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“Give me a break, man. You walk in here, we exchange two minutes worth of ‘How are you?’ ‘I’m fine, and how are you?’ BS and then you look me straight in the eye and tell me there’s this broad flying in tonight, checking into the Plaza, she needs somebody to hold her hand and you actually, seriously, honestly believe that I would—”
“She flew in last night, late. She’s already checked into the Plaza. And she doesn’t need someone to hold her hand. She needs somebody she can trust. Keep her from feeling, you know, isolated.”
Kaz narrowed his icy blue eyes. “Do I look like somebody’s BFF?”
“BFF?”
“Never mind—and goddammit, Castelianos, do not change the subject. The girl needs a nanny. Get her one.”
“I repeat,” Zach said calmly, “she’s not a girl. She’s a twenty-one-year-old woman. She needs somebody to be at her side for a couple of days.” There was a small pause. “OK. I need somebody, somebody who can keep her in line, should that become necessary.”
“Better and better. A babysitter who can do double duty as, what, a guardian? Wow.”
There was no way to misinterpret that “wow.” Zach sighed, unfolded his arms, sat up straight and leaned forward.
“The lady is in a difficult situation.”
“Yeah, well, life can be tough.”
“Kaz…”
“What in hell would make you think I’d ever take a job like that? Nursemaid to some hotshot celebrity?”
“She isn’t a celebrity.”
“What is she, then? A rich man’s wife?”
“She’s a rich man’s daughter.”
“Even better. Next you’re gonna tell me her name is Paris.”
“Her name is Ekaterina. Ekaterina Rostov.”
“Good for her.” Kaz pushed back his chair. “Listen, dude, I’d love to sit here and catch up on old times, but—”
“Don’t you even want to know why she needs you?”
“She does not need me. And I have a busy schedule this morning.”
“Her old man isn’t just rich, he’s richer than Midas. And he’s powerful. Meaning—”
“Meaning, there’s always the possibility of kidnappers, thieves and all-purpose bad guys. I get the picture.”
Zach rolled his eyes, waved his hand as if to brush all that away. “She’s Sardovian.”
“So you said.”
“Well, so are you. Your father was Sardovian. And you have some interesting connections over there.”
“I run Sardovia’s investment fund,” Kaz said, a little sharply.
“Savitch. Don’t play dumb with me. You’re one important Sardovian dude.”
Kaz’s jaw tightened. Nobody in his unit, nobody anywhere in the States had ever been aware of his “connections.” Why would they be? His grandfather certainly hadn’t boasted about their relationship, and neither had he.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Kaz. My man.” Zach looked straight at him. “I know everything. You spent summers there when you were a kid. You know their customs. Their rules. Hell, your grandfather is the king.”
