I run my hands over my crisp, white shirt and black pencil skirt and push my glasses up on my nose before holding out my hand. “I’m Talia.”
“Boris Drăghici,” he says. God, his voice is sexy. “I’m looking for Nathaniel Wentworth.”
A tiny laugh escapes my throat and Boris looks confused. “It’s Natalia. That’s me. I’m Natalia Wentworth.”
Boris’ look of confusion settles further into his handsome face. “I thought you said your name was Talia?”
Tah-lee-uh. The way he says it, stretching out the syllables in his accent? It’s really quite lovely.
“Natalia,” I say, and my voice is stupidly breathless. “Talia for short. I promise I’m the one you’re looking for.”
He meets my gaze and for just a moment, there’s almost a bit of surprise in his eyes. Surprise that disappears as he pulls his top lip through his teeth and looks away, his cheeks turning slightly pink. It’s really disarming; he seems genuinely shy.
“Have a seat?” I suggest.
His name sounds so familiar but I just can’t place it right at the moment. I blame his good looks. They have scrambled my normally high-functioning brain. He obliges and I return to the other side of my desk, thankful to sit back down, thankful to hopefully talk numbers, a subject that will return me to an intelligent frame of mind.
“You seem young for a financial planner,” Boris comments. He looks around the office. It’s a very boring space with off-white walls, and a brown, hardwood floor. No art. Bunch of unpacked boxes. A half-eaten sandwich sits on top of the file cabinet. No doubt it’s not just my age that’s causing him to doubt my ability.
“I’m twenty-three, which is young by most standards. However, I graduated high school at sixteen and college at nineteen. Harold hired me as an apprentice right out of school and I’ve had my own portfolio of clients since I was twenty. I promise I know what I’m doing.”
“I am…intimidated,” he says with a half-smile. “Perhaps you are too smart to talk to me.”
“No, never,” I answer, smiling back. “What can I help you with?”
Boris sighs. “I just moved here from Austin, and…”
“Hockey!” I exclaim. Boris tilts his head in question. “I’m sorry. I was trying to figure out why your name sounded familiar. You’re a hockey player. Right?”
“Yes, I played for Austin and just got traded to the Crush,” he affirms. “I have an investment guy in Russia but I am concerned my investments are not being well-managed. I have a big contract here and I want to protect it and make sure it is well-invested.”
“Do you have a lot of expenses?” I ask. “Do you need a lot of it to be easily liquidated?”
“No,” I say. “I live very simply at the moment. I just want to protect my income. For the longer term.”
“Okay, well, you’re in the right place, Boris. Do you have any of your current investment paperwork with you?”
He shakes his head. “I am sorry, I was not sure what you would need and thought I would just stop in to talk for a moment. Everything is at my apartment. Can I get it and take you to dinner to talk about it?”
Chapter 5: Very Perky Indeed
Boris
Oh no. Talia’s mouth is hanging open a bit. I wonder if she thinks I am being inappropriate.
“I hope I have not offended you,” I say quickly, trying to smooth things over. “I don’t cook and I just moved here. I thought maybe we could eat and talk because I skipped lunch and I don’t know the town yet and I feel kind of dumb eating by myself.”
I must sound like such an idiot, babbling on like this.
Talia blinks and then says, “I’m not offended. I, too, am new to Las Vegas. I haven’t figured out the single-appropriate restaurants yet, either.”
“Oh, yes. Good.”
She checks her watch and says, “I have a few calls to make but if you come back at seven, we can walk somewhere nearby. Bring your statements.”
I rise from the chair and hold out a hand, which she shakes before turning back to the computer, peering through her thick, dark frames, and picking up the phone. I guess that means this meeting is over for the moment, so I say thanks and wander back out the door.
As I make the short walk home, I think about Talia Wentworth. First, Scott definitely said Nathaniel, right? Or did I hear the wrong name and assume it would be a man? And she’s so young, just twenty-three. How can someone so young be representing the many millions of dollars that athletes make each year? She seems competent, though, and certainly seemed to know what she was talking about. Still, this is a big contract and I think my personal investments are falling way behind where they should be. I really need someone who is a pro at this stuff. Maybe I should call Scott back.
When I call, he answers right away.
“Hey man,” I say. “I hate to bother you again, but you said Nathaniel Wentworth, right?”
“No sir, Natalia. She’s female,” he answers.
“Did you know she is only twenty-three?”
“I know she’s young, Boris, but I promise she’s a top dog. Harold swears by her, calls her a genius. She comes highly recommended. Don’t sweat it.”
“Okay, then. She seems smart…”
“She is. Just give her a shot.”
I thank him and hang up, then decide a shower is probably in order. I change into a button-down, rolling the sleeves up to my forearms, dark jeans, and a pair of brown shoes. I don’t pay a lot of attention to fashion, but I think I look presentable. I gather all of my financial papers and shove them in a folder, and then head back out to walk the few blocks back to her office.
