Solitary Confinement
Boris and the poodles were waiting to greet us at the front door. Megan was at a birthday party, so she wasn’t with us. Dad and Karen walked ahead of me, and I trailed behind carrying a grocery bag full of snacks and fruit that needed to be cut up. When I passed Boris, he maintained his usual contemptuous expression, but initiated a celebratory fist bump behind my dad’s back and knocked his knuckle into mine.
Ouch.
The poodles cried, Mama! Mama! and danced in circles, overjoyed to have me home.
“The dogs remember you, Carter,” Karen said.
“I have a way with animals.” I turned to Boris. “Do you mind if I use the kitchen?” I nodded to the bag. “I need to cut up the fruit.”
“Of course, Miss Cook. I’ll show you the way. Rick, Karen, the game is on outside. It’s sufficiently warm with heat lamps and fire. Vladimir will join you momentarily.” Boris picked up the bag from my arms and led the way to the kitchen.
Considering my track record, I worried I might be in trouble for something, but Vladimir put me at ease right away. He smooshed my face against his crisp blue shirt and wrapped his arms around me. He stepped back, cupped my head in his hands, and swept his thumbs under my puffy eyes. “No more sad Sundays for my good girl.”
“Thanks, Mr. Ivanov.” I suppose hanging out with Ryan wasn’t a crime, or Boris chose not to tell him. I had a feeling the boss wouldn’t share my joy about the fact we had officially started dating, so I decided to keep my mouth shut.
As Boris unpacked the grocery bag, I pointed to the refrigerator to bring attention to my schoolwork still on display. He dismissed my concern with a tip of his head. I got out a cutting board, a sharp knife, and a platter for the fruit.
Vladimir rubbed his hands together and moved to the bar. “Let’s make Mama and Papa a drink.” He turned over two champagne flutes.
“Wait. If you want to have some fun, serve Karen a margarita. Trust me, Dad will be completely preoccupied.”
He took my advice and mixed up a strong batch into a pitcher, and Boris carried it outside. When we were alone, the boss set down the knife I was using and pressed a new phone into my palm. “If you ever need anything, you call. My personal number, as well as Boris’s, is programmed into the phone. Day or night for any reason, promise?”
I slid it into my pocket. “Thanks, Mr. Ivanov.”
He mirrored my tortured expression. “Oh, my angel. How could your papa ever want to be rid of someone as wonderful as you?”
I should have never told Boris what Dad had said. “Mr. Ivanov, he didn’t mean it. He was just mad. It was totally my fault, anyway. We’re over it.”
“You deserve to be cherished and adored, not like some pest unworthy of your papa’s love.” He stroked a long strand of hair that had fallen from my messy bun. “I want you to live here with me.”
Say what? “Everything is fine. People fight. It’s no big deal.” I forced a smile. “And I appreciate the offer. It’s tempting, but I can’t move out of Dad’s house and live here with you.”
“Of course you can.” He squeezed my shoulders. “Let me take care of you.”
“Mr. Ivanov—”
“I’ll buy you a car—”
“I can’t just—”
“I’ll pay for your college education—”
“That’s very generous, but—”
“I can give you everything your heart desires. Say yes.”
I had known the boss for all of two weeks, and he wanted to move me into his house and make all my dreams come true. “I can’t, Mr. Ivanov.” I gave him a broken smile. “It means a lot that you care, though.” I fought another round of tears. “You’re the best boss ever.”
His eyes clouded over with disappointment. “Oh, Carter, is that what I am, your boss?”
I placed my hand on my belly to settle the butterflies. “Let’s go watch the game.” I tried to move on from our awkward conversation. “I made a bet with Boris that the Dolphins QB will get sacked in the first quarter. I want to see his face when I win.”
Vladimir picked up my hand and guided me to the bar, visibly deflated by my rejection. “What can I make you, angel?”
I tapped my fingers as I thought it over. “I think I’ll wait. I need to eat something first.”
He checked his watch. “It’s after one o’clock, and you haven’t eaten today? Is your punishment starvation as well?” His mood had flipped in an instant. At times he was like two completely different people: Vladimir and the pakhan. Vladimir was the sweet, caring, man who loved to make me happy, but then there was the ruthless, take-no-prisoners crime boss—a dangerous man, never to cross.
“Oh, no. I got up late. It’s not Dad’s fault. He would never do that.” I had to remember who I was dealing with. I could never let my guard down. I never wanted to find out would happen if he thought someone had hurt me.
“I’ll make a tray of cheese and olives to go with the fruit. We’ll eat together on the patio,” I said. “See you out there in a minute?” I pleaded.
“Sounds good.” He turned over a shot glass and poured a long swig of vodka. “Don’t be too long.”
I hacked up the fruit, chunked some cheese, and dumped a jar of olives on the platter. Boris was outside, so I knew he would keep the peace between my dad and the boss. Nonetheless, I didn’t want to linger.
