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ANNA

I can feel Max behind me, his presence as bright as noon sunshine and just as overwhelming, like glancing up into the light without sunglasses. When my boss suggested this campaign, I had a dozen names ready, but they only wanted Max.

Of course. Everyone wants Max. Hockey’s golden boy. His grandfather had been one of the league most renowned players. His parents are movie stars. Both of them. His birth was so celebrated I can find his baby pictures online.

Not that I’ve looked at them.

Very much.

I sigh. It’s just a few days. I can put up with everyone gushing over Max for that long. I just have to remember his ego is so big I can’t get too close or risk suffocating.

I step onto the elevator and press the button, keeping my eyes forward. I know his eyes are on me and the back of my neck prickles. I’m not going to engage. I’ll just pretend to ignore him, even though it’s always hard. He really is like the sun, and I’m drawn to the warmth.

The elevator dings and we step out onto an executive floor, the meeting room doors thrown open where my colleagues are eagerly awaiting the hockey superstar.

I hang back as Max strides in, like a prince ready to hold court. The members of Luxx’s executive board trip over themselves to greet him, as if they’ve never seen a celebrity before. As I watch, Max shakes hands, turning on the charm like it’s his own personal brand.

Which, considering how well he’s doing at it, might as well be. I make a beeline for the coffee bar, reminding myself as Max’s laughter fills the room that this is exactly why I moved heaven and earth to get him here this weekend. Max could sell ice to a penguin. Max can sell anything without even trying. A few years back, someone snapped a picture of him at a charity run stopping to switch out his sneakers and that particular brand sold out online in minutes.

His beer of choice, and inwardly I roll my eyes at this bit of marketing magic because I happen to know that Max Walker doesn’t actually drink beer with his nutrition plan, has been an international bestseller ever since he did that ad campaign where someone hands him a cold one in the locker room after a divisional final and he pulls his shirt off, holds the bottle against a nasty bruise coloring his collarbone before opening and draining it. Somehow, he managed to get a drop to fall perfectly so that it tracks down his perfectly-sculpted chest.

He's a professional athlete. Of course it’s sculpted, but to hear Sophie, our social media marketing VP talk about it, you’d think he invented muscles.

I take a bracing swig of rich, dark coffee, flinching at the burn. Speaking of Sophie, she’s zeroed in on Max like a kid seeing Santa on Christmas Eve.

“Mr. Walker,” she coos, with a smile so wide I experience a moment’s alarm that she’s about to bite him, “we can’t thank you enough for interrupting your busy season for this ad campaign.” She places a hand on his arm, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, “you must let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your weekend here absolutely perfect. We’re so thrilled to have you in Vienna.”

Did she just flutter her lashes? I suppress the urge to snort. She’s so petite, she looks like a little doll next to Max’s large frame. I shift in my heels. Is that jealousy making my chest tight? No one can ever accuse me of looking small, even next to professional hockey players.

“It’s my pleasure, really,” Max says, in that smooth, low voice he probably perfected by filming himself and replaying it until he’d hit that fine balance between sex god and boy-next-door. “Vienna’s a beautiful city. I’m just here to enjoy it and hopefully help promote Luxx in the process.”

I definitely can’t hold back the eye roll at his comment. Getting him here was a herculean effort according to his agent. Luxx paid through the roof to line him up for this weekend. I lean against the wall with my coffee and watch Sophie and the others fall over themselves to get Max to simply smile in their direction.

And he does—easily, effortlessly—as if it’s no big deal to be the most magnetic person in the room, even though he must be exhausted. He grins, wide and dashing, giving each person a look that seems personal and genuine, from the hotel staff waiting to serve a light lunch, to the intern practically trembling in his presence, to each executive who made time in their busy schedules to come and meet him.

The man’s practically sparkling.

Oh, please.

I take another mouthful of coffee to keep from saying it out loud. Instead, I focus on steadying my breathing, trying not to let his stupid smile and overly polite tone get to me.

But the truth is, it does get to me. Max gets to me. Each charismatic laugh, every casual joke and clever quip that has the whole group chuckling, slowly drives me insane.

How does he do it? Am I the only one to see how he turns the charm on and off like a switch? He’s the son of two very famous actors, do they not see that he’s just playing a role?

I know the real Max. And it’s not this golden-aww-shucks-hockey god who skates like he was born with a pair of blades on his feet and a magnetism that cons everyone who comes into contact with him.

