Dominik

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Dominik Page 7

by Sawyer Bennett


  The mediator is a recently retired older attorney who wears a bow tie and suspenders. He opens by making a few remarks about the importance of the mediation process and how we need to be respectful to both sides. Not a problem. I’m a businessman, after all, and I understand the art of negotiations.

  The fight bell metaphorically rings when Nanette’s attorney clears his throat, then launches into his presentation of their case. It’s tough to listen as he methodically lays out supposed facts I know to be blatant lies, but Gruber will remind the group she has targeted people with bogus civil lawsuits before. Our investigation into her background yielded a lot of helpful information.

  The nape of my neck heats a bit when he starts to recount how much his client has been traumatized. How she’s incurred immense pain and suffering. Nanette ducks her head as she toys with her necklace, a slight smirk on her face. This claim will also be shot down by Gruber, as our investigators have followed her around, and the woman is anything but traumatized. She leads a highly social life with lots of partying and flirting toward the opposite sex going on. In my opinion, she’s looking for her next mark. In addition, we’ve uncovered the fact she’s been shopping for high-end real estate, which she cannot afford in her current financial state. She’s attempting to spend her payday before it’s even received.

  By the time her attorney wraps things up, my fingers are curled tightly around the armrests of my chair.

  “In conclusion…” he says with a great deal of self-importance. Nanette meets my eyes as he continues, “We’d be willing to drop the lawsuit and settle this claim—for four million dollars. I’m sure you’ll agree it is far less than what she deserves for what she’s been through.”

  Nanette lifts her chin, a confident smile gracing her face. She knows I’m the one with the fat checkbook, and she doesn’t have a doubt in her mind that I’m going to pay what she wants.

  Our attorney scribbles a few notes on his legal pad, then puts on a bit of an act by looking up and seeming surprised they’ve finished their presentation—as if it wasn’t important enough to listen to—but I happen to know he was soaking in every word.

  He clears his throat, sets his pen down, and clasps his hands on the table as he gives the other attorney a hard look. “While I appreciate your client’s perspective on what she thinks happened, we believe—”

  “Hold up,” I say, straightening in my seat. As of yet, Nanette’s gaze remains locked on me, but now her scrutiny intensifies. I break eye contact to address Gruber. “I’m sorry, Fred, but I need to say something.”

  “I’d really advise against it,” he states, but his tone conveys he’s aware I won’t listen.

  I study the two people across from me—Nanette Pearson and her attorney. As of yet, I haven’t even bothered to look at my guys, all three to my left. But they are unimportant right now because they haven’t done a fucking thing wrong.

  I don’t give Nanette the time of day, speaking only to her attorney because she’s nothing to me.

  “I understand you have a job to do,” I say, keeping my tone level and nonconfrontational. “And in today’s day and age, it’s more important than ever we step up to the plate to protect those who can’t protect themselves.”

  When I let my gaze settle on Nanette, she’s actually leaning forward, hanging on to my every word. Because, in her mind, those words are validation that she’s getting ready to become wealthy.

  Shifting in my seat, I glance between Dax, Sebastian, and Erik. All wear tight expressions, not sure what the fuck I’m doing.

  I don’t even bother to look at Gruber.

  Finally, I return my attention to Nanette, locking my eyes on hers. My voice goes razor sharp. “But if you think I’m going to pay one fucking dime of my money to reward you for nothing but outlandish lies and manipulations—a scam you machinated to get rich while destroying the reputations of good men—then I suggest you check yourself into a psychiatric facility for a checkup because it’s never going to happen.”

  Gruber releases a long-suffering sigh, knowing I’ve just shot this mediation straight to hell.

  So be it.

  I rise from my chair, button my suit jacket, and gesture at my players. “Let’s go. We have better things to do.”

  All three bolt out of their seats. Gruber sighs again as he starts packing his materials.

  Nanette’s attorney sits frozen, eyes rounded and mouth slack.