I set down the tray on the coffee table separating Dad and Karen from the Russians and me. I filled a plate and offered it to Vladimir, but he motioned for me to go ahead. He downed another shot. Boris flashed me a look to remind me not to act so familiar with the boss, then he downed a shot of vodka, too.
Vladimir narrowed his eyes at Dad. Boris shouldn’t have told him about our fight. “You know Ricky, we have a deer overpopulation problem on the grounds. Maybe you and I should do a team-building exercise and go take out a couple of the bad ones.”
“No, way!” I jumped to my feet. “I mean, no fair. Dad gets to see you every day. I was hoping we could hit some balls.” I directed my gaze to the tennis court.
Boris downed another shot and then said something to Vladimir in Russian.
“I’m sure Vladimir wants to relax on his day off, sweetie,” Dad said.
The boss still had the crazy in his eyes. He needed convincing. “Please? Can you teach me how to nail that wicked backhand slice of yours?”
Dad wrinkled his forehead. “When have you seen him play?”
“I spend half my life at the tennis club, Dad. He hits with Mr. Cusimano.”
“You could skin a cat with your backhand slice,” Dad said.
“Please, Mr. Ivanov? We have our playoff next Thursday.”
“You didn’t tell me you made playoffs,” Dad said.
“Surprise.” It came out snarkier than I had intended.
Dad gave me a weak smile. “Congratulations.” I could tell I’d hurt his feelings.
“Will you, Mr. Ivanov? I need all the pointers I can get.” I batted my sad, watery eyes.
“I would love to teach you something.”
Boris invited Dad and Karen to enjoy the hot tub. He refreshed their drinks and showed them where to change. I smiled to thank him for helping to diffuse the situation.
Out on the court, I set up the ball machine to fire shots at us—the boss and I had to be on the same team. I could never allow us to be across the net from one another. He wouldn’t take losing well, and I had no off switch when it came to competition. We had to stay united.
We warmed up our arms, and then I let him ‘teach’ me how to nail a crosscourt slice. I flubbed it up a few times, which prompted him to wrap his arms around me and position my racquet to help me get a feel for the right touch. I peeked up at the patio and saw Karen sexy-dancing in her swimsuit with a drink in hand—mission accomplished. Dad was preoccupied.
Vladimir loved to wrap me up in his strong arms and sneak kisses on my cheeks. It was a cultural thing. Still, Dad didn’t need to see it.
The boss followed my gaze. “Your papa has a way with the ladies.”
“He’s a total stud.” I laughed. “Thanks for making this happen today.” We switched to a doubles position and fired back shots at the orange markers I’d set up on the other side.
“Anything for you, angel.”
Once we worked up a sweat, we headed back up to the patio. Karen and Dad stepped out of the hot tub, and she was all over him. Boris brought out a platter of yummy Russian appetizers. He must have ordered a tray from the restaurant we dined at the other day.
Dad loaded up a plate with buckwheat, marinated mushrooms, and a big dollop of sour cream. “Here, Carter, you need to eat something.”
I was about to unleash on him for insinuating I needed to do anything, but the pakhan didn’t need another reason to be ticked-off at Dad.
“You’ll love it. It’s from Vladimir’s restaurant.”
I took the plate from Dad. “Your restaurant?”
“I like to diversify my business interests.” He winked.
I shook my head at the boss’s crazy and dug into my new favorite food. Vladimir mirrored every bite I took. He loved to see me smile. Boris prevailed at the art of distracting Dad and Karen, but it must have been exhausting since the boss didn’t quit.
Dad looked antsy as the fourth quarter wound down. I wanted to stay. There was no way to pull that off, but I tried to prolong the visit. I went inside and changed into my pink polka dotted bikini. I had on a cover-up, but dad’s eyes widened as if I had strutted across the patio in a Playboy Bunny costume. I stepped out of my matching wrap and sank down in the steamy water.
“Don’t get too comfortable, Carter. The game is almost over,” Dad said.
Vladimir twisted his lips as he watched me relaxing in the tub. I could tell he was working out a scheme in his head. I decided to help him out. Why not? I had solitary confinement to look forward to back at the house.
“Okay, Dad.” Then, I turned to Vladimir. “You’re not going to go back on our deal, are you, Mr. Ivanov?”
Everyone turned to him.
His eyes were positively glowing. “A Russian never goes back on a deal.”
“What was the bet?” Dad’s gaze went back and forth between us like he was watching a tennis match.
“I bet Mr. Ivanov I could get ten consecutive shots down the alley.”
“And?” Dad asked.
“And I did. Now he has to drive me home in the Ferrari.”
Boris shook his head. I didn’t need him to reprimand me. I knew I was pushing it.
Dad probably wanted to yank me out of the hot tub by my messy bun and drag me to the car. “Vladimir was teasing, sweetie. The game just ended. We need to pick up Megan.”
I stood up in a cloud of steam.
Water dripped down my body.
Dad whizzed a towel at me.
I stepped out of the hot tub, covered up, and waited for Vladimir’s reply.
“I will take you home in the Ferrari, Miss Cook, but I have one condition.”
I bit my lip, eager for his reply.
“You must drive.”