“What’s wrong?”
“I forgot about your two o’clock.”
“My two—” I turned to the door, noticing now that someone stood behind my assistant. Towered, to be fair.
I thought of you and you appeared.
Alexei Nazarov didn’t just own a room when he entered, he made it his bitch. He hadn’t changed much since I saw him last September. Still tall. Still gorgeous. Still terrifyingly present.
I shot a quick look at Esme, who was busy muting the music on her phone.
“I didn’t realize I had anyone on the calendar.” She never scheduled anyone without running it by me first.
“Actually, that’s me.” Summer twitched her nose. “I said I’d talk to him before you had to.”
That sneaky fucker. Having avoided his calls for weeks, I hadn’t expected he’d do an end run to see me. Because I was ninety-nine percent certain he was not looking for new representation.
Summer smiled at me tentatively, then stretched her grin wider for Alexei who had still not said a word. “Mr. Nazarov, welcome. You’re a little early and caught us unawares. If you’d like to come with me …”
“Actually, Summer,” I cut in. “Let’s meet in my office.”
My co-worker blinked, likely assuming I was throwing my weight around. As a recently anointed agent, this kind of player was a pretty big fish for her. I despised the idea of him wasting our time, so I would have to nip it in the bud and send him on his way.
I smiled through gritted teeth to put her at ease. I wasn’t mad at her, and I would explain it later—or an abridged version of it—but I realized my reaction made me look a touch crazed.
“Come in, Mr. Nazarov,” I said sweetly before turning back to Summer. “I apologize in advance for what you’re about to witness.”
“O … kay?”
“Lauren.” He nodded at Summer. “You must be Miss Landry.”
“Call me Summer.” She gestured to the spare seat closest to her, then turned to me to check in.
“Sure, sit down.” I took a seat and put on my sneakers, pulling tight on the laces and imagining them wrapped around a certain hockey player’s thick neck.
Esme was still hovering at the door.
“Mr. Nazarov won’t be staying long, Esme, so no need to offer him any refreshment.”
She raised pale, perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Got it, boss.”
Summer caught my gaze with a look of, so that’s how it is. Too right. I hadn’t ignored multiple calls and texts to spend time being messed around by a Russian hockey diva. We’d been down this road before.
“So, what can we do for you, Mr. Nazarov?”
He turned to Summer who had prompted that query. “I’m afraid I came here under false pretenses, Miss Landry. I am not looking for representation.”
“Oh!” Summer looked a touch crestfallen but perked up quickly as she realized she was slap bang in the middle of a spot of high school drama featuring her boss and one of the league’s most bankable stars. “Well, I can’t say I appreciate being used for nefarious purposes, Mr. Nazarov. Your purposes are nefarious, I hope?”
“Absolutely. It is so hard to get on Mrs. Yates’s schedule, so I must resort to underhand tactics.”
“It’s Miss,” I said, but something about his error—Mrs.—grated.
“And you need to talk to her?” Summer’s accent was coming out a little thick there. That Mississippi backwoods gal loved a good gossip. “Urgently?”
“Yes, I do. And sadly, for your part in all this, privately.”
Summer smiled, then turned to me with wide eyes. “Okay to leave you alone with Mr. Nazarov, Miss Yates?” She added a hammy wink. Jesus.
