Protégé
When we rolled up to the house, Vladimir slid the Rover into the vacant spot next to a mouth-watering red Ferrari. We got out of the SUV, and he escorted me through a door that led to an immaculate kitchen with a long, granite bar lined with barstools, stainless steel appliances, and a breakfast nook by the window that overlooked a basketball court and a guesthouse.
Inside, Boris waited with a blanket in his arms and a contemptuous regard for me plastered across his face. Vladimir removed his coat from my shoulders and hung it up. Then he unzipped my inferior rain-drenched jacket and tossed it on the doormat, took the blanket from Boris, and wrapped it around my shoulders. He sat me down at a barstool and untied my shoes.
I stopped his hand with mine, the blanket slipping from my shoulders. “I can—”
“Hold the blanket in place. You’re shivering, Carter.”
I didn’t argue. I wrapped the blanket tighter around me as he removed my soggy shoes and holey socks, which exposed my callused and blistered feet. I had worn out my tennis shoes months ago and didn’t want to use my savings to buy another pair.
As if my situation could get any more humiliating, the rainwater had dissolved the grip a Band-Aid had around my big toe, and a flap of opaque skin dangled from the side of my foot. “Curse of the sporty,” I said.
Vladimir shook his head, slipped a warm pair of fur-lined slippers onto my feet, and said something in Russian to Boris—probably warning him he was about to barf from the sight of my gnarly toes.
He guided me out of the kitchen, past a formal dining room, and into the living area where he sat me down on a leather sofa in front of the fireplace. He tucked the blanket under me, which inhibited my movement. With my arms restrained, swaddled inside the tightly wound blanket, I felt like a captive bird that just had her wings clipped.
Vladimir sat beside me and lifted a steaming teacup to my mouth. I hesitated, but he waited for me to change my mind. The aroma was pungent and too strong for my taste, but once I gave in, I found the flavor irresistible. “How are you feeling?”
My gaze drifted back to the tea. I wanted more of the hot, exotic refreshment. Vladimir loosened the blanket and placed the cup in my hands. I took another sip, licked my lips, and resisted the urge to gulp it down. “I’m fine. You don’t have to go to any trouble for me. I’m so embarrassed.”
“What has you so upset? Guy troubles?”
I snorted. “You could say that. Mr. Cusimano fired me.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I play too much tennis. I took advantage of his generosity.”
“That’s your terrible crime?”
“One of them.” I fiddled with the fringe on a silky throw pillow. “He said some things, I said some things, and then he banned me from the club. I’ll have to quit my team.”
Vladimir tapped the tips of his fingers together. “Anything else?”
I scoffed. “I’m just getting warmed up.” I lifted the rain-dampened invoice out of my pocket. “As a matter of principle, I insisted on paying Mr. Cusimano back for the sixty hours of court time I’ve amassed over the last three months. I shouldn’t have to—it’s a job perk and he said I could—but hell if I’m going to owe that asshole anything.” I winced at my language. Mr. Cusimano was Vladimir’s friend.
“May I see it?” He plucked it out of my hand. Without looking at it, he spoke in Russian and passed it on to Boris, whom I hadn’t realized was lurking over my shoulder.
Boris fired a nuclear death ray at me and tucked the soggy paper into his black suit jacket.
I held out my hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You didn’t tell him to pay it, did you? There’s no way I can let you do that. Dad will kill me if he finds out I came crying to you about this.”
Vladimir eyed my shaky hands.
I curled them up in a ball and tucked them under my legs.
“The amount is insignificant. I can make your financial problems disappear. Let me.”
For a second, I considered it. “I appreciate your offer, but I’ll find another job.”
He sat back, eyeing me a moment. “What are you studying in college?”
“Double major in business and sports management. I’m going to be a sports agent.”
He smiled like he was proud of me. “I have a business. You’ll work for me. Problem solved.”
My mouth gaped.
“Furthermore, I will personally speak to Anthony Cusimano and see to it he welcomes you back to the club. Your membership will be restored, you will have unlimited court time and private lessons, and you will enjoy all the amenities the club has to offer—without limit. Consider it a job perk.” He winked. “Think of me as your mentor, Miss Cook. Anything else you need help with?” He stood and straightened his suit jacket.
“Wait. Work for you? What will I do?”
“Boris, you can assess her skills and assign jobs to keep my new protégé productive?”
Boris grinned sadistically like an overgrown housecat with a mouse tail dangling between his lips. “Of course, boss. I’ll put her to work.”
“It’s settled then. Starting Monday you will report to me every day after practice. Your homework will be completed, you will keep up with your athletic schedule, and you will stay out of trouble, understand?”
“What about Dad? He’ll lose his mind when I tell him.”
“Then maybe it’s best you don’t.”
Wouldn’t be the first time I lied and snuck around behind Dad’s back.
On the car ride home, Vladimir stole glances at me, making me feel completely self-conscious. I broke the awkward silence. “How did you know my sister?”
Vladimir steered the car into the parking lot of the church by our house and turned off the car. I wondered if he knew Sophia was buried just over the hill in the cemetery behind the church. “I must be honest with you, Carter. Your sister and I were more than acquaintances. We were in love.” His expression was like Dad’s when he spoke of her—bright and wet.
“What are you talking about?” Sophia was in high school when we lived in Brooklyn. Did Dad know? He couldn’t have, not the way he talked about Vladimir after they met at the coffee shop last week. I mean, Dad was clear that he’d just met Vladimir, and that meant it wasn’t a coincidence Vladimir bumped into Dad at Starbucks.
Vladimir studied my reaction as if he could hear the Tilt-a-Whirl inside my head. “Sophia was my world. You look so much like her, Carter. Her golden eyes, silky blonde hair. I never married, never started a family, never found another woman who could compare. She was younger than you when we met and equally as beautiful.”
I fidgeted with the zipper on my coat, unnerved by the comparison.
He lifted my chin. “She talked about you all the time. Her spunky little sister Carter, always getting into trouble with her papa. Sophia would be proud of all your accomplishments. Helping you fulfill your dreams gives me great satisfaction.”
Oh, God.
***
That night, I lay in bed and wrestled with a devil on my left shoulder and an angel on the right. The angel—who I believed to be the spirit of Sophia—pleaded with me to tell Dad everything that had transpired between Vladimir and me. She’d always been my sensible voice of reason. Inside, I knew she was right, but over on the other side, the ornery little devil jabbed his pitchfork on my sense of duty.
If you tell your dad, you will incinerate his pride because you went behind his back and begged a stranger for money to cover up for your never ending trail of bad judgment calls.
Sheesh. The devil was right, too, but Dad had finally landed his dream job. Last week, I’d seen an official looking letter from the mortgage company on Dad’s desk. If Vladimir hadn’t hired him, we would’ve lost the house. Vladimir wouldn’t take it well if I walked away, and I couldn’t jeopardize Dad’s new CIO position. I convinced myself to stick with the plan, and if things got too weird I would tell Dad. Until that time, I’d been promoted from smoothie barista to Mr. Vladimir Ivanov’s indentured servant.