When Ava called me into her office yesterday, nearly two full weeks after the conference where we brainstormed players, I didn’t fully believe that Nicky not only agreed to be recommended but that thenetworkchose him as well. We have one week until training camp starts and only three days before the crew that will be following Nicky this season shows up. Today is my chance to find out everything I need to from the quiet man in front of me to ensure this process is as painless as possible. While Ava spearheads the boundaries of the team, I’ve been tasked with being present for all of Nicky’s filming and keeping the crew within the boundaries of the player’s preferences.
“Are they giving you a camera, too?” Nicky lifts a dark blond eyebrow. I blink stupidly, confused when his lips twitch with a ghost of a smile.
“Did you just make ajoke?” I blurt, unable to keep the surprised thought to myself. Somehow, I’ve always believed Nicky had a personality, but this unexpected glance into it has me off balance. The laugh that bubbles up from me tickles with its intensity as it tumbles from me, a deep, rich timbre underwriting it as Nicky joins in. The combined sound crests before ebbing away into softer, quieter silence, and a tiny flicker of warmth ignites in my chest. I can’t put a name to it, but I think it’s something like possibility.
“It was a good joke,” he says. Suddenly, the curiosity that has swirled around Nikita Baladin from the moment we met swells as he really does give me a boyish smile, the effect of which is devastating. He’s entirely too handsome and wonderfully carefree, a state that is so incongruous to how I know him to normally be; I take a moment to bask in it.
“It was,” I agree. My cheeks hurt a little with how stretched they are from laughing, but Nicky leans back in the chair, and I feel welcome relief when the muscles relax, returning us to the professionals we are. There’s a flash of silver as Nicky’s shirt shifts, the collar moving enough to show a silver chain under the material. Before I can focus on it, Nicky readjusts, the collar falling into place, hiding the delicate jewelry. He folds his hands in his lap, waiting patiently for me to continue where we left off.
He doesn’t rush me. He doesn’t fill the quiet with mindless topics of conversation. His blue eyes stay on mine, never straying to the V-neckline of my wrap dress like I expect. It isn’t the dress’ fault—it isn’t evenmine—I just have exceptional tits, a fact I was reminded of today. The barista at my neighborhood coffee shop stared long enough during my caffeine stop before work that I needed to repeat my order three times. The manwalking his dog tripped over his four-legged companion when the fluffy mutt obediently sat at his feet at the corner. Even Jim, our security guard in the employee parking lot, had a difficult time maintaining eye contact.
But Nikita Baladin is a different caliber of man.
He doesn’t look. It sends a tingle down my spine, the challenge I usually feel around him flaring to life. I want to see that control break, and the wild part of me wants to be the one to make it. For the first time in a long time, Iwanta man to look at me.
“How’s Nat?” I lead. “Have you talked to her about filming?”
“She’s good,” Nicky replies. “She’s finally getting excited about starting school, but I think it’s mostly so she doesn’t have to spend as much time with Ms. Margaret.”
I smile at that. Natalia and Ms. Margaret go together about as well as a balloon in the rain. As someone who was mostly raised by nannies—some of whom I liked, some I didn’t—I understand how difficult it can be to find someone who clicks. Having seen the pair at playoff games at the end of last season, I think Ms. Margaret is an excellent fit for Nat. The woman is caring, patient, and kind. But I also deeply recognize what it feels like to want your parent to be the one to take care of you. Not that my upbringing was anything like Natalia’s. Her father would do anything for her, whereas I’m not even sure mine knows I left England.
“As for the filming,” Nicky starts, breaking me out of my thoughts. “I’m hoping we can keep it to Natalia’s school hours, unless we’re here in the facility or an away game. I want to protect her privacy as much as possible. Filming will only happen at home when she isn’t there.”
“We can make the request,” I say, writing it on my tablet and making a mental note to have legal double-check the verbiage of the contracts to see if it’s going to be a condition we can get.“I’m not sure they’ll go forneverbeing at the house when Nat is there, but at the very least, I will make sure that Natalia’s face is blurred in any footage they obtain of her.”
“Good, that’s good.” Nicky seems to breathe a sigh of relief, an elbow on the armrest, bending to bring his hand to his face. His fingers trace the shape of his full lips, rubbing absently at the bottom one as he contemplates what he wants to say next. His eyes, which had been dutifully examining the shiny lacquer of my desktop, lift to mine as his hand falls away. “There are things I don’t want to talk about on camera. Will that be okay?”
