Chapter Text
“Maybe if you weren’t such a miserable FUCKING ASSHOLE-,”
“Oh, shut the fuck-,”
Shane tunes out the couple screaming at each other across the table, discreetly trying to massage his temples with his fingertips as he feels a tension headache creeping into the back of his skull. He looks across the shiny wooden tabletop at the other attorney seated across from him. The poor guy looks like he’s two seconds away from jumping out the window and he shoots Shane a pained look as their respective clients continue their screaming match.
Shane heaves a deep sigh and raps his pen sharply on the tabletop to get their attention.
“Mrs Hannigan, please-,”
“Don’t call me that!” She sits back in her chair and primly straightens her cardigan. “I’m not using that fucker’s name anymore.”
Mr Hannigan rolls his eyes. Shane shoots a warning look at his client.
“Enough! We are not going to get anywhere if mediation continues like this,” Shane says sharply. “And Daniel,” he continues in a low undertone, turning to face his client, “Forgive me for being blunt, but may I remind you that my retainer is $300 per hour? So, please, let’s not waste any more time.”
-
“So I know they call us both nepo babies, but that doesn’t mean you need to stay at the office until 10pm every night to prove them wrong, you know?”
Shane looks up from the document that is starting to turn blurry on his screen. Rose’s head is poking around his office door. He pulls off his glasses and rubs his eyes tiredly.
“It’s 8pm, Rose. What’s your excuse for still being here, too?”
Rose has been his closest friend since they were kids, back when his mom and her uncle were still working out of their first, tiny little strip mall office, determined to make Hollander & Landry one of the best law firms in the city.
Even through college when Shane was at McGill and Rose was off at Harvard, they still texted almost every day, venting about their assignments, comparing notes from lectures and bitching about their professors. Post-graduation, Rose had decided to specialise in Entertainment Law, and Shane had been thrilled when she’d decided to move back to Ottawa to join their firm after a two-year stint in Los Angeles.
“I’m surprised Yuna hasn’t dragged you out of the office by your ear yet,” Rose remarks, collapsing into one of the chairs in front of Shane’s desk.
Shane huffs out a laugh. “Please, you know my mom is just as bad of a workaholic. She just takes her cases home and continues in her home office.”
“Have you eaten yet?” Rose levels a look at him, probably knowing the answer already.
“I’ll grab something on the way home,” Shane mutters.
After Rose leaves, although not before making Shane swear he’s going to leave the office within the next ten minutes, he picks up his phone. A slew of notifications light up the screen.
Outlook Calendar alert: 9:00am tomorrow, Porter-Chapman brief due
Outlook Calendar alert: 10:30am tomorrow, Meeting: Family Law Team weekly check-in
Email from Hayden Pike: Urgent: Yang-Matherson case - can we discuss?
Outlook Calendar alert: 1:00pm tomorrow, Meeting: I.Rozanov
Email from Yuna Hollander: Re: Paralegal reviews due ASAP
Email from John Landry: Re: Re: Financial report from Q2
Shane swipes away the list of alerts distractedly and stares at his phone screen for a few moments, a sudden buzz of restless energy surging through him. He blankly opens the Grindr app, clicking on a recent conversation and typing out a quick message.
Within an hour, Shane is back in his apartment, suit jacket shrugged off and folded carefully over the back of his couch. He catches sight of his reflection in the mirror by his front door and he narrows his eyes critically at himself. His dark hair is messy, white shirt unbuttoned from where he’d removed his tie earlier and there’s purplish circles under his eyes. He half-heartedly attempts to tidy his hair, but gives up as soon as the knock comes at the front door.
He’s seen Matt a few times before, and it’s always been…fine.
There’s no small talk, no romance - Shane doesn't need that. He doesn’t want that. He needs to get pounded into the mattress hard and have an orgasm good enough to forget about the day for two minutes. Then afterwards, once they catch their breath, he needs Matt to leave, so he can have a shower and set his alarm for 6:30am sharp, enough time to fit in a workout at the gym before he gets to the office and eats breakfast at his desk while he checks his emails.
It’s his routine, it’s comfortable and it’s what he’s always done. He has an intense, busy job, which he loves, and a perfectly fine social life- despite Hayden and Rose constantly telling him that having only two friends who are also his colleagues does not constitute a social life.
