Chapter Eight #3
Amusement lifts his lips. “Actually, your little obsession brought it up to her boss as a joke. She said that we could play on your current reputation by making a lighthearted jab at your expense to amuse people. But I decided it wasn’t a bad idea, so I reached out to a few companies to see if they’d be interested.
I heard back from one within three hours. ”
I should probably tell him not to call her that, but I don’t. I’m almost scared to ask about what deal Winter could have suggested, but I do. “What is it?”
His grin makes that wary feeling inside me grow. “Trojan condoms.”
*
When the Uber pulls up to the front entrance of Sparks Steak House in midtown Manhattan, I’m quickly reminded of the establishment’s infamous history attached to its name.
Do I think Emaly’s father is going to hire four Russian assassins to gun me down the way they did Paul Castellano in 1985?
Probably not. But he’s got connections in his home country that I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried using to off me the way the Gambino family did to their mob boss.
Allegedly, of course.
Emaly’s hand comes down on my arm, covered in one of my nicer suits that I usually only wear on occasion.
I know if I showed up in anything less, it would instantly be picked apart by the man who may or may not try to get rid of me one way or another.
Even though it’s custom-tailored to fit me, the neckline feels too tight and the tie too constricting.
“What are you thinking?” my wife asks quietly, her brows furrowing as I tug at the collar of my button-down. “You look worried.”
My eyes trail to the sidewalk through the car window. “I’m thinking that I don’t want my brains splattered on the cement like Big Paul’s were back in the eighties.”
Her hand slips away. “My father isn’t part of the mafia,” she chides, eyeing the driver, who I’m not even sure is paying attention to us. “I’d rather that rumor not be spread.”
My brows inch up. “Do you know that for sure? He’s always talking about the people he knows back in Russia. I doubt he’d tell you about them if he did have connections.”
She rolls her eyes and opens the door. “Just tip the driver and let’s go. It’s going to be easier to get on his good side if we’re not late.”
I pay the man with cash and slide out of the car after her. “We showed up ten minutes early last time we met up with him, and he still accused us of being late.”
She de-wrinkles her dress. I’m not used to seeing her dolled up.
She usually lives in sweatpants and a stolen hoodie of mine with her hair thrown up into a bun and no makeup on.
It took her almost two hours to get ready today, all to impress people who probably won’t have many nice things to say anyway.
“You look good,” I tell her, grabbing her hands as they tug on the hem of her dress that lands just above her knees. “It’s not going to get any longer by fidgeting with it.”
Her sigh is heavy as she rubs her temples. “I should have worn something else. My mother—”
“Will survive if she sees your kneecaps,” I assure her, putting my hand on the small of her back and guiding us to the entrance.
“They have way more to focus on than the scandal of your dress length. I can bring up the last TMZ article that highlighted every woman I’ve been seen with over the past two years, and they won’t even remember what you’re wearing. ”
She swats my chest with an easy laugh that makes me smile. “Don’t you dare!”
“Headache?” I ask suspiciously as she rubs the back of her neck and rolls it.
“Slept wrong,” she lies. “There’s a knot. I’m fine.”
“Em—”
“Not now,” she cuts me off. “I’m fine. It’s not…that. People get headaches all the time.”
True enough, but she’s not most people. “I’m only letting this go because I don’t feel like hearing your father accuse us of holding him up. But you and I both know your headaches aren’t like others.”
Her eyes go to her shoes for a moment. “I know,” she murmurs.
I press a kiss to the top of her head and sigh into her hair. “Come on, Dimples.”
Once the hostess brings us to the table in the far corner of the main dining room, Emaly’s playful smile morphs into a serious expression that hides the very dimples for which she gets her nickname.
It’s another reason why I hate her family.
The carefree, beautiful woman whose laugh can light up a room is silenced in their presence.
She’s an entirely different person with them than when she’s around me or Ronnie or any of our friends.
“It’s about time you two showed up,” Mikhail greets with a blank look on his face. He doesn’t bother standing up to shake my hand. Instead, I come to him with an extended palm to be as civil as possible.
Even though we’re not late, I say, “Sorry. Traffic was backed up. It took longer than normal to get here.”
Valeria stands to give her daughter a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “We are just happy you made it,” she tells Emaly, before turning to me and offering me a stiff hug that barely lasts a second.
Her mother is softer with Emaly but untrusting of me. Understandable. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s gone through a cheating scandal or two with her husband and finds herself feeling a little too sympathetic out of personal experience.
Mikhail hums. “We ordered drinks and appetizers already because we didn’t feel like waiting. We’ve been here for a while.”
Typical.
I force a smile. “Thank you.”
“I ordered you water,” he informs me pointedly. “I didn’t think alcohol was the best decision. It allows for too many bad choices. I’m sure you’re well aware of that.”
I have no doubt that’s in reference to my parents, who spent far more time with bottles of booze than they did with me. “I am,” I agree tightly. “Alcohol can make you do regretful things.”
My eyes dip to the scotch glass he’s holding on to, which I bet is his second one.
Perhaps he blames the Macallan for his brilliant idea to start the Fairbanks Fireflies and hire me.
Or possibly his mentality is to keep his friends close and enemies closer.
He’s never been a huge fan of mine. He has, however, seen me as a good investment.
I may not be the right person for his daughter, but he knows I’m the perfect man for his team.
That kind of skewed loyalty is all anybody needs to know about Mikhail Yokav and his priorities.
When he came to me with the offer to sign with his new team, I wanted to laugh and tell him to fuck right off. But when he brought up Emaly and made veiled threats to interrupt her life in California if I didn’t agree, I didn’t have much choice.
He knew Emaly was the perfect bargaining chip to get me to do what he wanted. He was willing to use his own damn daughter. So, I signed on the dotted line. But not before my agent made sure to get more money out of him. If I were his golden pawn, he was going to pay for it.