  “If that wasn’t clear, let me reiterate. I will not pay this woman a dime. Not now, not ever. You may continue this lawsuit at your own peril, but I will fight you with everything in my arsenal. I’ll drown you in legal fees and uncover every unsavory detail about your client—and trust me, we already have a lot, but I’m sure there’s more. She wants to go to war with me, then be prepared… I’m going nuclear, which will include countersuits for defamation and negligent infliction of emotional distress on my guys, as well as payment for our legal expenses. I suggest you talk some sense into her.”

  I don’t spare Nanette a glance. Instead, I focus on the mediator, who has remained silent, expression stunned. Apologetically inclining my head, I stride out of the conference room, followed by Gruber and my men.

  As soon as the door closes behind us, Gruber starts in on me. “Defamation? Negligent infliction of emotional distress? Do you even know what you’re talking about? You’ve probably pissed her off, and now she’ll sue for even more money. I’ll have to do damage—”

  I wheel around, getting in his face. “Let me remind you, Mr. Gruber… you work for me, not the other way around. It’s my decision alone on what I will and won’t do with regards to this claim, and I will not be paying her anything. So your job now is to fight them and not give in on a single thing. You’ll have unlimited funds with which to wage this war. If it doesn’t agree with your sensibilities, then I have an army of attorneys at my disposal who will be glad to do as I ask.”

  Gruber starts stammering and backpedaling, throwing out reassurances that he can handle the job and how much he admires and respects my hard-nosed approach to the case.

  I let him go on a bit before putting a stop to it, telling him to meet me at my office tomorrow with a game plan in effect for our next move. He rushes off, and I turn to face my guys.

  “That was fucking brilliant,” Erik crows, always the guy who will boil things down to the crudest form. I don’t mind at all.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Carlson,” Sebastian says as he sticks his hand out for me to shake. “Thank you for believing in us.”

  “You’re welcome,” I say, but then, as I always do, I point out, “And it’s Dominik.”

  Sebastian nods, beaming, and he and Erik start toward the elevator. That leaves Dax and me in the hallway, and, as usual, his expression says he doesn’t care for me at all.

  Whatever. I didn’t make that stand in there for him. I did it for my team as a whole.

  I nod before heading toward the elevator where Erik and Sebastian wait.

  “Dominik,” Dax calls, and I turn to face him. He appears slightly uncomfortable as he moves in a little closer, lowering his voice. “I can’t recall a time outside of my own family that anyone has ever had my back like that. Not sure I can ever repay that.”

  I blink in surprise, not having expected such sincere gratitude from the man I’m fairly sure hates my guts because I like his sister.

  Not sure what else to say, I reply, “You’re welcome.”

  “You know you’re going to get backlash from this,” he continues, his brow furrowing with concern. “Discounting her claims so… callously. She’s going to go to the press, and it’s going to make you look bad.”

  “So be it,” I say calmly. “I don’t cave to scammers and liars. The truth will eventually prevail. But I suggest you not worry about this. I’ll handle it all. You just concentrate on our next playoff game.”

  “Will do, Chief,” he replies playfully. For the first time since I have known him, he offers me an actual, genuine smi
le.

  I return his grin as we turn for the elevators.

  “You know,” he offers, “Willow can be off-putting at times.”

  I’m surprised he’s voluntarily brought up his sister, and it causes me to stop mid-stride. I angle my body to face him, eyebrows raised.

  Dax shrugs, as if he can’t believe he’s going there either. “All I’m saying is don’t give up on her.”

  “I have no intention of doing that,” I assure him.

  Not anytime soon.

  “Good,” he replies with a chin lift, which I take as a sign I now have his approval.

  Have to say… it feels good, although I do think I’ll miss torturing him with my interest in his sister. Just a little bit.

  We turn for the elevators again, but I’m stopped short by his hand landing on the center of my chest. He inclines his head, lowering his voice to a warning growl. “But just to reiterate… if you hurt her, I’ll hurt you.”

  “Fair enough,” I reply.