Max Walker is ruthless. He’ll do anything to win, no matter who gets hurt. It bothers me that no one can see beneath his carefully cultivated perfection.

But what bothers me more is that I can’t look away. I hate the effortless way he pulls everyone under his spell – the way he knows he’s got the entire room in the palm of his hand—including me, if I’m truly honest with myself. I swallow hard. I should know better.

I’ve been with Luxx for nearly five years. Four and a half years of dedication, late nights, and practically bending over backward to meet deadlines and product initiatives. All in hopes of finally snagging a promotion at the end of the season.

I’m so close, and I know Sophie’s watching me, evaluating how well I can handle the company’s biggest holiday campaign ever. This is my time to show I can be more than just another coordinator.

I negotiated for months to get Max here. A coup that no one thought I’d be able to deliver on. Then I planned an incredible itinerary for the photo shoots and events, all under the instruction of ensuring Max Walker barely has to lift a finger and has a wonderful time to boot. Thanks to Sophie, I’ve planned the perfect weekend for the man who’s caused my brother endless grief.

As if I’d conjured her with my thoughts, Sophie’s eagle eyes sweep the room, pinning me in place when she sees me, coffee cup in hand. She waves me over with a bright smile, and I steel myself, reluctantly forcing my feet to move. I pluck my file off a table where the intern and photographer are going over potential layouts from the pre-campaign and walk over to Sophie, determined to be as professional as I can. Even if that means standing directly in front of Max, who looks down at me with a spark of something almost amused in his gaze.

“There she is!” Sophie beams, patting me on the shoulder. “Anna, did you and Max have an opportunity to introduce yourselves downstairs?”

“No need,” I say tightly, forcing a smile. “We’ve met before.”

Max’s eyebrows raise, and that infuriating little grin of his creeps back onto his face. “Good to see you again, Anya.”

The way he uses my nickname, all casual and familiar, makes my skin prickle. I don’t need reminding that he knows exactly who I am—and who my brother is. But he’s going to pretend anyway, like we’re close friends.

Fine. I can play that game too, but in reverse.

“Mr. Walker,” I say, ignoring his smirk. “ Willkommen in Wien .”

Sophie’s shoots me a narrow look, quickly changing it to a beaming smile when she turns to Max. “I know you said you didn’t want to do any sightseeing, but Anna is our local expert here in Vienna. She’s planned the perfect weekend for you and knows all the best spots to really take in the holiday spirit.”

Max raises an eyebrow, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes again. Yes, I’m Austrian and I’ve lived in Vienna for a few years now, but that hardly makes me a tour guide.

And yet, there’s something about the way Sophie says it that fills me with a sense of dread.

I hold out the file. “It’s all in here, Mr. Walker.”

Max flips through the pages, that smirk playing around the edges of his mouth. “This looks…” he trails a finger over the neat lists I created outlining everything anyone could possibly want to do in Vienna at Christmas. He raises an eyebrow me. “Thorough.”

Sophie nods. “Indeed. Anna is incredible with even the tiniest details. Anything you might be craving is on that list.”

“Anything?” He snaps the file closed and zeroes in on me. My heart stutters at the heat in those famous blue eyes. I steel myself despite the butterflies in my tummy. I’ve felt the full force of his charm before, and I just have to remember that it’s all an act. “I’m looking forward to experiencing that attention to detail first-hand.”

A strange buzz starts in my head and the butterflies scatter. I suddenly want to run and hide, back to my cozy apartment lit by the glow of fairy lights and cocoon myself with soft Christmas pillows and my big fluffy red blanket. I take a step back, nearly colliding with Sophie.

“Well, that’s wonderful,” Sophie chirps, ignoring the panicked look I shoot her. “Luxx wants to ensure you have a memorable weekend, as thanks for fitting us into your schedule. Anna will take care of you all weekend.” She presses her hand into my back, pushing me towards Max. “It’s so lucky you already know each other. She’s the perfect guide to all things Christmas in Vienna.”

Max taps the folder. “It’s like having my own personal elf.”

Wait. What?

Sophie giggles. “Oh, Anna loves all things Christmas. She probably even has an elf costume.”

I want to die. Promotion or not, there isn’t enough snow in Austria to cool the heat in my cheeks.

“I’d pay to see that.”

I glare over at him. I bet he would. I bite the tip of my tongue to stop myself from suggesting that he probably already has paid for something like that. Instead, I take a deep breath and visualize my new office once I get that promotion. I force a smile. “Unfortunately, I don’t have an elf costume, so you get to save your millions, Mr. Walker.”