Shane doesn’t need anything else.
—-
“Morning Shane, here’s your rundown for the day,” Zoe, his assistant who definitely deserves a raise, says as she sets a folder and a steaming mug of green tea on his desk.
“And Hayden’s assistant asked if you can fit in a quick catch-up to go over the Yang-Matherson case this afternoon? You both have a free slot at 12:30pm, but your next meeting is at 1pm, so you might not have time for lunch.”
Shane switches on his laptop and takes a quick sip of his tea. “What’s my 1pm? Any chance we can push that back?”
Zoe frowns as she looks down at her tablet. “Not likely, I’ve been back and forth with this guy to lock this in and he’s got a busy schedule. It’s a new client meeting with a Mr Ilya Rozanov?”
Shane just narrowly avoids spilling scalding hot tea all over his lap. “Ilya Rozanov?”
“Yeah, you know him?”
“He’s a hockey player…” Shane says faintly. “Like, a really famous one.”
“I don’t watch sport,” Zoe replies.
“Uh…okay, just tell Hayden we’ll do 12:30, we’ll just have to eat lunch at the same time. He won’t be happy, but he can deal with it.”
Sure enough, five minutes later a Teams message pops up in the corner of his laptop screen. The rest of the screen is open on a Google search page on Ilya Rozanov.
Hayden Pike: Dude, lunch catch-up at 12:30pm, really? And I have to go straight to another meeting at 1.
Shane Hollander: So do I, stop being a baby.
Shane Hollander: If it makes you feel better, we can order in banh mi for lunch, from that place you like.
Hayden Pike: Yesss.
Shane Hollander: You’ll never guess who my 1pm is.
Hayden Pike: Please don’t make me guess, Shane. I have like 100 unread emails and a client Zoom in 10 mins.
Shane Hollander: Yeah right, as if you’re not on Ubereats pre-ordering your banh mi right now.
Shane Hollander: It’s Ilya Rozanov.
Hayden Pike: DUDE WTF?????
Hayden Pike: Captain of the Ottawa Centaurs, Ilya Rozanov???
Shane Hollander: Unless there’s another Ilya Rozanov in Ottawa, I guess so.
Hayden Pike: This is huge. Wait, he’s married? Is he getting a divorce??
Shane Hollander: No idea, this is my first meeting with him. I don’t have any other details.
Shane Hollander: I mean, he could just be doing a will, or estate planning? I do that, too.
Hayden Pike: I hope to god he has a pre-nup. If not, good luck handling that settlement.
Hayden Pike: Or actually not, get those billable hours babyyyy! 🤑 You better tell me EVERYTHING.
--
Shane pretends he doesn’t spend the next hour googling Ilya Rozanov, as though he doesn’t already know exactly who he is. Hell, he’s even seen the guy in action before, on the rare occasion he and Hayden have a free night off and manage to get tickets to a Centaurs game.
He doesn’t know anything about Rozanov’s personal life though. According to Wikipedia, Rozanov married Svetlana Vetrova four years ago, and is apparently very private about his marriage, as that one fact is literally the only information Shane had found online.
His 12:30pm catch-up with Hayden is a complete disaster, as Hayden spends most of it speculating about the Rozanov meeting instead of the case they’re actually supposed to discuss, while Shane is too jittery to eat and barely has two bites of his bahn mi. Hayden ends up eating the rest of it.
At 1pm sharp, Ilya Rozanov strolls into his office.
Rozanov is really fucking good looking, is Shane’s first thought. Of course he knows what the guy looks like, he’d spent most of his morning perusing him on Google, but here in person, out of hockey gear, up close…well.
“Hello, Mr Rozanov, thanks for meeting me today,” Shane says, extending a hand.
Rozanov smiles at him, relaxed and easy, as he shakes his hand. He’s wearing a black t-shirt, a leather jacket and jeans. A basic outfit on anyone else, but he looks like he just stepped off a modeling shoot.
“It’s Ilya, please. Nice to meet you.”
“Please have a seat,” Shane says, gesturing to the dark green sofa in the corner. “Would you like a coffee or anything?”
“No, I am okay,” Ilya replies as he folds his tall frame down onto the seat. He crosses his legs and drapes an arm across the back of the sofa, looking right at home.
