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die happy,” Janna noted, trying to ignore the fact that her coworker was eyeing her breasts as if they were long lost friends.
    â€œCare to get some lunch?” he asked smoothly, closing in on her.
    Janna forced an appreciative smile. “I’d love to, but being the new kid on the block, I really have to get up to speed here. Some other time, maybe.”
    â€œAs you wish,” Jack Cowley drawled regally, sauntering from Lou’s office.
    As you wish? Janna thought, watching him go. Who does he think he is, Patrick Stewart? What a pretentious yutz . She’d been too charitable in suspending judgment on him. Her first instinct had been right: Jack Cowley was creepy, no two ways about it. As for Ty Gallagher, she was glad Lou seemed aware it would take more than one shot to persuade Captain Uncooperative to do some publicity. She’d been worried that the strength of her reputation might work against her, and Lou would expect her to come back with Gallagher’s scalp dangling from her belt on her first day out. But he seemed just as aware as anyone of the challenge she faced—a challenge she was determined to rise to. Gathering up her papers, she walked to her own office, her thoughts on Ty and how best to get him to play the Kidco way.
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    It was close to seven by the time Janna got home—not bad, by PR standards, for a day in the office. She knew that once the season “officially” started in October she’d be required to stick around for games on home ice, which probably meant she’d get in around midnight. Lou wanted her to go on the road with the team a few times, too, just to get a feel for what it was like. And then of course, there were the charity golf tournaments and hockey games and auctions and dances and fund-raising dinners she’d be arranging for and attending with “the guys,” as Lou fondly called the players. One day soon, she hoped, she’d think of them as simply the guys, too. But for now, they were still a rare and exotic species, one whose habits and habitat she was still largely unfamiliar with.
    She opened the apartment door and was assaulted by a blast of frigid air-conditioning, a sure sign her roommate, Theresa, was back from the location shoot she’d been on. Closing the door behind her, Janna could hear her warbling in the shower. She poked her head in the bathroom and jokingly shouted, “Honey, I’m home!”
    â€œBe out in a minute!” Theresa trilled back over the din of rushing water. Janna knew “a minute” in Theresa-time meant at least ten in regular time, so she made for the living room, peeling off her navy linen blazer and slinging it over the back of the couch before heading to the kitchen for a Perrier.
    She and Theresa had been roommates for close to four years, coworkers on The Wild and the Free for two. Janna always thought of Terry as being “real” New York: Brooklyn-born and raised, wisecracking, opinionated, zero-to-low tolerance for BS. She was still doing PR at the soap. By now, the two of them were definitely earning more than enough money to rent apartments of their own, but neither of them really wanted to. Why, they reasoned, live alone when you could live with a friend? Besides, neither wanted to give up the apartment.
    A moderately sized two bedroom on First and Fifty-ninth, it boasted high ceilings, polished parquet floors, and a full-size kitchen, which was important to Janna, who loved to cook—not that she was home much to hone her culinary talents. The sunken living room featured a huge Italianate marble fireplace, and a wall of windows looked out onto the 59th Street bridge, a convenient viewing place for the New York Marathon, which Theresa ran in every year. Their decorating style was funky-eclectic, a mix and match of the modern with the antique. A framed Picasso reproduction hung above a rusted Victorian birdcage that was perched on a port table,