When I open the door, she’s on a call again. She talks a mile a minute about how the market is very volatile right now. “I don’t know of any sure bets in the stock market right now, sir, but I agree this one seems solid for the long term,” she’s saying. She looks up and holds up a finger to let me know she’ll be a minute. I wander to the window and look out at the setting sun to the west. Right at my feet are open file boxes. I see names of several pro athletes. Like, names you’d see in the news all the time. Very famous athletes and ex-athletes. Scott wasn’t kidding; if this young woman is working with all of these people, then she really must be a financial whiz.
She finishes her call and I turn around, just in time to see her stand and knock a cup of coffee all over her crisp, white dress shirt.
“Shit!” She grabs a wadded-up napkin and tries to dab at it, to no use. “Well, at least it wasn’t hot, right?”
“Do you have another shirt?” I ask.
“Do I have another shirt,” she repeats, more to herself than to me. Then she smiles brightly and says, “Yes, yes I do,” as she comes out from behind the desk to root around in a box by my feet.
It’s such a tiny office. Just barely room for her desk and chairs and filing cabinet. Adding a number of unpacked boxes just makes it feel even smaller. And now she tells me to turn around so she can change her shirt. She’s not a foot away from me and she’s pulling off her white blouse right behind me. I don’t know what to think. She’s clearly oblivious to the danger this could pose to her if she were ever alone with the wrong person. I look out the window but I can still see the reflection of her in her white, lace bra. She’s got smallish breasts but they are very perky. Her waist is so tiny. I thought she was just a numbers nerd with her big glasses and her quick mind, but she is quite attractive. More than I realized when I met her earlier.
I should not be thinking about her this way if she is to be my financial advisor. This is a professional relationship.
“There,” she says. That must be my cue to turn around. When I do, she asks, “Better?”
She has changed into a white T-shirt. It’s got a V-neck and slim line that tucks nicely into her black skirt. It’s barely different than what she had on before, just slightly more casual. I feel my face settle into a slight grin. Suddenly, all I can think about are those perky, little breasts. I mentally kick myself
back to a more appropriate line of thinking. She could help me with this money situation; I can’t come off as some kind of horny weirdo.
“What kind of food are you in the mood for, Talia?”
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releasing
FEBRUARY 27, 2020
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Acknowledgments
Katie, Franzi, Luna, Pamela: I don’t know where I’d be without your continual encouragement and friendship. Just a very heartfelt THANK YOU from me to you. With a hug. And a ton of sloppy kisses. OxxxxxxxO
To all of the lovelies in my reader group on Facebook, you are my bright rays of sunshine just when I need it the most. Simba, Wendy, Martha, and Miria, thank you so much for your efforts in keeping the ship afloat even when the captain is off on a bender somewhere. (Me! I am the captain!!) Your posts never go unnoticed or deeply appreciated.
Thank you to my loyal, patient, kind, lovely, amazing, supportive readers. You make this whole gig possible. Please don’t ever change. LOL
Blessings et al.
About Brit DeMille
Brit DeMille is the alter ego of NYT Bestselling author, Raine Miller, having an absolute blast writing books quite different from what she writes as Raine.
Stories about sexy billionaires [millionaires make the cut too] who fall in instalove with young women who may or may not be virgins, and then go on to make adorable babies together are her favorite themes. In addition to the billionaires, hot hockey players are at the top of her list of favorite heroes, along with royals and ex-military bodyguards.
Most important when she writes a story is a happily ever after. But during the actual writing of the story, the most important thing is a cup of hot tea with a splash of milk (and don’t forget the stash of cherry Jolly Ranchers). A dog or two will likely be in between her and the chair at any given moment, which is very handy, because they are the ones who approve everything she writes.
You can connect with Brit/Raine on Facebook in her Raine Miller Romance Readers group. She’s there most every day.
Also by Raine Miller
HISTORICAL ROMANCE
The PASSION of DARIUS
The UNDOING of a LIBERTINE
The MUSE
CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
CHERRY GIRL
PRICELESS
HUSBAND MATERIAL
BLACKSTONE DYNASTY
FILTHY RICH, I
FILTHY LIES, II
THE BLACKSTONE AFFAIR
NAKED, Part 1
ALL IN, Part 2
EYES WIDE OPEN, Part 3
RARE and PRECIOUS THINGS, Part 4
Writing as Vivienne Wilmont
LORD BLACKWOOD’S VIRGIN
Writing as Brit DeMille
CRUSHED, Vegas Crush #1
SIN SHOT, Vegas Crush #2
RED ROCKET, Vegas Crush #3
PUCK MONEY, Vegas Crush #4
Red Rocket: A Hockey Love Story Page 22