Shane likes to do first client meetings in the little lounge area in his office instead of at his desk, which he imagines for a client, feels like being told off at the principal’s office.
He takes his own seat on an armchair across from Ilya, and clears his throat. “So, I didn’t get much details about what services you need. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”
“I need divorce. I google Ottawa divorce lawyer and they say you are the best, so here I am,” Ilya says succinctly with a blinding smile.
Shane blinks. Right. So they’ve both googled each other.
“Okay. Well, yes, I can definitely help with that. I’ll need some details to get started, like the grounds for divorce, date of separation, any assets or pre-nuptial agreements?” Shane reaches for his legal pad and pen on the table.
Ilya looks at him intently for a few, long seconds. His eyes, Shane notices, are very hazel.
“This meeting…,” llya starts, waving a hand between himself and Shane. “Everything I say. Is confidential, yes? You do not tell anyone?”
“Of course,” Shane says, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “Even if you had murdered someone, it stays between us. As your lawyer, I’m here to act in your best interest.”
Ilya barks out a laugh. “Hah. No, no murder.”
“Okay. So I will be honest with you. My marriage is fake. For Canadian citizenship only. Svetlana is my best friend from childhood, she married me to help me, but is just on paper.”
Shane has long since perfected what he calls his ‘neutral client face’, which doesn’t give a single thing away. It comes in handy too whenever he has to go to court. On the inside though, he’s surprised. He’d expected some cheating scandal, maybe. After all, Ilya’s a rich, famous athlete. They don’t usually have the best reputations. This, however, is surprisingly…wholesome.
“Anyway, now I have Canadian passport, and is all good. Sveta needs her own life, so we decide is time to divorce. We have pre-nup. Is very simple one, I can email to you.”
“Yes, please.” Shane jots a few notes down on his pad. “And does your wife have her own attorney? It would be good to touch base with them and get the paperwork started.”
Ilya blinks at him. “You are her lawyer, too. You can take care of everything for both of us, yes? Just tell us what to pay and where to sign.”
He gives Ilya an estimated quote on the legal fees, and Ilya doesn’t even blink when he agrees. He hands Ilya his business card with his contact details and Ilya promises to email all the relevant documents through.
When Ilya is about to leave his office, he catches sight of the puck propped up amongst some law books on the shelf behind his desk. It’s a Voyageurs branded one, personalised with Shane’s name; a gift from Hayden from last Christmas’s office secret santa.
“You are Montreal fan?” Ilya whips around, eyes narrowing at Shane. “Hmmm. Maybe I need to change lawyer.”
Shane laughs lightly. “Sure, if you’d like to find a less competent attorney, be my guest.”
Ilya lets out a surprised laugh, and his eyes crinkle in delight. “Wow. Okay, Hollander. I will get you tickets to my next home game. Maybe after you watch me play, you will become Centaurs fan instead.”
He shoots Shane a wink before stepping out.
Shane stays frozen in his doorway, his brain working overtime to process everything that just happened, until Zoe has to come and remind him about his next meeting.
-
“Come on man, just tell me one small detail. Anything, pleaseeee.”
“Hayd, we had pretty much every class together in college, so I know you definitely learned about attorney-client privilege.”
“Spoilsport,” Hayden mutters, taking a swig of his beer.
“Why don’t you ever ask me about my clients? You know I deal with actual celebrities, right?” Rose asks.
“You can talk to me when your movie stars win a Stanley Cup.”
Rose ignores Hayden and turns to Shane. “So, what was he like?”
Shane shrugs as he absent-mindedly picks at the label on his bottle of non-alcoholic ginger beer. “He was…nice.”
“Nice? This is the same guy that beat up two guys at his last game and spent half of it in the penalty box?” Hayden asks incredulously.
“Our meeting lasted like, 15 minutes, I don’t know what else to say about him,” Shane replies. “He’s just…different from what I expected.”
Later that night, once Shane’s home and in bed, he picks up his phone. There’s a Grindr message notification from Matt - free tonight, sexy? ;) - but Shane swipes it away and opens Instagram.
Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s on Ilya Rozanov’s page - there’s a lot of media shots of him and the Centaurs on the ice, photos of a shaggy brown and white dog, some pictures of sleek sports cars and a few shirtless gym selfies, which Shane lingers on just a bit longer than the others.
