Game Over (The Baltimore Banners Book 2) (3 page)

     That didn't stop her from slicking on some lip gloss and pushing a wayward strand of hair behind her ear before getting out of her car.

     Traffic in this neighborhood was minimal, involving mostly public transportation, but she was still cautious as she crossed the street. Not so much out of fear of traffic, but more from straight common sense and ingrained survival instincts. Because this neighborhood in north Baltimore would be considered a really bad neighborhood by any standards. From the standards of someone who was reportedly making seven figures...it was unimaginable. Of course, if he was being extorted...

     Bobbi climbed the three steps of the old marble stoop, careful to stay away from the crumbling edges, then knocked on the door. It was solid wood, and she was sure it had been beautiful back in its time. Now, it was splintered and gouged, the grain of the wood swollen and battered from years of neglect and weather damage.

     She waited a long minute, then knocked again, harder this time with the heel of her hand. Another long minute dragged by as she waited, feeling exposed here in the open amid wind-swept trash and the decaying remains of a neighborhood that had long since been abandoned by anyone who cared.

     Telling herself again that this had to be some kind of a joke, she was about to turn away when the door opened. Her initial doubt was swept away as Nikolai Petrovich towered over her, dressed down in a pair of sweatpants and a Banners t-shirt stretched tight across his arms and chest.

     "Ah,
moj dosadnyj malen'kij bich
has shown up. I thought you might. Come in." He stepped back and opened the door wider, motioning for her to enter. She took a cautious step forward, keeping her eyes focused on his face.

     "What does that mean,
moj dosadnyj malen'kij bich
? It's not the first time you said that to me."

     Nikolai laughed as he closed the door behind her. He had to give it an extra push for it to close all the way. "It is nothing, just a term of endearment."

     Calling her an 'annoying little pest' was a term of endearment?
Term of endearment, my ass
, Bobbi thought. She offered him a half-smile, not caring if he thought she believed him or not, then turned in the foyer so she could look around.

     And became even more convinced that this was still some kind of joke.

     The foyer was nothing more than a narrow hall with two rooms branching off the left side before ending at a closed doorway that she assumed was the kitchen. She could partially see into the front room, and tried to hide her surprise at the lack of furniture. Maybe he was rehabbing the property?

     To the right was a narrow set of stairs. She could see loose and missing spindles along the railing leading up, and told herself to hold onto the wall if she ever had to go upstairs. Maybe he really was rehabbing the place; she knew people bought these old row homes and restored them to their original turn-of-the-century glory. Of course, the neighborhoods were usually slightly better than this one and could offer a better resale once the work was done.

     So the theory went, anyway.

     Could that be what he was doing? Because surely he wasn't living here. He couldn't be...

     "Nice place. Are you planning on selling it?" Petrovich looked at her with confusion, and she elaborated. "You know...flipping it? Renovating and selling it?"

      "Why would I sell it? This is my home. Come, I'll show you." Bobbi frowned as he grasped her elbow and led her into the first room. Again his accent seemed to thicken and...

     All thought left her as he stopped and swept his arm around in a grand gesture. Her mouth opened then closed again as words failed to form. He
had
to be joking.

     It was the living room. Or at least, she thought it was supposed to be the living room. The furniture had undoubtedly been purchased at a budget store: one sofa with extra cushions, a small faded area rug, one plain end table holding one inexpensive lamp, and a television set. Although she had to concede about the television set and admitted it really was an entertainment center: flat screen television, stereo, a gaming console. And it probably cost ten times what his scarce furniture cost.

     She was about to comment when he smiled at her and led her through an arched doorway into the adjoining room, which obviously served as his dining room. This, too, was decorated courtesy of a budget store, containing one small table, two chairs, and—yes, there were even some hi-tech toys in here, as well: a small desk with an office chair and a laptop.

     She was speechless. But it was obvious he was waiting for some kind of response, so she offered him a small smile and searched for something to say. "Um, nice. Not exactly, um, what I was expecting."

     "You do not like?"

     "Huh? Oh, um...no, no, it's fine. It's just not...well, I was expecting something different, that's all."

     "Different? Bigger maybe, no?"

     "No. I mean yes...no. I..." She stopped her blathering long enough to really look at him, and noticed the slight gleam in his eyes. A gleam, and something else that almost looked like sadness. Both disappeared as she continued watching him, but there was no doubt she had seen them both. Or maybe she was just seeing things that weren't really there. "Do you mind if we go into the living room? I wanted to go over this schedule they gave me yesterday."

     Bobbi pushed by him, not bothering to see if he followed her. She took a seat on the sofa and placed her bag between her feet, bending over to rummage through the contents before pulling out a pad folio. Settling back, she opened it up and pulled out a set of stapled papers, then grabbed her appointment book.

     She wasn't surprised when Nikolai took a seat beside her—after all, there was nowhere else for him to sit. Even his nearness wasn't a huge surprise considering the size of the sofa. What did surprise her, though, was the warmth radiating from his body and the heated look in his eyes as he studied her. She cleared her throat and looked away.

     "From the very brief orientation they gave me yesterday, I understand that I'm to compile your schedule and make sure there are no conflicts." She gave him a sideways look. "And then, make sure you actually show up. Apparently that's one of your weaknesses."

     "
Давайте трахаться
."

     The curt Russian phrase, uttered in an insulting tone, almost worked on getting a rise out of her.
Let's fuck
, he had said. In Russian, not English. And so obviously meant to see if she understood what he was saying.