Max ignores my frosty tone and grins. “I guess I’ll just have to use my imagination.”

Even Sophie looks a little non-plussed at that comment and I slide my eyes to her, hopefully conveying that someone else should have to put up with Max Walker all weekend. I’m surprised Sophie didn’t volunteer, to be honest with the way she’s batting her eyelashes.

“I’d be much more helpful overseeing the campaign from the office,” I offer and for a split second I think she’s going to put me out of my misery before she shakes her head.

“You’re indispensable, Anna. We really need you out with Max and the photographer at the sites for the campaign.”

Her tone is firm and my heart sinks. I have no way out of this. My pulse hammers in my ears as Sophie puts her hand on Max’s arm. “We know how difficult it was to fit us into your busy schedule and we’re so grateful. I know it’s a working weekend, but Anna will try to make it as enjoyable as possible.”

I can tell from the glint in his eyes that he’s already enjoying this.

“I’m certain I’m in good hands.”

“The best,” Sophie trills pulling out her phone. She frowns at the screen. “Hmm. It looks like the photographer is pushing up the schedule.”

“What?” I pull out my own phone, noting that a weather warning has been issued. Sure enough, the photographer has texted us to suggest that the weather might impact the lighting for the outdoor skating tomorrow and suggesting that we do it tonight while it’s still clear.

“But the model won’t be here until tomorrow afternoon,” I say, pushing down the panic that bubbles in my chest. I need this campaign to go perfectly.

Sophie is tapping away at her phone. “The model is only for the skating, right?”

I nod. “Yes, the main feature is Max, but the photographer wanted the balance of a female model for the rink shots.”

Sophie eyes me up. “You’re the right height, Anna.”

I blink. “I’m not a model.”

“Ernst just needs a tall blonde in white Luxx gear. It’s just to set up the shot. You probably won’t even be facing the camera.” Sophie throws an apologetic glance at Max. “Sorry, Max, a little snafu in scheduling. It looks like we’ll be shooting skating in the night market this evening.”

“Hey, you just tell me what to do.” He bumps my shoulder. “I’m sure Anna can make it work.”

I grit my teeth. “Oh, I’ll make it work.” I’ll make it work and I’ll be negotiating a bonus to boot. “The outfits have been delivered to your room and are hanging in individual bags. You’ll need to change into the one labelled “A”.” I fire off two texts, grateful for the foresight I had to book the service staff rooms at the hotel for today through to Monday. I wasn’t willing to risk a traffic delay. “Hair and make-up will be at your suite in an hour.” I glance up. “Does that give you enough time?” I feel a little bad, the man just landed, did the whole handshake thing and now we’re putting him to work. I’ve done that flight a few times and not after going a few periods in a grueling hockey game. He has to be tired.

Max nods. “I’ll be ready.”

“Good.” I bite my lip. My foresight didn’t extend to booking a room here for myself. I shake my head. It’s fine, I’ll change in the anteroom of the corporate suite we’re in. We have it as the headquarters for the campaign and because the model wasn’t arriving until tomorrow, her outfit is here. I swallow. We might be the same height but we’re probably not the same size.

I turn to leave, pausing at the warm hand that falls at the small of my back. I freeze when I realize Max has fallen into step next to me. He’s barely touching me, but a buzz travels up my spine anyway.

“You okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine, we’ll adapt.”

“Ah, a problem-solver. I always suspected we were kindred spirits.” His voice is low and the buzz intensifies in my body.

I freeze at my reaction. We’re in a room full of people, my boss, and her bosses. I feel like this weekend is my final test for the promotion I’ve been working my butt off for and the last thing I need is Max Walker making my belly quiver. My back stiffens and I arch away from his touch, glancing over my shoulder. “Trust me, we’re not,” I say.

It doesn’t matter that his touch is electric, or that his blue eyes make me feel like I could drown in them; I need to remember he’s just another smug, overconfident hockey player. And not just any smug, overconfident hockey player – he’s my brother’s nemesis.

His eyebrows lift in mild surprise, and I can’t tell if I’ve amused him or challenged him. Either way, I’m determined not to let him see how much he’s rattling me.

“This is just business, Max, please try to remember that.”

But as I walk away, I feel his gaze on my back, the heat of it no less than when he was touching me and my treacherous heart races. And I can’t help but think I might be the one needing the reminder.