Shane’s thumb hesitates over the ‘Follow’ button for a few seconds before he impulsively clicks it. Ilya’s not even going to notice, he thinks, he has over 8 million followers, he’s hardly going to notice shollander_24, an account with 45 followers and only two posts (one of the sunset over the lake at his cottage; one blurry selfie of him and Hayden at the Bell Centre the last time they went to watch a Voyageurs game).
Before he goes to sleep, Shane checks his phone again, scrolling through the endless list of Outlook alerts that have since appeared. There, nestled between a client email and a meeting reminder, is an Instagram notification: @IlyaRozanovOfficial has followed you back.
Shane puts down his phone, but it’s a long time before he can fall asleep.
-
Svetlana Vetrova is nothing like Shane expects.
The woman that strolls into Shane’s office with Ilya is stunning- tall and beautiful and stylishly dressed. Shane would not have been surprised if someone had told him she’s one of Rose’s model clients instead of Ilya’s soon-to-be ex-wife.
Despite her intimidating looks, she’s friendly and greets Shane warmly like they’ve known each other for years. It’s obvious she and Ilya have known each other forever, they laugh and joke easily with each other and Shane is struck at how similar the dynamic is to his own friendship with Rose.
The end of a marriage, at least if the couple don’t end up battling it out in a nasty court case, can be rather anti-climatic, Shane thinks. Most of the time, it’s just a quiet meeting involving a lot of signatures, and then Shane - or rather, one of the paralegals- file the papers and it’s all over.
“So that’s it?” Ilya says after he and Svetlana finish signing all the papers.
“That’s it,” Shane echoes, gathering all the paperwork into a neat stack. “Congratulations on your divorce.”
Ilya gives him one of those bright, disarming grins. He leans over to drop a loud, smacking kiss on Svetlana’s cheek and she bats him away, feigning annoyance, but Shane can see the fondness in her eyes.
“Time to hit the clubs,” Ilya says jokingly, wiggling his eyebrows.
Svetlana rolls her eyes. “You are disgusting.”
Before they leave the office, Ilya says something in a low voice to Svetlana in Russian, and she nods. She shakes Shane’s hand with a warm smile and thanks him again before she heads out. Leaving Ilya alone in Shane’s office.
Ilya has his hands in his pockets, perching himself on the back of one of the armchairs. “I just wanted to say thank you. It was…easier than I thought. You made it easy.”
Shane smiles. “You’re welcome. To be honest, you guys were the ones that made it easy. It was a straightforward case. At least I didn’t have to fight a custody battle in court for this one.”
“So…” Ilya drawls. “My manager wrote statement. We will release soon, to announce divorce. That I am single man again.”
“Okay, cool,” Shane replies, a bit confused. He’s not really sure why Ilya’s telling him this.
Ilya grins. “I was wondering…if I can take you out to dinner?”
“Oh.”
Shane is used to clients wanting to buy him dinner as a thank you, once a case is wrapped up. He finds them tedious, to be honest. There’s not much to talk about once a case is filed, and as nice as it is to get a free, fancy dinner, it’s not worth suffering through a few hours of making stilted, awkward conversation. Shane would rather be home, alone, eating a home-cooked dinner on his couch.
Luckily, this has happened before, so Shane has a lovely, appropriate response cued up and ready.
“Thanks, that’s really nice of you, but my caseload is pretty heavy at the moment and I don’t have many evenings free. Anyway you don’t have to buy me dinner as a thank you, I was just doing my job.”
Ilya stares at him for a few seconds, before he huffs out a quiet laugh like Shane had said something funny. He mutters something in Russian under his breath, shaking his head, still smiling in amusement.
“Okay. Oh, before I forget, here,” Ilya digs out an envelope from his jacket pocket and holds it out. “Tickets for next Centaurs game, like I promised.”
Shane accepts it. “You really didn’t have to, but thank you. I appreciate it.”
Ilya shrugs carelessly. “Is nothing. I have tickets all the time and Sveta is sick of coming to the games. There is two in there, maybe you can bring friend.”
“Thanks,” Shane replies. “Hayden will freak out.”
