A warm feeling sparked in Dimitri’s chest. His cousin’s child, still just a little bean, would soon be connected to him, too. He swallowed hard.
“That’s . . . yeah, of course. Of course, I’ll be the godfather.”
“And the second reason . . .”
Shit, he’d forgotten there was a second reason, and he’d fallen victim to Alex’s stalling tactics.
“This puts us on a deadline.”
Dimitri wrinkled his brow and glanced at the contract pushed to the corner of his desk. “A deadline for what?”
“If we’re going to do another stage show, it has to be now. I want to be around more once the baby’s born. I can’t be flying to LA whenever you need me, or spending all my time in Manhattan. I’ve got a wife and a home in New Jersey, and my own business that I run full time. If we’re going to do this, it has to be now.”
It was Dimitri’s turn to fall silent. He sucked in a breath through his nose and leaned his head on his hands. “When is the baby due?”
“Mid-March.”
Shit. That was hardly any time at all.
“Look, I know you’re sitting on a ton of ideas. If we go all-in for the next seven months or so—”
“It’ll be a risk. Especially to rush it.”
“It will always be a risk, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it. Think about it and get back to me, okay? I’m going to bed. I just wanted to let you know.”
“Thanks. And again, congratulations. I’m honored you asked me to be the godfather.”
“Who else would I ask? Ivan?”
They both laughed. Their youngest cousin was trying to become famous for filming himself playing video games on the internet. Dimitri had supplied him with camera equipment, but didn’t ask how it was going.
“You sure you didn’t just throw the godfather thing in to keep me from getting upset about this deadline?”
“You’ll never know.”
The call ended, and Dimitri stared at the phone for a minute. Then he picked it up and dashed off a text to his agent.
When is the contract due?
The reply was almost immediate. The man lived with his phone in his hand.
In a few weeks. Why? You got the copy I sent you, right?
Yeah, just checking.
After placing the phone carefully on the desk, Dimitri slid the contract over. Grabbing a pen, he scrawled his obnoxiously bold signature across the line, but hesitated before dating it. Instead, he shoved the whole thing into the bottom drawer. When he slammed it shut, his phone rang, and he jumped. It was a regular ringtone, one that mimicked an old telephone.
The restaurant. He picked up immediately. “Dimitri.”
He listened while Carlito, the manager, rattled off the latest emergency. With a sigh, Dimitri pushed to his feet.
“Calm down. I’ll be right there.”
He spared the desk drawer a glance before leaving the office, and headed to Natasha’s room.
He stopped short in the middle of the hallway. Natasha’s room. Not Nik’s room, which it had been for years, and which he had still thought of it as until . . .
An hour ago.