  CHAPTER 10

  Willow

  Dominik steps out of the limo, immediately turning to offer his hand to me. The driver stands to the side, holding an umbrella over his head to guard against the onslaught of Seattle rain that started while we were on the way from the arena to the hotel. As Dominik helps me from the vehicle, he moves out from under the protection of the umbrella so I can have it all to myself. The driver tries to adjust his stance to cover us both, but Dominik merely pulls it from his hand to cover just me.

  It’s both alpha protective and sweet at the same time.

  And yes, I like that.

  We walk quickly to enter the Four Seasons, Dominik suavely handing the umbrella to the limo driver before we enter. He brushes droplets of water off his suit, then rakes his fingers through his wet hair with a laugh.

  That suit probably costs thousands of dollars—yet he got wet so my Gap jeans and Monahan hockey jersey would stay dry.

  I like that, too.

  “I checked in before the game,” Dominik explains as he leads me directly to the elevators, his hand at my lower back. It’s the most he’s touched me since we first laid eyes on each other at the game earlier.

  As planned, I flew in from Ottawa, straight to Seattle, then took an Uber right to the arena. Dominik insisted I sit in the visiting owner’s box and I didn’t fight him, just made sure Regan was invited as well. She was already there when I arrived and after I hugged it out with my sister-in-law, Dominik merely leaned in and gave me a soft but very quick peck on my cheek.

  I think the message was clear.

  Dominik wasn’t going to be overt about our relationship in front of other people, and the box was filled with plenty of them. He introduced me to everyone, some of whom I immediately forgot their names. It was a mixed bag of wealthy businesspeople from Los Angeles with a few celebrities thrown into the mix. While the game played out on the ice, Dominik spent much of his time rubbing elbows with his guests and making the rounds to talk. He did this, however, with an eye on the ice, often interrupting conversations to cheer or yell an obscenity at the ref, whichever was appropriate.

  For the most part, he ignored me and frankly, it was a relief because I’m not quite sure how I would have reacted. Admitting this to only myself, I thought about him way too much over the last four days.

  Dominik mainly left me alone while I was gone. He texted a few times to check in to see how things were going. Once, he told me he couldn’t wait to see me. And I’d texted him after the Vengeance whooped Seattle’s ass in game two—3-2—to congratulate him.

  His response of, Can’t wait to celebrate with you, had made me feel all jittery and needy.

  I didn’t like it, but it made it clear the man had an effect on me that I couldn’t quite control.

  But now, with his hand on my lower back feeling heavy, possessive, and warm, I realize the obsessing I’ve done about him over the last few days was warranted. And I’ll admit to myself—but most certainly not to him—that he kind of has me hooked.

  In a non-relationship way, of course. I just mean I’m fascinated by him and I enjoy spending time with him between the sheets, and thus I am still quite agreeable to this no-strings thing we’ve got going on.

  That’s all it is.

  I swear.

  We take the elevator to the tenth floor, and Dominik steers me to a room on the end with a gold plaque to the side of the door proclaiming it to be the Presidential Suite.

  “Wow,” I drawl as he opens the door. “Fancy schmancy.”

  Dominik snorts, ushering me inside with his hand on my back. He strolls over to a wet bar flanking a large living area while peeling off his suit jacket, which he tosses over a chair. Rattling off the room’s stats, he uncorks a bottle of wine. “Almost twenty-five-hundred-square-feet, two bedrooms, two baths. You can’t see it now because it’s dark and rainy, but you and I will enjoy our breakfast in the morning with a sweeping view of Puget Sound, Elliot Bay, and the Olympic Mountains. You can’t beat the trifecta of scenery this one hotel room offers.”

  “I’m almost afraid to know how much this set you back,” I say as he hands me a glass of wine.

  “Only $6900 a night,” he replies with a wink. “But I can assure you, that amount does not set me back at all.”

  Laughing, I meander through the living area, taking a quick peek at the luxurious master suite. My back is to him when I remark, “I can’t even comprehend the type of wealth you have.”

  Suddenly, he’s right behind me, lips at my ear. “Why does my wealth bother you so much?”

