Louise.
The vines that traced up his arm wrapped around the artistic ink of Louise.
Sadie gulped down the ridiculous jealousy she felt toward his camera. He could get tattoos of whatever he wanted. It was no longer her business.
Truly, it’d never been her business.
“Why’d you get a tat of Louise?” Sadie heard herself ask. Crap, she wasn’t really going to go there. She didn’t need to know any more about Roman than she already did. Yet, here she was, asking away.
He glanced at the ink peeking from under his sleeve. “Felt like the right thing to do after all we’d been through.”
“Makes sense,” Sadie said. For the record, it did not make sense.
Roman stopped talking long enough for the silence to stretch before he spoke again. “We were grabbing snaps of a routine mission when things went to shit. Louise caught the glint of the metal when I was clicking.” He slid his gaze to Sadie. “Machine gun. Not our guys.”
Holy crap. She knew he’d been in bad situations, but she’d never thought too much on what those might be.
“We did not see them coming, but she did. That non-complex mission got complex quick.” He patted the tattoo, took a breath, and soldiered on. “Didn’t think we’d make it out. We had to change our plans.”
His jaw ticked and Sadie wished she could reach over and touch the image of Louise.
“Bunch of soldiers took bullets.” He squinted behind his sunglasses. “Everyone survived though, thanks to Louise. I commemorated the experience with ink.”
“So the vines…?” she asked.
“We were in the jungle.” His shoulder lift indicated it was no big deal, but the visible pounding of the pulse in his throat told the truth for him.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said, and she meant it.
He slowed his pace after she spoke.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about you today,” he said. The angles of his jawline drew her attention away from the imprint of Louise. She’d forgotten how his jaw worked when he was deep in thought.
“Yeah?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Yeah.”
Sadie had been thinking a lot about him, too.
Roman nudged her arm with his elbow. “Maybe we should babysit again together. This time without the kid.”
“That would be a date,” Sadie pointed out.
“And?” he asked
And apparently, he was asking her out.
“Rome, I was serious when I told you that my career is my life. Especially right now.”
That got his attention. He slowed further, seemingly trying to stretch their walk to take more time. “Why now?”
She couldn’t tell him about her silly superstition. As Marlee had said recently, it wasn’t one case to decide them all. Still, though, once Sadie got through this one, she could move forward with the confidence she knew she deserved.
“It’s ridiculous,” Sadie said.
“I’m sure it’s not.” Roman didn’t push further though.
“I’m also spending a lot of time with Luke.” She held up her fingers as she counted. “And I moved into my apartment. Still getting settled there.” Those were two additional things. “And I’m trying to adjust to being back in Denver.” Four full things to divert her attention from him.
“You like to do shit on your own, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question. He also didn’t look at her as he spoke. His focus stayed straight ahead.
And yes, generally, she did prefer to get things done by herself.
At least then she’d know they were done correctly.
His loose-limbed gait was easy. Some might even call it cocky. He glanced at her then, but she couldn’t see his eyes, couldn’t get a read on them, since they were covered with sunglasses.
“When we’re done here, you want to grab some grub?” he asked.
She paused.
“Platonic grub,” he assured.
“I can’t.” She shook her head.
“Did you know when you’re not exactly telling the truth, your nose scrunches up, just the tiniest amount?” he asked, looking straight ahead again.
Did it? No, that couldn’t be right.
“It does not.”
“Totally does.”
Sadie crossed her arms across her chest. “You’re just grouchy because I shot you down.”
“Nah, I’m grouchy because you want to go, but you still shot me down.”
“I don’t want to go,” she huffed.
Maybe she did. Just a little.
He raised his eyebrows over the rim of the sunglasses. “You’re doing the nose-scrunch thing.”
“Fine, I would love to go grab some ‘grub’ with you, but I have to figure out how to set up an entire office out of nothing so I can meet with clients there tomorrow.”
“See, this is communication and communication is good. I will gladly help you set up your new office. We can order in.”
“I didn’t ask you for help.”
“You didn’t have to. I offered.”
“That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”
Roman stopped. He turned. “I’m going to be straight with you.”
“Ooookay.”
“I want a shot with you.”
Yes, he’d made that perfectly clear.
“Rome—”
“I know, you’re married to your career. I’m good with that. I do not mind being the other man in this situation.”
“I’m not in an open relationship with my career.” Was this conversation really happening?
“Maybe you should reconsider it. I can meet needs that your career can’t even think about.”
Oh, for goodness’ sake. Sadie knew all about the needs he could meet. Her cheeks burned at the thought of how nice that might actually be.
“My needs are handled,” she said.
Somewhat.
Roman lifted his sunglasses to the top of his head. “Oh yeah?”
He only said those two words, yet they held a whole lotta innuendo.
“Yes,” she said, defiant.
“Then why did your nose scrunch when you said it?”
Sadie’s cheeks felt flushed. “Seriously, is this about sex?”
