Bobbi gave herself a mental shake and cleared her throat. She took a step toward him and thrust her hand out. “Mr. Petrovich, my name is Bobbi Reeves. I’m your new assistant.”
He stared at her for a long moment then switched his gaze to the man now standing beside her. “I said no.”
“Niko, we’ve discussed this before. The decision has been made and you have no choice in the matter. You will have a personal assistant. Please try to not do anything that could result in a lawsuit against the team.” George nodded in her direction then abruptly turned and walked away. Bobbi stared after him, feeling like she had just been dumped in the middle of a game without being told the rules.
She closed her eyes and let out a loud sigh. It didn’t matter if she didn’t have a copy of Toomey’s game rules—she had her own. And whether it was personal assistant or babysitter, it was officially show time.
“Mr. Petrovich, I realize this isn’t the best time, so if we could set up a meeting for—”
“No. No assistant. Go home.” He turned his back to her and began gathering equipment, pulling on his jersey and covering up the broad expanse of bare skin, muttering under his breath in Russian. She was only able to catch a few of the words but it was enough to know he was insulting both her and his team managers. She tightened her mouth against the retort she wanted to make, remembering that she wasn’t to let anyone know she understood Russian, and took a step closer to him.
“I’m sorry Mr. Petrovich, but you’ll have to speak English if you want me to understand what you’re saying.”
He muttered a few more phrases before turning to face her, impaling her with those odd-colored eyes. She schooled her face into a blank expression, careful not to show any reaction when he ended his tirade by calling her an ‘annoying pest’.
“I’m not sure what you just said, but it didn’t sound very flattering.” Bobbi offered him a bright smile, not surprised that he didn’t return it. He continued to stare down at her, unmoving. She cleared her throat and looked away, her eyes drifting once more down across his chest and stomach. He was completely covered now, but still no less impressive. In fact, he was a little intimidating.
He took a step toward her and held his arms out to his sides. “You like what you see, no?”
Bobbi forced her eyes to meet his eyes, her face heating at being caught staring. Again. “No. I mean, yes. No.” She backpedaled, thinking fast. “Actually, I was just thinking that you’re pretty intimidating. And you don’t even have to work at it. I mean, look at you. You’re like…a giant or something…and all you have to do is stare me down and see?” She shrugged and held her arms out in mock surrender. “Instant intimidation.”
Had his lips just quirked? She thought so, but couldn’t be sure. Not knowing what guided her but knowing she should listen to her instincts—and her instincts told her not to come off so serious—she turned her head from one side to the other, looking around them. It was nothing more than an exaggerated theatrical showing, but again his lips quirked, just the tiniest bit toward a smile. She crooked her finger in a beckoning motion. Petrovich raised an eyebrow at her but reluctantly leaned forward.
“Something you should know about me, Mr. Petrovich,” Bobbi’s voice was a stage whisper as she stepped so close to him that she was touching him. A jolt of awareness shot through her body, surprising her, but it was too late to back away. And did she imagine it, or was that a flicker of awareness flashing through his eyes? Or maybe it was just a flicker of amusement that crossed his face as he looked down at her. “I’m not easily intimidated!”
Rough laughter rumbled deep in his chest, catching Bobbi off-guard. The sound was almost seductive, and she had to blink several times to keep any surprise from showing.
“You are funny. I like that.” He studied her for a long minute, the look in his eyes so intense that she thought she would ignite under his gaze. She nervously cleared her throat and stepped back, ignoring the heat spreading through her.
“See? You should keep me around for the amusement factor.” Her voice was a husky whisper, completely destroying the aloof appearance she had hoped for.
He raised an eyebrow at her again, clearly skeptical, before running his gaze from the top of her head to the tips of her sensible black shoes. She fought the urge to cross her arms in front of her as his gaze lingered a little too long on her chest. He was clearly sizing her up but instinct told her that, despite the sexual sizzle in his look, there was nothing threatening about it. It was almost as if he was…testing, maybe?
“So, you are good in bed?”
Forget testing. And never mind the instant pooling of heat between her legs the comment—and his heated look—caused. He was pushing her, to see how far he could go, to see what her limits were. Which probably explained Toomey’s lawsuit comment. Well, he was going to be surprised, because she had been through this routine hundreds of times before.
“I like to think I am. Would you like a list of references?” She made a show of reaching into the oversized bah hanging from her shoulder. “I’m pretty sure it’s in here somewhere.”
He laughed again, and this time there was no mistaking the heat that spread through her at the sound. She turned her gaze back to him and offered a tentative but genuine smile. So what if there was a blush on her face? Let him see it, let her use it to her advantage.
“You are amusing,” he said again, in an accent that wasn’t quite as thick as she first thought. “But, I am busy.”
“We can schedule a meeting—hey!” Bobbi let out an undignified and completely unprofessional squeal as Nikolai leaned his shoulder into her stomach and tossed her over his shoulder. She clutched at the back of his jersey, feeling the steely strength of the bunched muscles in his back and arms. He tightened his hold around her legs, stopping their wild kicking. The warmth of his hands moved dangerously high up the backs of her thighs, nearly cupping her bottom, and Bobbi was suddenly glad that she had worn dress pants. The flash of sexual desire that tore through her instantly stilled her struggles and quieted her objections, so that nothing more than a whimper came out of her mouth.