“Where did you get your dress, dear?” Valeria asks Emaly as soon as we sit down. Her nose twitches as she examines the burgundy color. “It’s a bit short, no?”
My jaw tics at the condescending tone. “It’s to her knees,” I reply before Emaly can. “Half of the women in here can’t say the same.”
My wife’s hand comes down on my knee under the table, squeezing it. I’m not sure if it’s in warning or appreciation, so I choose to change subjects.
I turn my focus to Mikhail. “I seem to be missing my emails with the training schedule. I’ve been keeping up with my conditioning on my own, but I know how important it is to train with the team. Clarkson said you’ve been having them come in twice a week at the stadium gym.”
Jesse Clarkson, the Fireflies’ captain and my former teammate in Pittsburgh, has been hounding me about when I’m coming in.
What he doesn’t know is that I had no idea they were meeting.
Which means Mikhail has been intentionally leaving me out of the loop.
Needless to say, he’s still pissed about the latest scandal.
Mikhail studies me for a moment before sipping his drink. “Strange,” he says. “Perhaps it’s a system error. I’ll be sure to pass your concern on to IT, but it may take a few days.”
He’s playing a dangerous game to punish me, but we both know it’ll impact him as much as me if I’m not on the same page as the others.
“Clarkson also informed me that the head coach has been wondering where I am.” The mention of Bodhi Hoffman should be of no surprise to him.
Formerly with the Rangers, Hoffman retired due to a recurring shoulder injury to coach this team instead.
He, like myself and Jesse Clarkson, were personally selected to come play for the Fireflies.
A powerhouse trio, according to ESPN, when the Fairbanks Fireflies were officially announced as part of the Eastern Conference.
Too bad they won’t see us in action if Mikhail-Fucking-Yokav doesn’t pull his head out of his ass soon.
I’ve known Bodhi for years as a rival and have only seen him a handful of times since he became the coach.
It’s a strange dynamic change that’s only been made manageable because of Jesse Clarkson joining me as captain of the Fairbanks Fireflies.
And by manageable, I mean, Clarkson is used to whooping my ass into shape when I act out.
I basically came with my own babysitter.
Apparently, it’s not news that the head coach has been asking about me. I would be too if I were in Hoffman’s shoes. He can’t coach a team if the star players aren’t all present. And much to Yokav’s dismay, I am one of the stars.
“We both want to make a mark on the NHL, right?” I ask Mikhail, ignoring the quiet side conversation happening between Emaly and her mother, which seems murmured and tense.
“The only way to do that is by burying the hatchet and letting me train with them so I’m not behind.
I’m doing what I can to make things right.
I agreed to go to Starrs Strategy. I’m doing the events they lined up for me.
I don’t go out anymore. I don’t party with anyone. I don’t drink—”
“I do not trust you,” he cuts me off matter-of-factly, lifting one of his broad shoulders.
I lean back in my chair, doing everything I can not to scowl.
“You trusted me enough to sign me on to your team. Winning means the same to you as it does to me. Without me, there’s a good chance your first year in the league is going to be unremarkable.
And I know you better than to accept that sort of reputation.
You want to stand out. To show your investment pays off.
Can you really do that if you let one of your best right-wingers sit out and watch all season?
You didn’t pay me that seven-figure sum just so I can watch us get decimated by the other, more established teams. I know what it takes to win, what the other teams’ weaknesses and strengths are, just as much as Clarkson and Hoffman do. ”
He’s more prideful than I am. The Yokavs don’t spend their money on things they think are a waste of time.
If I weren’t married to their daughter, perhaps I’d still wind up on his team.
I’d still have the stats that prove I’m a worthy investment.
Whether he likes it or not, he’s stuck with me, and very little can void that contract.
His fingers flex around his glass because he knows I’m right, and he hates it.
Emaly must have been paying attention the entire time, because she clears her throat and interjects, “He’s right, Daddy.
You need him. Let him come in and get to know his new teammates.
If you isolate him from the others, he won’t be able to give his all on the ice when the season starts.
They won’t be compatible or in sync. Isn’t that as important in ice hockey as it is in figure skating? ”
I cover her hand that’s still placed on my knee as a silent thank you. She hates bringing up skating because it’s a path she never went down, like her family wanted. The topic is a source of contention between them. But she makes the point anyway for me.
“I’m not asking for a lot,” I tell her father. “But you already sent me the money from the contract, so you might as well use me.”
My father-in-law is quiet for a long time as he looks between his daughter and me. He doesn’t like me, and he never will. Not for Emaly. Probably not for anybody. But he’ll be placated if I can bring us a win on the ice. That means being allowed on the ice.
“I’ll make sure you get the schedule by tomorrow,” he tells me, finishing off his drink and lifting his empty tumbler for the waitstaff to see.
As if on cue, a waiter comes over with as much grace as possible for someone speed-walking and takes it from him. “I’ll be right back with your next one, Mr. Yokav,” the twenty-something-year-old says, before heading to the bar for a refill.
Drink number three, if I had to guess.
Emaly’s hand squeezes the spot above my knee when her mother says, “Now that’s settled, we should discuss the foundation dinner coming up. You’re both expected to be there. I’ll make sure you have something appropriate to wear, Emaly.”
Backhanded compliment number one of many. Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not allowed to drink tonight, or it’d become a game that neither Emaly nor I would be able to walk away from without severe alcohol poisoning.
“Looking forward to it,” Emaly tells her mother with a secretive smile that only I understand.
Because it’s the same insincere response I gave her when she told me about dinner tonight.
I hide my smile behind my water glass.
Emaly leans her chin on her palm and asks the one question that’s always bound to take the attention off of her and me. “How is Sasha doing?”