Page 2 of Sin Bin

(To be fair, my vibrator does a solid enough job onitsown.)

But Idigress.

I clear my throat, awkwardly reaching for a small glass of water and downing half for fortitude. “Yes,” I murmur, “my former list of clients does include Mr.Beaumont.”

Mr. Collins studies me, his brown eyes unblinking. “Let me make sure I’m understanding you correctly, Miss Mackenzie. You would like for me to give you a trial run.” He scratches at his perfectly manicured beard. “Does this entail assigning you a client? Do I hold you to the same standard as the other publicists on my team?” He drops his elbows to the desk and leans forward. “Do I draw up a contract that reaffirms that you are not allowed to sleep with a client just to be certain that we’re on thesamepage?”

My cheeks burn with embarrassment, and the words die on my tongue.It was onlyonetime.

It just so happens that the “one time” was also caught on camera. Then shared across theInternet.

I promise you, until the day that your step-mom texts you to say that she never knew about the birthmark on your butt, you’re not living life hardenough.

When silence steals my tongue, Mr. Collins turns to his computer. His fingers fly across the keys, tap, tap, tapping away with all the speed of a Tasmanian devil on speed. He clicks the mouse, another click, two more, and then he swings back around tofaceme.

“All right, Miss Mackenzie.” He folds his arms across his chest and stares me down over the bridge of his nose. “I’ll go along with yourtrialrun.”

My heart drops clear down to my feet. “Youwill?”

Way to soundconfident,Zoe.

“Yes,” Mr. Collins murmurs, “I will. I’ll give you one month, as you suggested. And oneclient.”

I’m not sure whether I ought to cry with relief or laugh at the fact that my desperate ploy is working. I do a little bit of both, and Mr. Collins gives me such a stern side-eye that my sobbing laughter dies an awkward death in mythroat.

Straightening my shoulders again, I realize that I’m preening.Down, girl, down.I drop my shoulders—lift my chin instead. “Thank you, Mr. Collins. Thank yousomuch.”

Finally,finally, I’m catching a break. The first professional break I’ve been given since the entire world found out that I slept with Andre Beaumont, NHL superstar. The former right wing for the Detroit Red Wings. King Sin Bin, as raving hockey fans like to call him, thanks to his lethal skill set on the ice—a skill set which regularly lands him in thepenaltybox.

Maybe, if I play my cards right, I’ll shed the dreadful nickname the media gave me—MoaningZoe.

Maybe, if I play my cards right, I can finally get my life back ontrack.

“I promise that you won’t regret this,” I say, reining in the urge to gush. “Whoever you assign to me will be perfect, and I guarantee that Golden Lights Media won’t have seen a better PRCoordinator.”

There’s a knock on the closed office door. I don’t turnaround.

Everything that I want is at this desk. My hands itch to sign whatever contract my new boss might have stashed away in the drawers. My heart stampedes in my chest, overjoyed with the fact that after three-hundred and forty-two days, I finally have the chance to provemyself.

I’m not just the woman whose career took a hardtackle.

I’m not just the woman crashing on her parents’ couch, and watching theDisney Channelevery night with hersister.

I’m not just the woman who threw everything away for thirty minutes of hot sex with the sexiest hockey player in the NHL. A hockey player who had no interest in talking to the media on my behalf. No, the jerk quietly accepted his trade to the Boston Blades and neverlookedback.

“Miss Mackenzie,” Mr. Collins says, recapturing my attention. “You’re in luck. My assistant, Gwen James, just signed a new client, and we’re pretty eager to get him settled in with an agent who will keep him in line and ensure that his public reputation remainsscandal-free.”

“Scandal-free is my middlename,sir.”

Okay, slight exaggeration. But itusedto be my middle name, you know, before the whole thing went down with Beaumont. And it might as well be my first name now, since I fled Michigan to Boston six months ago in a lifedo-over.

If Mr. Collins picks up the irony in my words, he doesn’t mention it. “One month, Miss Mackenzie. We’ll be coming back around to this in thirty days. But I’m telling you right now—if I hear one sliver of gossip about you, your so-called “trial run” will become null and void. Do youunderstand?”

Do Iunderstand?

Hell to the yes, I do. “Absolutely. You can be confident that I’ll be on my bestbehavior.”

“Brilliant.” He gives one short nod, then presses a buzzer onhisdesk.

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