“Ah.” Ilya raises his brows, and crosses his arms across his broad chest. Shane tries not to stare at his biceps. “Hayden. Your boyfriend?”
Shane splutters out a laugh. “No! God, no. He’s my best friend from college. He works here too, actually. He’s the other attorney that specializes in family law.”
“But you’re the better one, yes?”
“Not everything’s a competition,” Shane responds.
“Mmm, yes it is.”
Ilya pushes himself off the armchair and opens the door, giving him a small, crooked smile over his shoulder. “Well, goodbye Shane. Maybe I will see you at the game.”
-
“Shane. You are one of the most competent lawyers I have ever met, but sometimes you really are an idiot.”
Shane frowns at Rose from where she’s leaning across his desk, glaring into his face. Her hands are currently squishing his cheeks tightly together.
“Okay, rude,” he grumbles out, before she releases his face.
“You sweet, oblivious man. Do you not realise that Ilya fucking Rozanov was trying to ask you on a date?”
“What? Of course he wasn’t!” Shane chokes out. “That’s ridiculous.”
Rose levels an unimpressed look at him. “You just told me his exact words were ‘Can I take you out to dinner?’ You do not ask it like that unless it’s a date. A normal client dinner would be like, ‘Let me treat you to a meal as a thank you!’”
Shane laughs in disbelief, looking up from his takeaway bowl of salad. “I can't believe you are arguing with me over the phrasing of a dinner invite. That’s… barely a technicality.”
“We’re lawyers, Shane! Everything is a fucking technicality!”
“Clients take us to dinner all the time! How many client dinners have you had this month? Four, five?”
Rose throws up her hands. “I’m in entertainment law, of course I have to wine and dine my fucking diva clients. Your situation is different.”
Shane makes a non-committal noise that means he doesn’t want to have this conversation any longer. He spears a cherry tomato with his fork and chews it aggressively.
“Well, are you at least going to his game?”
“I guess so,” Shane sighs. “The seats are kind of too good to miss. And Hayden’s not gonna let me skip it.”
Rose raises her eyebrows at him over her takeaway cup of coffee. “Hmm. He gave you really good seats, huh?”
“Shut up.”
-
The roar of the Canadian Tire Centre is deafening, with Ottawa tied 2-2 with the Boston Bears.
“Dude, these seats are actually insane. We’re almost on the fucking ice!” Hayden turns to him, eyes wide.
Shane hasn’t taken his gaze off Ilya for most of the game. He’s by far the fastest player on the ice, everywhere at once, handling the puck like he’d die if anyone took it from him. It’s really sexy. And Shane would rather go through 12 more hours of the Hannigan divorce negotiations than admit that out loud to anyone, ever.
Just at that moment, a player gets slammed against the glass by the Boston defenseman, right in front of their seats. Shane and Hayden recoil back instinctively.
It takes Shane a moment to realise it’s Ilya pressed against the glass, the number 81 standing out boldly against his black helmet. Ilya’s eyes immediately lock with his. He grins widely and winks at him from under his visor before skating off.
“Uhhh, did Ilya Rozanov just wink at you?”
Shane curses in his head. Yeah, Hayden and Rose are never going to let this go.
Ilya ends up scoring the winning goal two minutes before the buzzer sounds.
-
Despite feeling exhausted, Shane is struggling to fall asleep after the game, the energy and adrenaline from the night still buzzing under his skin. He picks up the book on his bedside table- usually a few chapters will help him pass out- when his phone buzzes on top of his comforter.
Unknown number: You enjoy the game?
Shane: Who is this?
Unknown number: Is the best hockey player of all time
Unknown number: Is Ilya 👋
Shane jolts upright in bed, wildly speculating how the hell Ilya had gotten his number, before he realises he’d given him his business card at their first meeting. They’d never texted before though, all their previous communication had been over email.
Shane: Oh. Yeah the game was awesome, thank you again for the tickets. Congrats on the win!
Ilya: Thank you 😇
Ilya: No congrats on my last goal?
Shane: Your goal was great. Well done.
Ilya: I scored for you :)
Shane: Okay, sure.
Shane: You must be out celebrating with your team. I’ll let you go. Goodnight.
Ilya: You are in bed?
Shane: Yeah. I have an 8am breakfast meeting with a client tomorrow.