“No.” Roman dropped his sunglasses back in place, loping back up the street. “It’s also about eating. What are we having for lunch?”
“If I have lunch with you, are you going to stop talking about having sex with me?”
“No.”
Sadie graduated at the top of her law class, won debates consistently, and was the queen of the comeback.
Yet, she had no witty response for Roman.
“I’m a Dvornakov. We bond over vodka and food. Usually at the same time. I’d like to bond with you.”
What on earth was she supposed to say to that?
They arrived at a four-story red brick building with a turnstile entrance and neat rows of potted plants lining the walkway—the kind so vibrant and flush with greenery that it must’ve taken a full gardening team to manage them. Already, the building was an improvement over hot pink with yellow polka dots and penis-cookies.
Roman opened the door, waited for Sadie to enter, and… Oh yes, this place was nice. A fountain trickled in the background of the atrium area. At the top of the stone centerpiece was a giant seashell pulsing water over a coral feature that poured into an oversized etched stone bowl, ending in a pool of blue water surrounded by a stone bench.
Which meant…
“This place is out of my budget.” It would continue to be until she brought on several partners, it seemed.
Roman slid his sunglasses on top of his head. “You don’t even know what the rent is.”
“There’s a big-ass fountain.” She gestured to the pennies, dimes, and even quarters scattered in the water.
“I figured that’s a selling point.”
“I’m not at the fountain stage of my revamped career.”
Her law fir
m in Chicago had a fountain like this in the foyer. She’d totally taken it for granted.
“Maybe I can help with that. Because, Sadie, you deserve fountains. Life should be fountains and wishes. You deserve all the wishes.” His thoughtful words pulled on her crumbs of hope.
Emotion clogged Sadie’s throat. “You really think that?”
She hadn’t had fountains in a long, long time. When was the last time she’d even taken the time to stop and make a wish?
“I do”—his deep voice went deeper—“think that.”
Roman had seen the worst of what people could do to each other. Worse than what she’d witnessed in the courtrooms of Chicago.
“How can you see what you’ve seen and still believe in fountains and wishes?” she asked.
“Because there has to be more than the bullshit of reality when some asshole is shooting at you.” He stared at his boots. “I’ve had that. Each second matters, Sadie. You can live your life recording moments for others behind the camera or managing them in a courtroom, but at some point, you have to take control for yourself.”
Oh.
“Why don’t you show me the office.” Sadie started toward the bank of elevators next to a staircase.
Roman followed, his hand in the space behind her back, not touching, but close.
If he’d just move past that centimeter of air and let his palm rest against her, then maybe she could believe in wishes, too.
“This way.” He dropped his hand and pulled a keychain from his pocket, starting up the staircase.
They arrived at a thick wooden door and Roman twisted the key in the lock until it clicked. He pushed open the door.
Lovely. The office was adorable with furniture already in place in the little waiting area. Not even second-hand furniture. He hadn’t mentioned the place came furnished.
That alone would save her a decent chunk.
A metal reception desk sat at one side of the waiting room and there was one office with its own door. Paint wasn’t chipped—also, not hot pink. The gray-patterned carpet felt new.
This was definitely fountain worthy.
There was even room against one of the walls for her own fish tank. With all the research she’d been doing for Tonya, a school of her own sounded like a great low-maintenance idea.
“We all share the conference room near the elevator.” He flicked on a light. “There’s a notebook outside the door for scheduling. It’s old school. We use pen and paper, so don’t expect to be able to sign up online or anything.”
Pulling open the curtains to let light into the space, he looked out the window and gave a little wave. Sadie glanced out the clear glass that didn’t even have water spots from last week’s downpour.
A group of elderly women were on the back patio of the retirement home waving back.
“You’ll probably want to keep the curtains closed most of the time.” Roman pulled them tight. “We also share the break room. It’s not much. One of the ladies also owns the vending machines, so they have a strict no chips and soda in the break room—outside of what the machines provide—rule. They also get testy if they find out you’re storing soda in your office, so be sure to lock that shit up tight.”
Sadie drifted around the office. It wasn’t huge. Actually, it was kind of small compared to her old space in Chicago.
But it would be hers. Her own practice coming to reality. Who needed a partnership in a fancy Chicago law firm when she could have all this to herself?
She ran her fingertip along the edge of the desk.
“How much?” Her teeth sank into her bottom lip.
“What can you afford?”
“I can afford free legal advice.”
Roman chuckled, coming beside her. His scent of cinnamon and orange had a subtle undertone of something cool.
She wanted to lean into him.
She didn’t. Instead, she turned and looked up at him. She generally kept her poker face firmly in place. Yet, suddenly, she really wanted this office. “Seriously, how much?”
He named a price that was well below the average for the area, adding, “And I’m certain the owners would appreciate your legal help on an as-needed basis.”
“It should be snapped up at that rate.”
He peeked out through the curtains toward the patio of the retirement home. “We’re selective in what businesses come into the building, so we don’t advertise the offices.” He leveled a stare her way. “I trust you.”