Nicky is a serious man—I know this about him—but the gravity of his voice doesn’t match the vulnerability in those azure eyes. It doesn’t pain him to ask this, but he seems to loathe it all the same.
“I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re comfortable. If there are topics you won’t discuss, that’s okay, I just need to know what they are. I need to listen to the interview segments and prepare you to respond or steer the producer away, to avoid the subject entirely.” I try to infuse my voice with gentle understanding. Part of being a good public relations officer is establishing trust with your client. Working for a team makes those opportunities less personal; my responsibility is usually to uphold the company brand. But this project shifts my loyalty to the man in front of me. And I won’t take that for granted. I pick up my tablet and stand. After rounding the end of the desk that separates us, I cross to the twin guest chair next to Nicky and sink down, angling my body toward him. “Want to tell me the non-negotiables?”
CHAPTER 4
NICKY
“Idon’t want to talk about Natalia’s mom,” I finally manage after a moment. Bea writes the note on her tablet. Her handwriting reminds me of an elementary school teacher’s. It’s loopy in all the right places and flows gently across the screen. I’m not sure why I’m focused on it, except I can’t help but noticeevery little thingabout Bea each time I’m with her. When she finishes writing, she folds her hands, one over the other, and waits. Her brown eyes reflect the question she doesn’t push to ask, and I keep talking. “We were both kids ourselves. It was one night, and I didn’t even know she was pregnant until after Nat was born. She didn’t want to be a mom, and my daughter doesn’t deserve it being discussed publicly.”
“What does Natalia know about her mom?” Bea asks, then reels back as if she wants to get away from the words floating between us. “I’m sorry. You literally just said you didn’t want to talk about her mom. I shouldn’t have asked.”
I shift in my chair, angling myself closer to her. Our knees bump, and Bea’s eyes flare. Or maybe I hope they do, becausethe contact jolts me, too. Even if I hate talking about myself—an irony I am not forgetting given the reason I’m in this meeting—I want to open up to Bea.
“We talk about families in general,” I start, because it’s a difficult thing to explain to a small child, and I don’t want to feel like I’m justifying my parenting choices. “The structure is different for everyone, but a family that loves and supports one another is the most important thing, no matter the size or make-up. We’ve talked about how moms and dads love their children, but it doesn’t mean they can always take care of their children. I hope I’ve instilled in her that the woman who brought her into this world trusted me to do everything she couldn’t. Natalia knows her family is me. The team. Now, to an extent, Ms. Margaret. I’m sure I’ll have to give her a more thorough explanation when she’s older, but for now, she’s accepted that.”
“That’s a really honest way of teaching her to look at the world. She’s lucky to have you as her dad.”
There’s a hint of sadness in the way Bea replies, but she bats it away with a few quick blinks and the raising of her stylus. She’s poised for the next non-negotiable, and I let my curiosity pass, for now.
“The only other topic I’d like to avoid ismymom.” I shrug, a thought coming to me as I speak. “Wow, I sound like I have a lot of issues with family?—”
“Don’t we all,” Bea interjects with a dismissive laugh. I can’t help the tilt of my head at her comment, but she’s writing as I talk, so I don’t think she catches it.
“Well, this has more to do with my mom being in Europe than anything else. I don’t think she’d be too happy to get calls from the network if they were to reach out. She’s fantastic, and I love her, but she never really wanted to stay in America. She moved to Italy not long after I turned eighteen and was living on my own.”
“Wow.” Bea looks up from her tablet, an unreadable expression on her face. I’m used to the looks of pity—or even anger—people give me when they hear that, but I’ve never been able to figure out why. Mom worked hard to raise me; she gave me everything she possibly could. Taught me how to take care of myself, and encouraged me to go after my dreams. But I was an unexpected result of a semester abroad at the age of twenty. She put her whole life on pause, and I don’t begrudge her a single day for trying to reclaim some of that.
I hold Bea’s gaze, waiting to see what else she says and offering nothing more. There’s not much else to say because this is just how my life has been. Sure, there were moments of loneliness—and yeah, after Nat was born, I wished like hell my mom had been around for longer than the two weeks she stayed to help me learn the basics. But there wasn’t any point in focusing on what I didn’t have. I wasn’t raised that way. So, I kept my head down and worked hard. And Mom always answers when I call.
“You are a fascinating person, Nikita Baladin.” Bea finally breaks the silence. Unexpected pride fills me at her announcement, and I hope that she might want to know me as much as I want to know her.