And she wasn’t entirely sure that it was a whimper of protest.
“Yes, tomorrow we will meet. George will tell you where. But for now, moj dosadnyj malen’kij bich, you will leave me alone.” He unceremoniously carried her from the room and slowly lowered her against his body before placing her on her feet. He dragged his thumb along her cheek and winked at her. Then, before she realized what he was doing, he walked away, leaving her standing there, alone and bewildered.
And more than just a little excited and intrigued.
**
This could not be the right place.
Bobbi looked down at the address and directions that had been scribbled on a sheet of paper for her, then back at the brick row home on her right. She had driven around the block several times, and triple-checked the directions—surely there had to be some mistake.
But no, this was the right place. At least, according to what she had been told, anyway. There was always a chance that someone had sent her on a wild goose chase in an attempt to drive her away.
Petrovich’s weird-colored eyes and warm laughter quickly came to mind. No, it wouldn’t surprise her if this was his idea of a joke, another way to intimidate her.
Or infuriate her.
She flipped down the visor and did a quick check in the vanity mirror: hair lightly tousled, make-up on neatly, just enough to be noticeable if someone wanted to notice. Not that she wanted anyone to notice.
Liar. She pushed the accusation away. This was work. That was all it could be. Besides, she told herself, she doubted if the sexual attraction she felt yesterday was two-way. It was probably the big Russian’s way of running people off.
That didn’t stop her from slicking on some lip gloss and pushing a wayward strand of hair behind her ear before getting out of her car.
Traffic in this neighborhood was minimal, involving mostly publi
c transportation, but she was still cautious as she crossed the street. Not so much out of fear of traffic, but more from straight common sense and ingrained survival instincts. Because this neighborhood in north Baltimore would be considered a really bad neighborhood by any standards. From the standards of someone who was reportedly making seven figures…it was unimaginable. Of course, if he was being extorted…
Bobbi climbed the three steps of the old marble stoop, careful to stay away from the crumbling edges, then knocked on the door. It was solid wood, and she was sure it had been beautiful back in its time. Now, it was splintered and gouged, the grain of the wood swollen and battered from years of neglect and weather damage.
She waited a long minute, then knocked again, harder this time with the heel of her hand. Another long minute dragged by as she waited, feeling exposed here in the open amid wind-swept trash and the decaying remains of a neighborhood that had long since been abandoned by anyone who cared.
Telling herself again that this had to be some kind of a joke, she was about to turn away when the door opened. Her initial doubt was swept away as Nikolai Petrovich towered over her, dressed down in a pair of sweatpants and a Banners t-shirt stretched tight across his arms and chest.
“Ah, moj dosadnyj malen’kij bich has shown up. I thought you might. Come in.” He stepped back and opened the door wider, motioning for her to enter. She took a cautious step forward, keeping her eyes focused on his face.
“What does that mean, moj dosadnyj malen’kij bich? It’s not the first time you said that to me.”
Nikolai laughed as he closed the door behind her. He had to give it an extra push for it to close all the way. “It is nothing, just a term of endearment.”
Calling her an ‘annoying little pest’ was a term of endearment? Term of endearment, my ass, Bobbi thought. She offered him a half-smile, not caring if he thought she believed him or not, then turned in the foyer so she could look around.
And became even more convinced that this was still some kind of joke.
The foyer was nothing more than a narrow hall with two rooms branching off the left side before ending at a closed doorway that she assumed was the kitchen. She could partially see into the front room, and tried to hide her surprise at the lack of furniture. Maybe he was rehabbing the property?
To the right was a narrow set of stairs. She could see loose and missing spindles along the railing leading up, and told herself to hold onto the wall if she ever had to go upstairs. Maybe he really was rehabbing the place; she knew people bought these old row homes and restored them to their original turn-of-the-century glory. Of course, the neighborhoods were usually slightly better than this one and could offer a better resale once the work was done.
So the theory went, anyway.
Could that be what he was doing? Because surely he wasn’t living here. He couldn’t be…
“Nice place. Are you planning on selling it?” Petrovich looked at her with confusion, and she elaborated. “You know…flipping it? Renovating and selling it?”
“Why would I sell it? This is my home. Come, I’ll show you.” Bobbi frowned as he grasped her elbow and led her into the first room. Again his accent seemed to thicken and…
All thought left her as he stopped and swept his arm around in a grand gesture. Her mouth opened then closed again as words failed to form. He had to be joking.
It was the living room. Or at least, she thought it was supposed to be the living room. The furniture had undoubtedly been purchased at a budget store: one sofa with extra cushions, a small faded area rug, one plain end table holding one inexpensive lamp, and a television set. Although she had to concede about the television set and admitted it really was an entertainment center: flat screen television, stereo, a gaming console. And it probably cost ten times what his scarce furniture cost.