  I turn around to face him, noting he carries a glass of amber liquid. “It doesn’t bother me. Just boggles my mind.”

  “Do you think this is frivolous?” he asks, sweeping his free hand out to indicate the luxurious accommodations.

  “A little,” I admit before taking a sip of the wine.

  “Then the next away game, we’ll stay in a motel,” he says magnanimously. “Promise.”

  Laughing, I shake my head. “Let’s not get carried away now.”

  Dominik grins, takes my hand, and leads me into the bedroom. My pulse quickens, knowing what’s coming and wondering if he’ll always make me feel this way.

  Wait.

  Always?

  There can’t be an always, Willow. You need to get rid of those thoughts.

  He releases my hand, kicks off his shoes, and climbs onto the bed. Positioning himself against the headboard without spilling a drop of his drink, he grins and pats the mattress. “Come tell me all about your trip to Ottawa.”

  For a moment, I feel the panic zing through me. As many dirty things as he’s done to my body, he’s done nothing as intimate as requesting I come lay in bed with him while we enjoy drinks and talk.

  He sees it on my face, too. “Relax, Willow,” he drawls. “I just want to have a drink with you and we can either stare at each other in silence, or we can talk. Ottawa seems pretty easy stuff to discuss, right?”

  I blow out a breath, a nervous laugh following. Climbing onto the bed, I balance my glass of red wine without bothering to kick off my shoes the way he had. He looks so perfectly yummy stretched out there in his fancy suit, wet hair, and tie hanging lopsided because of the angle he’s reclining. Contrasted to my oversized jersey, ripped jeans, and hair in a sloppy ponytail, I’m not quite sure what he sees in me, but I don’t ponder it much. I’ve never been one to obsess on whether my looks are good enough for anyone. A man either wants me or he doesn’t. If he doesn’t, it’s his loss, not mine.

  At least, that’s my attitude these days.

  “So… Ottawa,” Dominik prompts.

  I drag my fingertip across the rim of the wineglass, mulling over my last four days there. “It was fine. Nothing overly exciting happened unless you count the fact that some of the kids threw tomatoes at the Ottawa police and promptly got arrested.”

  Dominik laughs. “Ever do anything like that when you were in college?”

  “What makes you think I
went to college?” I ask.

  “Don’t play mysterious with me,” he counters with a stern expression. “I know you went to Michigan State. What was your degree in?”

  No clue how he knows that. Maybe social media, maybe my brother, or hell… maybe my parents spilled it at some point in one of the few times they’d met him. Not really important.

  “Photojournalism,” I say, then add. “And of course I did crazy stuff in college. Didn’t you?”

  “I never finished college,” he says, which absolutely shocks me. How did I not know this about him?

  “You’re kidding me?” My jaw hangs slightly open, and I clamp it shut. “I mean… is that common knowledge?”

  Dominik shrugs. “It’s no secret. I mean, the press made a big deal about it when I first bought the Quakes, but it’s not such hot news these days.”

  I just stare… agog. A man who thinks nothing of plopping down almost seven thousand a night on a hotel room hadn’t even finished college. I mean, not that people must have a degree to be successful in this life. I know that much.

  But damn if this doesn’t make him all the more mysterious and exciting, and I want to know more.

  “So how exactly did you get to be so rich and—”

  “Gorgeous?” he cuts in, his lips quirked up mischievously.

  “You’re passable,” I mutter, taking another sip of my wine. “But seriously… tell me how you did it. I mean, maybe I can become a multimillionaire like you.”

  “Billionaire,” he corrects.

  “Whatever,” I reply with an eyeroll. “So, dish. Tell me every gory detail.”

  Dominik settles into the pillows propped up against the headboard, then takes another sip of his drink. “Well, I went to UCLA and was halfway through my sophomore year—general business degree—when a friend and I started an on-campus internet radio company. It was more of a hobby than anything else, but then we started getting sponsors and drawing in decent advertising money. Our pitch was not categorizing music by decades or genres but by emotions.”

 

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