"Natalia."
I hear that voice and I instantly know the man it belongs to. Damn it, he just had to follow me.
Snow crunches under my boots as I walk faster than I should on slick ground, refusing to look back even though I can feel him behind me.
"Natalia," he calls again, but I don’t stop walking.
"What are you doing?" I call over my shoulder, not slowing down. "Aren’t you busy?"
"With what?" His voice is closer, his long legs eating up the distance between us faster than I can escape. Stupid hockey players and their impeccable sense of balance on ice. It’s annoying, and oddly… hot. Or at least when it comes to Luka.
"Your balcony tour."
"My balcony tour of what?"
"Oh God, don’t tell me I scared off another one. I left as soon as I realized what was happening. I didn’t try to screw it up for you again. I know I’ll never hear the end of it."
"You didn’t scare her off. I left to find out what you needed to talk to me about."
"Just forget I came to talk to you."
But he doesn’t. He gets ahead of me, cutting me off until he’s standing right in front of me.
My foot slips slightly as I try to stop, and I hate that he’s close enough to notice. His hand almost reached for me, but I steadied myself first. I don’t need him thinking I require rescuing.
"Will you stop and talk to me?" he says. "Why did you come to the bar?"
"It’s not important, Luka. We can talk later."
I try to step around him, but he moves to cut me off. For an offensive player, he certainly doesn’t mind making the block.
"Why did you tell him that you're here with someone?"
I blink up at him. "Really? You had a woman practically climbing into your lap, and that's what you left to ask me?"
His eyes narrow like he thinks I'm being difficult for no reason. "No, I followed you to find out what you came to the barto discuss, but you left after he sat down next to you. I want to know if he was inappropriate and if I need to go back and handle it."
"I handled my own situation, thank you very much," I snap. "That's why I told him that I'm here with someone. It usually gives the guy a hint, and it worked. I didn’t come here to get involved with anyone. I’m here to work… that is if you would let me do my job."
"If you weren’t working, would you have been interested?"
My temper flares instantly. "You do not get to interrogate me about some random guy at the bar when you made it abundantly clear that I’m your PR agent nightmare. I’m not chasing you through the snow to discuss the woman practically volunteering to warm your sheets. And who knows, you might be the perfect match."
Snow catches in his hair, and I hate how it makes him seem lighter, like his Russian scowl can’t scare away snow. He looks infuriatingly calm, and it’s annoyingly effective. He just stands there as if waiting for me to take a breath—so I do, and then my shoulders drop a little.
"This isn’t a vacation for me. It’s my career, and it’s on the line right now."
"What do you mean it’s on the line?"
Damn it… I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t want him to pity me or to rub it in my face. I wanted to show up here, seemingly the competent PR agent ready to dissolve his problem.
Snow swirls around us angrily as if we’re in its way.
Maybe it’s my pride, maybe a touch of embarrassment, or maybe I’m just not ready to call it out into the open. My career has been my identity for so long. What does it make me if it’s hanging by a thread now?
"I don’t want to talk about it," I spit out.
"Okay then. But you came to talk about something," he says, softer now.