She was about to comment when he smiled at her and led her through an arched doorway into the adjoining room, which obviously served as his dining room. This, too, was decorated courtesy of a budget store, containing one small table, two chairs, and—yes, there were even some hi-tech toys in here, as well: a small desk with an office chair and a laptop.
She was speechless. But it was obvious he was waiting for some kind of response, so she offered him a small smile and searched for something to say. “Um, nice. Not exactly, um, what I was expecting.”
“You do not like?”
“Huh? Oh, um…no, no, it’s fine. It’s just not…well, I was expecting something different, that’s all.”
“Different? Bigger maybe, no?”
“No. I mean yes…no. I…” She stopped her blathering long enough to really look at him, and noticed the slight gleam in his eyes. A gleam, and something else that almost looked like sadness. Both disappeared as she continued watching him, but there was no doubt she had seen them both. Or maybe she was just seeing things that weren’t really there. “Do you mind if we go into the living room? I wanted to go over this schedule they gave me yesterday.”
Bobbi pushed by him, not bothering to see if he followed her. She took a seat on the sofa and placed her bag between her feet, bending over to rummage through the contents before pulling out a pad folio. Settling back, she opened it up and pulled out a set of stapled papers, then grabbed her appointment book.
She wasn’t surprised when Nikolai took a seat beside her—after all, there was nowhere else for him to sit. Even his nearness wasn’t a huge surprise considering the size of the sofa. What did surprise her, though, was the warmth radiating from his body and the heated look in his eyes as he studied her. She cleared her throat and looked away.
“From the very brief orientation they gave me yesterday, I understand that I’m to compile your schedule and make sure there are no conflicts.” She gave him a sideways look. “And then, make sure you actually show up. Apparently that’s one of your weaknesses.”
“Давайте трахаться.”
The curt Russian phrase, uttered in an insulting tone, almost worked on getting a rise out of her. Let’s fuck, he had said. In Russian, not English. And so obviously meant to see if she understood what he was saying.
Bobbi let out a sigh and shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I told you yesterday I don’t understand Russian. Was that another term of endearment? Or were you insulting me? Because from your tone of voice, it sounded insulting.”
“I said: you are a creature of beauty who should be worshipped, not working.”
Bobbi raised her brows, deliberately letting him see her disbelief. “All that in one tiny phrase, hm?”
“We Russians, we are thrifty, yes?”
Bobbi closed her eyes and counted to ten. The alternative was to let loose with a string of Russian insults that would leave his ears burning as he reached to protect his family jewels. He was deliberately baiting her. But why? Was he really that obnoxious? Her instincts told her no. Of course, her instincts were a bit muddied by the sexual pull he had on her.
Or maybe it was because he really had a problem with being assigned a personal assistant. Or rather, a babysitter. Because he had to know that’s why she was assigned to him. And in his shoes, she’d probably feel the same way. So why did team management feel he needed one in the first place?
She took a deep breath against the multiplying questions, knowing that answering them was part of why she was here. She opened her eyes and returned her attention to the schedule in front of her. “As I was saying, I need to go over this and clear up some of the conflicts—”
“Let’s fuck.”
Okay, that was definitely in English. Bobbi calmly placed her pen back in the loop, closed the appointment book, and stood up. She grabbed her bag off the floor, flung it over her shoulder, and walked toward the door. She was counting on him stopping her, and she had no idea what she would do if he didn’t. Probably come back tomorrow and try again.
Nikolai watched as she walked away, regret instantly filling him. It would be better to let her leave, to let her walk out. But he k
new she would only be replaced by another ‘personal assistant’. And yet another after that. It didn’t matter what he did to chase them off, another always took their place. To watch him, to follow him.
And he liked this one. Bobbi. She was different. Bright and funny, in spite of her somber suits, not cold and distant like all the others. She reminded him of laughter and light, something that had been missing from his life for too long. And he was not so dead inside yet that he didn’t feel the strong attraction, the sexual pull between them.
Which should be reason enough to let her go, to let another one take her place. It would be dangerous to show signs of interest in her, even more dangerous to become involved. Yes, if he was smart, if he had learned any lessons in the last eight years, he would let her go.
But he didn’t want to. Nikolai pushed himself up from the small sofa and caught up with her in three long strides. He stepped in front of her and leaned his back against the door, blocking her exit. His eyes met hers for a long second before he looked away, embarrassment and regret heating his cheeks.
“My apologies. I had no business saying such things to you. You’re right: I do not want or need an assistant, and I am too old for a babysitter. But that’s not your fault. I will not take it out on you again. Please,” he looked up at her, the apology clear in his eyes as he motioned back toward the sofa, “let’s start over again.”
Bobbi watched him for a long minute, and he could tell she was weighing his words, trying to determine if he was being sincere or merely acting. She said nothing, just turned around and took her seat again, pulling her paperwork together without really looking at it.
Nikolai sat next to her, his leg brushing against hers. And for once he was thankful for the small sofa, thankful that its size forced him to sit so close to her. She shifted on the hard cushion, a crease in her brow as she fingered the loose papers. Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath then she turned to face him, hesitation clear in her eyes.
Game Over (The Baltimore Banners Book 2) Page 2
