Ivan 2 (Her Russian Protector #9) - Roxie Rivera Page 0,3
process. Ivan still isn’t sure he’ll agree to let them use the gym. He’s so protective of the Warehouse and his fighters. Plus,” I sighed, “there’s that whole, well, you know, angle to his life. He doesn’t want to bring any attention to it.”
“Understandable.”
“I hate that choices he made as a kid—like a really young kid—are impacting him now in ways he could never have anticipated back then.”
“Life sucks that way,” she remarked, not unkindly. “But, people are forgiving and the field he’s in doesn’t exactly shy away from troublemakers. It might make him even more popular as a coach.”
“Maybe.” Without much else to say about it, I asked her about the upcoming Denim and Diamonds Gala and the pieces Zoya had donated for the silent auction. She was so modest about the fact her jewelry had been showcased in all of the promo for the event.
“You can downplay it all you want,” I said as sorted our recyclables from trash at the bins by the door, “but Savannah used your jewelry for a reason. She knows it’s a draw, and she knows there will be heated bidding over each piece. You should use that to your benefit. Draw in more clients.”
“We have a strong client base,” she remarked and pushed open the door. “I don’t know that I can handle many more commissions.”
“Have you and your dad considered expanding? Adding in more employees on the production side?”
“We talk about it all the time, but he’s so hesitant to bring anyone else into our little company. It’s frustrating, especially when we’re swamped with work, but I understand why he wants it that way. He’s protecting what he built, and he’s ensuring that it stays something small and intimate. There’s a reason we can charge what we do for our pieces.”
“That’s true.” I tugged the hood of my borrowed sweatshirt up over my head as a shield against the cold drizzle and made a face.
As if reading my mind, she said, “At least it’s not sleeting.”
“Thank goodness,” I agreed. “We are not cut out for winter driving around here.”
“You should hear my dad when he’s driving and there’s ice. I’m always afraid he’s going to have a stroke yelling at the other cars.”
“I can imagine.” A memory of Ivan going bananas came to mind. “During the ice storm last winter, Ivan was driving us to dinner, and the shit coming out of his mouth was astounding. I mean, seriously, there were so many Russian swear words flying out of his mouth in combinations I had never imagined. I wanted to take notes, but he forbade it.”
She laughed. “I’m sure he did.”
Doing my best deep, rumbling impression of my husband, I said, “No, don’t ever repeat that! Those words are too nasty for your pretty mouth.”
Zoya giggled. “That’s a pretty good impression of him.”
“My sister’s is better,” I remarked. “Of course, she’s usually doing it to make me mad.”
Zoya smiled sympathetically. “When does she get out?”
“A couple of days after New Year’s.”
“That soon?”
“It’s later than we had expected,” I explained. “She got into some trouble a few months back, and that meant she had to serve more of her sentence behind bars. She still has a lot of probation, though.”
“Do you think she’s going to be okay now? Stay clean?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted reluctantly. “I hope so. I want her to be healthy and happy again. The way she was before the drugs,” I added, “but I know that may not be possible. I’ve been going to these meetings for family members of drug addicts. To prepare for when she comes out,” I explained, “and one of the things I’ve learned is that I need to let go of the idea that she’s the same person she was before the drugs. She’s been changed by the experiences, and I have to remember that and accept and love this newer, changed version of her.”
“I hope for her sake and yours that she’s on a better path,” Zoya said earnestly. “Will she be going into a halfway house?”
“No, we’re letting her stay with us until she gets back onto her feet.” My stomach clenched with anxiety. The anticipated friction between my husband and my sister sent my heartbeat into overdrive and that jolt of caffeine I had just had wasn’t helping any.
“What’s that look for?” she asked as we crossed the parking lot to our vehicles.
“Ivan and Ruby don’t get along.” Actually, they hated each other, and I hated being in the middle