“I’ll pick you up at 6:35,” he cuts in.
“Oh. You will? Do you have room for all of us in your Tesla?”
“I’ll bring an SUV.”
“Um—”
“Bye, Chelle.” He ends the call before I can say anything else.
I try to ignore the way my insides seem to pop and fizz with excitement that he’s coming as my date. Or pleasure at the way he says my name.
Chelle Goldberg, you are adorable. I remember the words before my eyes seek the proof of them on the note.
It’s okay that I called him.
It’s just for work.
Only because I was in a pickle and had no other choice.
Nikolai
I text Chelle when I’m outside her apartment, and she comes jogging out in another pencil skirt and knee-high boots. She climbs in the front seat smelling of some honey-warm scent that makes me want to lick every inch of her.
“I like the boots.”
“I like the jacket,” she says, noting the black suit jacket I wore over my lavender button down. When you have as many tats as I do, you have to dress up a little to be taken seriously. I learned that art from Ravil and Maxim who always look like they’re stepping off the cover of a men’s magazine.
Electricity zings between us—a low-level excitement like we’re on a real date and not some strange work-related favor.
“Thank you for doing this.” She sounds a little breathless.
“There will be a price,” I tell her, letting my lips kick up, so she doesn’t totally freak out. I don’t mind her being a little on edge with me.
She should be. The truth is, I am dangerous. I operate using the theater of fear, so making people think I’m safe would be a mistake. Her brother owes me a ton of money, and I can’t let him off the hook for it.
She looks down and rummages in her purse and pulls out her phone. “I need to get us a reservation somewhere,” she says. “Ideas? They wanted high-end sushi.”
“They’re just throwing their weight around to see how willing you are to cater to their demands. Do they think they’re rock stars?”
“Clearly.”
“Let’s go to Lucky Roll.” I name the most expensive sushi place I’ve heard of. Plates start at three hundred bucks. I only know of it because Maxim and Sasha are fans and have brought us out before.
“I already tried there. They said they don’t have reservations open on a weekend for months.”
“I can get us in,” I say, with only half-confidence it’s true. I saw Maxim grease the maitre d’s palm to get us in last time. It might work again tonight. It’s worth a try. Of course, if I fail, it could be awkward.
I drive to the hotel, and she texts her would-be clients to come down.
The moment I see them, I relax a bit. I can handle these assholes, no problem. Now I understand why she called me and not someone else.
They are from the street like me.
I get out of the SUV for introductions and Chelle follows my lead.
“Nikolai, this is Bones, Tiny, and Randy. Guys, this is my boyfriend, Nikolai.”
They take in my tats and seem to approve, each giving me some slapping fist-bumping kind of handshake that I roll with.
“Niko!” Bones says. “Can I call you Niko?”
“No you may not,” I answer immediately.
“Oh, schwang!” Tiny chortles—whatever that means—as Randy makes a gong sound.
I herd the guys into the backseat of the SUV and drive to Lucky Roll.
“So I heard you’re big porn stars,” I say with a straight face.
“What?” Tiny asks
“Hell, yeah.” Bones grins. “Where do you think I got my name?”
Chelle groans loudly while the guys in the back chuckle.
“No, really. What is it you do? You’re skateboarders?”
“Yep. Youtubers. We have a channel with twenty million followers,” Randy says.
I whistle. “Impressive. So why do you need a publicist?” I glance in the rearview mirror as I drive.
“Yeah, I don’t think we do,” Bones asserts, folding his arms over his chest.
Randy just smirks.
Tiny shrugs. “We have an online store that we want to expand. Maybe franchise. We need branding and shit.”
I nod. “Cool.”
Chelle pivots in her seat. “What did you think about what Janette presented today?”
I check their faces in the rearview mirror. None of them seem that impressed, but I also get the sense they’re playing Chelle. Milking her for the expensive dinner and entertainment while they make up their minds.
I find a parking place in the underground lot beneath the restaurant, and we take the elevator up to the top floor. The restaurant appears packed. “Give me a minute,” I say to Chelle and walk over to the host station. I pull out a wad of hundred dollar bills and peel four off the top to hold between my fingers.
I show the money to the maitre d. “Listen, my girlfriend has these VIPs in town, and they insisted on your restaurant for dinner.” The guys aren’t dressed appropriately for a nice restaurant, which is part of why I called them VIPs. Hopefully their presumed celebrity status will give them a pass on their appearance. “I know you’re packed, but is there any way you could find us a table for five?”