     Bobbi let out a sigh and shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I told you yesterday I don't understand Russian. Was that another term of endearment? Or were you insulting me? Because from your tone of voice, it sounded insulting."

     "I said: you are a creature of beauty who should be worshipped, not working."

     Bobbi raised her brows, deliberately letting him see her disbelief. "All that in one tiny phrase, hm?"

     "We Russians, we are thrifty, yes?"

     Bobbi closed her eyes and counted to ten. The alternative was to let loose with a string of Russian insults that would leave his ears burning as he reached to protect his family jewels. He was deliberately baiting her. But why? Was he really that obnoxious? Her instincts told her no. Of course, her instincts were a bit muddied by the sexual pull he had on her.

     Or maybe it was because he really had a problem with being assigned a personal assistant. Or rather, a babysitter. Because he had to know that's why she was assigned to him. And in his shoes, she'd probably feel the same way. So why did team management feel he needed one in the first place?

     She took a deep breath against the multiplying questions, knowing that answering them was part of why she was here. She opened her eyes and returned her attention to the schedule in front of her. "As I was saying, I need to go over this and clear up some of the conflicts—"

     "Let's fuck."

     Okay, that was definitely in English. Bobbi calmly placed her pen back in the loop, closed the appointment book, and stood up. She grabbed her bag off the floor, flung it over her shoulder, and walked toward the door. She was counting on him stopping her, and she had no idea what she would do if he didn't. Probably come back tomorrow and try again.

     Nikolai watched as she walked away, regret instantly filling him. It would be better to let her leave, to let her walk out. But he knew she would only be replaced by another 'personal assistant'. And yet another after that. It didn't matter what he did to chase them off, another always took their place. To watch him, to follow him.

     And he liked this one. Bobbi. She was different. Bright and funny, in spite of her somber suits, not cold and distant like all the others. She reminded him of laughter and light, something that had been missing from his life for too long. And he was not so dead inside yet that he didn't feel the strong attraction, the sexual pull between them.

     Which should be reason enough to let her go, to let another one take her place. It would be dangerous to show signs of interest in her, even more dangerous to become involved. Yes, if he was smart, if he had learned any lessons in the last eight years, he would let her go.

     But he didn't want to. Nikolai pushed himself up from the small sofa and caught up with her in three long strides. He stepped in front of her and leaned his back against the door, blocking her exit. His eyes met hers for a long second before he looked away, embarrassment and regret heating his cheeks.

     "My apologies. I had no business saying such things to you. You're right: I do not want or need an assistant, and I am too old for a babysitter. But that's not your fault. I will not take it out on you again. Please," he looked up at her, the apology clear in his eyes as he motioned back toward the sofa, "let's start over again."

     Bobbi watched him for a long minute, and he could tell she was weighing his words, trying to determine if he was being sincere or merely acting. She said nothing, just turned around and took her seat again, pulling her paperwork together without really looking at it.

     Nikolai sat next to her, his leg brushing against hers. And for once he was thankful for the small sofa, thankful that its size forced him to sit so close to her. She shifted on the hard cushion, a crease in her brow as she fingered the loose papers. Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath then she turned to face him, hesitation clear in her eyes.

     "You said 'babysitter'. Why do you think that?"

     Her straightforward question surprised him. None of his other 'assistants' had ever bothered to ask him...about anything. Their sole responsibility was to monitor his every move and make sure he behaved. Why was it that this one was different?

     Nikolai studied her, wondering how he should answer—how he
could
answer. How much did she already know? And how much of what he told her would she report back to those who watched him? But her deep green eyes held an honest openness and curiosity that enthralled him, and he finally settled on the truth. At least, on a half-truth that would answer her question.

     "I am neither old nor feeble, nor am I young and impetuous. Yet they insist that I have an 'assistant'. My play is good, but I am not a star. No one else is provided an assistant. So I must ask, why me? And why assistants who only follow me around, tell me where to go and when to get there and what to do. What is that, if not a babysitter?"

     Bobbi looked away, and he could see she was trying not to smile. She twirled the pen between her fingers, then shrugged and faced him again, the smile she was trying so hard to hide shining in her green eyes. "Well, from what I understand, I don't think you'd have an assistant if you actually, you know, played nice and did what you were supposed to."

     Did what you were supposed to.
A chill filled Nikolai at her teasing words, and he wondered if she had said them as a warning...or if they were nothing more than an innocent coincidence. He studied her face, looking for signs of double-meanings or hidden agendas. Instead he saw only teasing in her open smile.

     "I do not think so, but it is not up to me." He shifted on the sofa, his leg again brushing against hers as he leaned back and offered her his own smile. A real smile, one that freed something inside him that he thought dead and buried long ago. He shook his head at the uncharacteristic thought, and held his hand out to her in a gesture of truce. "So, here you are and here I am. You must do your job, and I will try not to be too difficult. Do we agree on this?"

     She looked down at his offered hand, and slowly reached out to accept it. Her skin was cool and damp, her small hand dwarfed in his larger one. Nikolai felt the trembling in her hand as his fingers curled around hers. Without thinking, he lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a soft kiss across her knuckles. He looked up and met her eyes, their gazes locked. Desire shot through him, hot and fast, nearly knocking the wind from him with its startling intensity. He didn't think, merely acted, and leaned toward her, feeling a pull he didn't want to fight.

     Bobbi's fingers tightened around his as he shifted closer. Nikolai heard the quickening of her breath, saw the knowledge and anticipation of what he was about to do heat her eyes as she leaned, just the tiniest bit, toward him.