“Ex-assistant.”
“Soon to beex-assistant. I’m not leaving you in the lurch,” he assures him with a tinge of sympathy in his voice. “Regardless, the assistant in me wants to lecture you for not taking pictures. But the larger part of me that is your brother is glad to see you taking an actual break from work.”
Sergio shrugs and grabs his fresh drink from the bartender. His eyes wander to where Jeremy and Rose are speaking with a group of sports reporters. Rose is doing most of the talking.Jeremy seems to be holding his own, but he hides behind his glass of sparkling water with a twist of lime more often than he speaks. That glass is near empty, and Sergio is tempted to bring him a new one. But given his track record over the last twenty-four hours of mess-ups every time he talks to Jeremy, he decides to focus his attention on Allison instead.
Allison, standing not far from Jeremy and Rose, is being chatted up by Chadwick Levinson, the French-Canadian who won the men’s gold medal in figure skating four years ago after Jeremy had to exit the competition. She’s only half paying attention to him, her eyes flitting between Chadwick and the rest of the room. Her eyes catch Sergio’s, and she quickly averts them. A faint blush rises in her dark cheeks before she draws her attention back to Chadwick, who’s likely either trying to talk her into switching training camps or leaving the party in favor of his room. The way he’s crowding her space suggests to Sergio it’s the latter.
Grabbing his drink and one of the many complimentary glasses of champagne off the bar, Sergio bids his brother goodbye with a dismissive nod of his chin, then ambles over towards Allison. He slides into the space beside her and offers her the drink.
“Thanks,” she says, her cheeks still aglow as she takes it. She turns her attention back to Chadwick. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with Sergio.”
“Sergio? Sergio Durand?” Chadwick asks. He beams at Sergio and turns his head in a way that only people who are used to having their good side photographed do automatically. His chin is lifted slightly, his left cheekbone is angled higher than his right, and a full set of pearly whites is gleaming under the soft glow of the chandeliers.
Sergio feigns ignorance, looking at him quizzically. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
“It’s me! Chadwick Levinson!”
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Sergio says, enjoying the way Chadwick’s face falls.
“You know me!” he exclaims and playfully swats Sergio’s shoulder. “Chadwick Levinson! You took my gold medal photos at the Olympic Games four years ago in Nagano.”
“Did I? You know, I take so many pictures at events like that. I can hardly be expected to keep track.”
“But it’s me, Chadwick Levinson! I was the underdog. No one thought Jeremy Owens could be beaten.”
“I couldn’t,” Jeremy says, startling Sergio as he steps into their conversation.
Chadwick stands up a little straighter and eyes Jeremy up and down. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he says with a haughty lilt to his voice.
Sergio has the sudden urge to punch him in Jeremy’s defense. A slight ding of an alarm goes off in his head. This is what everyone must have felt about him yesterday.
“I should really thank you,” Chadwick says. “Nike was so focused on making you the future face of figure skating that they completely overlooked me for ages. Once you walked away from that endorsement, I took off. Now, look where I am!”
“I didn’t walk away,” Jeremy says bitterly, and now Sergioreallywants to punch the smug look of satisfaction off Chadwick’s face. Perhaps it will be the thing that lightens the tension Sergio has caused between himself and Jeremy all day. He does, despite evidence to the contrary, want Jeremy to like him.
“It’s fine. You can admit you couldn’t handle the pressure—”
The sound of Sergio’s fist hitting the flesh of Chadwick’s nose was louder than he expected.
Allison gasps, and the party comes to a screeching halt. The room goes silent except for the Sonny and Cher cover bandmercifully continuing to play on the stage that Holden is now jumping onto to divert the crowd’s attention.
“Alright, everyone,” Holden says into the microphone. “Grab a glass of champagne. The countdown starts in less than a minute.”
“What the fuck did you do that for?” Chadwick bellows, clutching his nose—and, to Sergio’s surprise, Jeremy.
“He was being a prick!” Sergio exclaims to Jeremy, pointing at a moaning Chadwick as he’s offered napkins by a caterer to soak up the blood pouring from his nose.
“From where I stand, you are both guilty of being pricks,” Jeremy says.
Sergio throws up his hands in his defense. “I didn’t like the way he was talking to you.”
“I didn’t either, but I can take care of myself. I don’t need you, of all people, to go all Jeff Gillooly on him for me,” Jeremy says right as Holden yells, “Ten!” from the stage, and a team of security guards comes rushing into the ballroom, heading straight through the packed crowd towards where Sergio, Jeremy, and Allison are standing.
Sergio hangs his head and mumbles, “Why can’t I get anything right today?”
“Nine!”
“What was that?” Jeremy asks over the din, his tone still accusatory.
