He grinned and pulled out his phone. As suspected, he’d spent all morning photographing Cammi in her crib, and the results were adorable.
“She’s already smiling,” he said. “Theo claims it’s gas-related, but he doesn’t know how smart my little girl is. He had Hatch as his first, which was probably a great disappointment.”
Competitive with his brother in everything. “So, are you excited to sign with Buntastic?”
“Sure, anything that contributes to Cammi’s college fund and highlights my most excellent ass.” I had scored a deal with an up-and-coming underwear brand for Jason, one of my proudest achievements because these start-ups usually skewed younger. They wanted a multi-prong strategy, and a late-thirties hockey butt with a wholesome image was part of it.
“We could video this for your socials.”
He gestured for a pen. “Go for it.” Once the signing was done, he sat back. “How are you?”
“Good. Working on building my stable.”
“Anyone I know?”
“Trying to get Riley Thorne on board. I think she’s going to do great things.”
“She’s Cassie O’Brien’s daughter, right? You know Mia Wallace went to college with her. They played on the Athenas together before your time.”
“Right, I’d forgotten about that. I should talk to Mia and see if I have an in there.” I smiled at him. “Knew you had your uses.”
“Not only am I good at making connections so you can do your job properly, but I’m also good at making other connections. Interesting, personal ones.”
I broke off a piece of my iced molasses cookie, my favorite treat in the world. As I popped it in my mouth, I held up a finger for Jason to shut the fuck up while I enjoyed this moment of bliss, a moment I assumed he was about to ruin. Once I’d swallowed, I gestured for him to carry on.
“You were saying?”
“That I’m good at making connections. Or seeing what the naked eye often misses.”
I rolled my own naked eyes. “Any chance you might reveal all sometime this millennium?”
“What’s with you and Nazarov?”
Not what I wanted to talk about at all. “No idea what you mean.”
“You were kind of weird with each other yesterday. Biting, I would have said.”
“We’ve never really gotten along.”
He frowned. “My recollection is that you got along pretty well. You were good friends.”
“More like acquaintances.”
He shifted in his seat, then leaned forward, forearms on my desk. “How’s the divorce thing going?”
“Slowly. The other party isn’t as cooperative as I’d like.”
“You need me to talk to him? It is a him, right?”
“Yes, it’s a him.”
“Okay. Listen … is it someone I know?”
I couldn’t lie to him. (Oh, but you can lie to your boyfriend, huh?)
Before I could muster a suitable response, he said, “Nazarov already told me.”
I shot up from my desk, sending cookie crumbs everywhere. “That dill weed! I’m going to slice his throat with a skate blade!”
