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Chapter 2
“Well if it isn’t Carla Brooker, again,” The Russian said as Sasha and I slowly walked past the open door of his office on Monday, just before midday. I ran my hands down my skirt again for the hundredth time ... it had taken me hours to decide what to wear this morning – yes, I’m pathetic. We stopped and looked in; The Russian looked divine in jeans, a T-shirt, and runners. Behind him hung a business shirt, tie and pants, some black boots below them.
The Russian continued. “Average per game: 19.5 points, 5.3 rebounds, 3.1 assists, and 2.3 steals ... give or take a few points.”
“And if it isn’t The Russian,” I returned as we stood in his doorway.
“That’s it?” he frowned. “You don’t know all my impressive stats?” he asked with the twitch of a smile.
“Oh, I do,” I assured him, “but we’d be here all day.”
“Oh please,” Sasha rolled her eyes, “don’t tell him that, his big head will burst out of the room.”
The Russian gave her a look that said he was unimpressed.
“Sorry about the trick Buzz played on you,” he said with a snarl at the mention of Buzz’s name; I had heard there was no love-loss between The Russian and Buzz.
“It’s all good,” I said, closing the subject down before Sasha asked questions. “I’ve had worse than that thrown at me.”
The Russian nodded. “So, how’s the knee, think you’ll get another game?” he asked. “Actually, don’t answer that. I hate that question.”
“Thanks,” I said, it takes a sportsperson to know a sportsperson.
“I can hear my phone,” Sasha said, “pick me up for coffee on your way out,” she said to me, ditching me there. We both listened ... there were no sounds of a phone ringing. Awkward.
“So, good game on Saturday, gotta be pleased with that?” I asked, feeling like a shag on a rock – or in a doorway, as was the case.
“Have a seat,” he said, “Ed, my business partner, is out getting lunch.”
This was looking up. I slid into Ed’s chair and swiveled it to face The Russian, making sure I crossed my legs so he couldn’t miss them. Hell, you’ve got to use your assets, it’s one of the things the coach was always drumming into us, but she probably meant on the court, I suspect. Sitting at the same level I had the chance to study him; he really was quite exceptional – I itched to run my fingers through his dark, wavy hair. He was shaven today and those high cheekbones gave his masculine face its beauty. He was all arms and shoulders, with a very defined torso—from what I could see covered in clothes, damn those clothes—and very sexy hips. Yep, what an inventory.
“Come to interview me?” he asked, and this time he smiled.
“Uh no, came to take Sasha out for a coffee. Girl talk, you know ... about how tough it is to be a female sports journalist in a man’s world,” I said, making it up as I went.
“Yeah, I can just imagine,” The Russian replied, frowning. “Actually, I can’t really, why is it tough? You get to sit in the best seats in the house, don’t you?”
“Been up there ... in the Saints’ media box?” I asked, grabbing that lead.
“Hell no, you lot would ask me questions if I went there,” he said, a look of mistrust crossing his very handsome, close-by face.
“Mm, that’s the idea. You should drop in before or after the game. Nik drops in usually to catch up with Sasha.” I said it before realizing I might be getting Nik in trouble.
“Does he now?” The Russian said, crossing his arms across his chest.
I was just about to backtrack when the door to The Russian’s office opened and Captain Fantastic stood there – also known as Lucas Ainswright.
“Ah sorry, didn’t know The Russian had company,” he said. “No one usually visits him.”
The Russian smirked. I rose and offered my hand to Lucas. I’m six-foot-two and I’m guessing, since I had to look up at him, that Lucas was about six-three. Yes, I love a ‘tall’ office.
“Carla Brooker,” I said, shaking his hand.
“I know,” Lucas said and introduced himself, as if he needed an introduction.
“I know,” I responded, “great season for you and the Saints, congrats.”
“Yeah, let’s hope it continues,” he said. “Sorry to hear your season got cut short, but you’ve had an impressive run.”
