’s what I’d always loved. And that if I wanted to give up and quit, that was my choice to make. I was smart enough that I could become a teacher or an accountant or I could do any damn thing I wanted. But he told me he knew I’d never be happy unless I was playing hockey. And if I wanted to play, I’d have to suck it up and work hard at it.
“He was right. So I sucked it up and studied hard and played hard and got better at both. And I proved to my coach and to my teachers that I could focus. Not that I was a scholar or anything, but I got the grades I needed to get, and my hockey play improved enough that I got drafted right out of college by the Travelers.”
“That’s amazing.”
His lips curved. “Not really. I still wasn’t all that great. I was a passable player, but not as good as a lot of guys my age. The Travelers sent me down to minor league hockey for a while, where I kept trying to prove myself. And the media rode my ass. The press kept saying I’d never be good enough to get called up.”
“That must have been difficult for you.”
He shrugged. “All it did was piss me off and make me work harder so I could prove them wrong.”
Carolina touched his arm. “Which you did.”
“Yeah, I did. I hated all those assholes that didn’t believe in me. I was determined to show them just how good I could be. It took me two damn years, but the Travelers called me up, and I’ve been there ever since. And I’m good, Lina. I’m very good at my job.”
She loved seeing the fire in his eyes, the confident way he spoke about playing hockey. “You know, in college, I always thought of you as the hot jock all the girls chased. I never thought of you as having any substance. I never thought of you as someone who struggled.”
He shrugged. “We didn’t really know all that much about each other back then. I thought of you as the rich girl who had it easy.”
She laughed. “I struggled so much in college. I was chubby the first year, then after I slimmed down, I was socially awkward. I didn’t know how to deal with all the attention I was getting. And I was trying to focus on my studies, which were so important to me. That drove me. And then, of course, I had that monster-size crush on you. You were such a distraction.”
“Uh . . . sorry?”
“It’s not your fault. Totally mine. But typical for the age. And that’s in the past, anyway. The thing is, I understand what you’re saying. About then, and about now. There are some things I can control, and other things I can’t. I can’t control what the media says and thinks. I can only control what I do. How I create my line. That’s my performance. And I’m working my ass off to design it the best way I know how.”