face or crazed fans hitting him up for autographs or cash. “If it’s not too much trouble, can I have a basket or two of bruschetta?” Demetri patted his stomach. “I’m starving, and I bet the guys finished what was on the table.”
“No problem. I’ll whip up a fresh batch for you.”
Demetri thanked him again and strode into the lounge. Dark wood paneling, vintage sports memorabilia and plush burgundy couches created a sophisticated decor. The tall, oversize windows provided a tranquil view of downtown Chicago and plenty of warm sunshine. It was the perfect weather for gardening or reading out on the deck, and as soon as Demetri finished his meeting, that was exactly what he was going to do.
“Sorry I’m late, but the I-94 was backed up for miles,” Demetri said, taking off his hoodie and chucking it inside the booth. Sitting down, he snatched a menu off of the table and flipped it open. “Did you guys order already?”
His agent, Todd Nicholas, answered with a nod of his head. Buff, with blue eyes and tanned skin, he looked like the quintessential all-American boy. “I have a meeting across town in an hour, but I couldn’t leave here without having Chef Sal’s delicious lasagna. I’ve been craving it all week.”
Demetri stared longingly at the barbecue chicken wings and licked his lips.
“Want some?” Nichola picked up the basket and offered it to him. “Go ahead, Demetri. They’re all yours.”
“Are you sure? I know how much you love Sal’s wings.”
“I’m sure. I shouldn’t be cheating on my diet anyway.”
Demetri plucked a wing out of the basket and took a big bite. “Thanks, Nichola. I can always count on you to give me just what I need.”
“Just make sure you remember that when my birthday rolls around in August!” she said, swiveling her neck. “I want shopping money and Porsche Cayenne in pink just like Mariah Carey!”
Demetri released a hearty chuckle. Small and petite, with a short, funky haircut, Nichola looked more like a high school student than a Princeton graduate. A friend of his family for years, he’d hired her as a favor to his father, Arturo, and in the twelve years Nichola had been working for him, he’d never once regretted his decision.
“You’re moving a lot better today.” Nichola wore a concerned expression on her face, but her tone was upbeat and bright. “How’s the shoulder?”
“Not bad. It’s only been a couple weeks since the surgery, but my surgeon and physiotherapist are pleased with my progress.”
“Is that where you were this morning? At your doctor’s office?”
Demetri glanced to his right. His manager, Lloyd Kesler, may have needed a haircut, and an extreme fashion makeover, but when it came to negotiating deals, he was the best in the business. “No, I’ve been around. Just maxin’ and relaxin’.”
“Around, huh? Doing what?”
“You know, this and that.” Demetri continued eating the barbecue chicken wings. They were onto him. He was sure of it. He couldn’t do anything without this terrible threesome finding out, but he wasn’t going to let anyone make him feel guilty for confronting Angela Kelly. The television newscaster had it coming to her. Or at least that was what he told himself when guilt tormented his conscience.
“Why are you giving me the third degree for being a couple minutes late?” Demetri said, choosing to stare at the mounted flat-screen TV instead of at his chubby, high-strung business manager. “I said I was sorry, man, so let it go. It’s no big deal.”
Nichola and Todd exchanged a worried glance, one he’d seen a million times over the years they’d all been working together, but it was Lloyd who spoke.
“You disregarded my advice and went down to WJN-TV station, didn’t you?”
Demetri shrugged. “So, what if I did?”
“I told you I would handle it.”
“You were taking too long,” he said, shrugging his shoulders once more.
Nichola pointed a finger at him. “You went down to the TV station dressed like that?”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?”
“Nothing if you’re a street sweeper!” she quipped, laughing. “Why didn’t you wear a suit? You look gorgeous in Armani, and you have the entire fall collection in your closet. I should know. I hung everything up when it arrived last week.”
Demetri opened his mouth but quickly closed it. His team wouldn’t understand. Every time he left the house, he felt as if there were a giant bull’s-eye on his back, but with sunglasses, a baseball cap and workout gear on, no one recognized him. He could go about his business without pushy fans or sports reporters breathing down his neck. “To be honest, I didn’t think much about what I put on,” he lied.
“Well, you certainly fooled me.” Todd snickered as he draped an arm along the back of the oversize booth. “I didn’t recognize you when you walked in, and I’ve been your agent for more than a decade!”
“I didn’t even know you owned sweatpants.” Nichola’s short strawberry-blond curls bounced all over her head as she laughed. “I thought you were a delivery guy!”
Good—my disguise worked, Demetri thought.
“I’m scared to even ask what happened down at the studio.”
Lloyd looked stiff, like a statue in a wax museum. His eyes were narrowed so thin, Demetri couldn’t see his pupils.
“What did Ms. Kelly say when you confronted her?”
A picture of the titillating newscaster flashed in Demetri’s mind, and despite himself, a grin tickled his lips. “What didn’t she say? The woman reamed me out, and at one point things got so heated, I thought she was going to give me a Chi-Town beat down!”
Todd chuckled and then said, “I really wish you hadn’t gone over there, Demetri. You’re supposed to be focusing on rehab and restoring the strength in your shoulder, not...”
Demetri’s eyes wandered in the direction of the open kitchen. He spotted the waitress sashaying toward him, bread basket in hand, and licked his lips in hungry anticipation. When their eyes met, she stumbled and her legs buckled out from underneath her, sending the bread basket into the air. Dozens of buttered rolls shot across the shiny tiled floor.
Everyone at the table laughed, except Demetri.
“Are you okay?” Demetri slid out of the booth, clasped the waitress’s forearm and slowly helped her to her feet. “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”
“No, no, I’m okay...just really embarrassed.”
“Here,” he said, bending down. “Let me help you clean up.”
Demetri gathered the discarded rolls, tossed them into the wicker basket and handed it back to her. “Be careful. These floors are slick,” he warned, offering a reassuring smile. “I almost fell flat on my face the last time I was here!”
“I—I—I
