His jaw tightens, barely. "My mother."
He doesn't give anything else as a follow up. He says it like it’s enough, and maybe it is.
"What is she like?"
"She was like warm sunshine after the longest winter. She died… eight years ago this spring."
"I didn’t know. I’m sorry to hear that."
"It was harder on my sister. She was only fourteen. I was training for my second Olympics, and I still regret not being there for Katerina during our mother’s funeral."
"You can’t hold yourself responsible for that kind of thing."
"Maybe not…" he trails off.
"I met your sister and Penelope Matthews at Oakley’s. Katerina seems lovely."
"You don’t know her yet. Trust me, if she and Penelope have their way, you will know soon enough. They’d be more than happy to pull you into the WAGs group."
"What’s the WAGs group?" I ask, and then pick up my burger and take a bite.
It tastes like salvation against my tongue. This is exactly what I needed.
"Just the wives and girlfriends of the players. They hang out at the home games together, picking on the players as their own personal sport. They’re mostly inseparable as far as I understand it. Brunch, pedicures, away game nights at Penelope’s house… that kind of thing."
"Okay," he says, voice calmer now, "real question." He leans an elbow on the bar, eyes on me. "Why are you really here? What does getting me out of trouble actually get you? Because I have a suspicion, it’s more than just money."
I set down my burger and wiped the bit of ketchup at the corner of my mouth.
"I need this to be a success because Legacy PR is making cuts. If I don’t get you out of this mess, I will lose my job."
His eyebrows furrow together. "You’re serious? You’ll lose your job over this?"
"All the agents in my department are on the hook to do the same for a list of clients that my arch-nemesis handed out to all of us right before I flew out to Seattle to meet you. They gave us a short deadline to prove we can make the shareholders happy."
"That’s fucked," he says.
I just shrug and take a sip of my drink. "So now you know. That’s why I’m here."
"Fine..." he starts. "I won’t interfere with your PR efforts going forward. If you can find a solution, I’m willing to hear it out."
I nearly jump out of my barstool with shock. "Are you serious? You’d consider mediation?"
"See what you can come up with. I’m not guaranteeing anything."
"I can do that," I tell him, practically buzzing with excitement.
It’s not a full commitment to cooperating, but it’s closer. He doesn’t nod, or smile, or give any other indication that he’s onboard, but I realize that this is the most agreeable that Luka has been since I met him, and I’m not going to push my luck. He said he’s willing to help me, and I have to take him at his word.
He and I both got back to finishing our burgers. I can’t tell if Luka likes the food as much as I do, but he inhales the food faster than me, so I’m guessing it wasn’t terrible.
When we’re nearly done, I push. Just a little…
"So," I say, wiping my fingers on a napkin. "Can we talk about the plan? I need something from you if I’m going to—"
Luka’s eyes lift to mine, calm and lethal.
"We just talked for almost an hour," he says. "Trust me. You got more than most. Don’t push your luck. I agreed to hear out the options, but on my terms."