“Will they?”
“They trust me. I trust you.”
That was nice, but— “I’m still writing up an agreement. So it’s clear what I can offer.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Roman’s gaze sparkled, and the light shone through the edge of the curtain covering the window like a promise.
“You know, you’re totally saving my bacon here,” Sadie said.
He grinned. “I happen to like your bacon. I’d like another go at your bacon.”
For the second time in an hour, Sadie Howard blushed.
Sadie never blushed.
Roman seemed to bring that out in her. Frequently.
“That didn’t sound at all like what I meant.” Roman toed at the carpet. “The bacon part, but I definitely meant the part about spending some time together without the baby.”
She couldn’t. They’d had their chance. It had failed. Doing a repeat would only make everything hurt worse when it failed again.
“Where’s your office?” she asked, avoiding his request.
He gave a resigned sigh. “Other end of the building. Same floor.”
She could live with that.
“I want to make this office happen.” She pressed her hands against her waist and did a slow spin, taking it all in. Yes, this would work just fine.
He jerked his head toward the doorway. “Let’s go talk to Babushka.”
Chapter Twelve
Roman needed a new assistant. Preferably, someone unrelated to him.
He set Louise on the table near the door, dropping his gear to the side.
He’d thought shooting weddings would be a cakewalk compared to the battlefields he was used to. Turned out, when the world rubbed them wrong, brides could pull out their own forms of heavy artillery.
He’d take a grenade over a bridal explosion any day of the week. At least grenades were somewhat predictable—you pulled the pin, they went off. Brides…not so much. Sometimes a guy was just minding his own business, setting his f-stops, and a bride would go off about her desire for him to Photoshop new hair onto her maid of honor.
The maid of honor in question had received an unauthorized haircut the week of the wedding.
This was apparently a very large bridal no-no.
“You’re moping.” Babushka, his self-appointed personal assistant—the one he needed to replace—fussed with the tripod he’d just set beside the desk in his studio space down the hall from Sadie’s office.
When Babushka had announced she was going to help him out, he’d been all in. See, she’d done this with his brother and his now-wife Heather when she was working to coax those two together. It had worked. They’d gotten married and were now living the blissfully happy life of newlyweds who shagged all the time.
Roman wanted that. The blissful and the shagging.
He’d expected a little Babushka treatment would help along a relationship status with Sadie.
He’d been patiently waiting over the past week for Babushka to do her magic. So far, all she’d done was let the air out of his tires and steal his cell phone.
Babushka acted like she didn’t even care that he was single, which he knew was total bull. She was playing him with reverse psychology. He’d bet money on it.
The whole thing really started to grate on him. He’d left all sorts of openings for her to butt in.
“You know what?” Roman asked
“Vhat?” she replied, still innocently fighting the already-ready-to-be-put-away tripod like she didn�
�t know she was failing her grandson.
“I’m so disappointed in you.” He was. He really was.
She raised her weathered eyebrows. “Vhat did I do?”
Ah, she was all sincere elderly lady. He called bulllllllshit.
“What’s your problem with Sadie?” he asked.
Babushka slid her gaze from him to the door, then back to him. “Sadie? Attorney? Good hips?”
Ding. Ding. Ding. That was the one. “Uh-huh.”
Sadie had jumped at the chance to take the office. He hadn’t known contracts could be drawn up so quickly, but Sadie had presented a tidy little lease that included an abundance of pro bono legal work for all the owners of the building.
Then she’d moved in.
Every time he’d seen her since, she’d kept a strictly platonic distance. Which sucked, because he hadn’t gotten her out of his head at all.
“Sadie is the woman who makes you frown,” Babushka said, looking up from her tripod fight, the feigned innocence utter bullshit.
“No, Sadie is the woman who makes me smile.” He used his index fingers to force his lips into a smile.
Babushka, finally happy with the tripod, placed it against the wall. “She is good voman?”
“She’s amazing,” Roman replied, totally serious. He picked at the label on his water bottle.
“Vell then.” Babsushka pressed her lips into an odd line, sort of making her look like a caricature an artist would draw down at the 16th Street Mall.
“I thought you were helping me out,” Roman continued. “But all you’ve done is hold my lights and fold my tripod.”
“This is not helping out?” Babushka asked.
“Not the kind of help I need.” He handed her a bottle of water.
She shook her head. “They poison the plastic.”
“That’s not true.” He unscrewed the cap for himself and took a swig to prove his point. “See, still alive.”
Babushka waved her hand at him. “Poison yourself if you must.” She paused and then asked, in total seriousness, “Sadie is von who makes you happy? You’re sure?”
She didn’t sound like she believed it.
“Yeah.” He shoved his hands on his hips. “And a little help would be much appreciated. I’m floundering here. I mean, yeah, the tire thing was over the top, but it was a start. What gives? Frankly, I expected better from you.”
Do Me a Favor: A second chance, hilarious rom com! (Mile High Matched Book 4) Page 12