Ilya: Fun 🥱
Shane: Haha. Not all of us can be hockey players.
Ilya: Goodnight. Sweet dreams, Shane 😊
-----
The next week passes in a blur of Shane’s usual routine.
Client meetings, a court appointment, several new cases landing on his desk. Emails, so many emails. Lunch catch-ups with Hayden and Rose, almost always eaten at one of their desks, because that’s the only free time they have during the day. Dinner with his parents, which Yuna and Shane spend talking mostly about work, much to David’s despair.
Shane falls into bed exhausted but satisfied every night. His life is filled with more than enough to fulfill himself, and he most certainly does not have time to date or meet a nice man, despite what his parents constantly tell him.
It’s 7:45pm on a Friday night when he finds himself in his office, working late again. Rose had left 30 minutes earlier; Hayden had left at 5pm sharp, announcing that Jackie had cooked her famous lasagne for dinner, and that he’s not staying back one minute later.
Shane had turned down both their respective invites to join them at the bar (Rose) and for dinner (Hayden).
The divorce he’s currently working on is driving him crazy. Shane’s client is the wife, Hayden is representing her estranged husband, and the case is a complicated one involving custody disputes over their kid and a huge asset portfolio to split up, with no pre-nup. Between him and Hayden, they’ve brought in a ton of billable hours for the firm, but Shane is ready for the case to be put to bed, despite a feeling in his gut that it's going to end in a nasty court battle.
He looks away from his screen when a soft knock sounds at his office door. Rose had been the only other person in the office and she’d definitely left, so it’s probably the night cleaners that come in when everyone’s gone for the day.
The first time they’d bumped into him, typing away furiously in his dark office late at night, they’d hastily backed out of the room, apologising profusely, while Shane had been mortified, stuttering out his own apologies for getting in the way. By now, he's seen them so often he pretty much knows them all by name.
“Come in!” Shane calls out.
He’d already emptied his trash can earlier and has the rubbish bag sitting tied up neatly by his office door. He thinks he’ll go make himself a tea in the break room so they can vacuum without him being in the way. He’s expecting George, the friendly cleaner who always scolds Shane for clearing his own trash.
He’s certainly not expecting the captain of the Ottawa Centaurs to stroll in with a wide, smug smile and two large paper bags.
“Uh…Ilya? What are you doing here?” Shane stares blankly at him, frozen in shock in his chair.
“I brought you food,” Ilya says easily, holding up the bags like they had some kind of pre-arranged appointment. He sets them down on the coffee table by Shane’s couch.
Shane’s tired, but he’s pretty sure he would have remembered making plans with Ilya fucking Rozanov to have some kind of impromptu office picnic. What is happening right now. Maybe he fell asleep at his desk and is currently dreaming. He pinches himself hard on the thigh, but nothing happens.
"It’s 8pm.” Shane gestures weakly out the window, like Ilya can’t see himself that it’s clearly dark outside. “How did you even know I would be here?”
“I had a…what is the word? A hunch?” Ilya replies from the couch. “You sent me emails before, Shane. They always come late at night. 8pm, 9pm, 10pm, I get emails from you. So I make a guess. And I was right. Now come here and eat.”
Shane slowly gets up from his desk and sits himself down on the couch. Ilya is setting out containers of Thai food on the table like some kind of ridiculous mini buffet.
“I wanted to take you out to dinner and you said no. So I brought you dinner instead. As a thank you,” Ilya laughs a bit as he says the last two words, like there’s some inside joke Shane isn’t a part of. He picks up a container of pineapple fried rice and starts helping himself.
“How did you even get into the building? You need a pass to access the elevator after 5pm.”
Ilya winks. “The security guard downstairs is big Centaurs fan.”
Shane frowns. “Okay, that’s not safe, what if you were here to murder me or something?”
“Yes, I am here to murder you, Shane. With Thai food.”
Shane surveys the food on the table. He avoids the fried spring rolls but there’s a container of green papaya salad that looks healthy enough. Ilya looks pleased when he starts eating.
“Sooo,” Ilya starts after a few moments of silence while they eat. “Do you get paid extra or something if you stay late every night in office?”
“Depends, if I’m billing the hours to a client then yeah, I kind of do.”
Ilya snorts. “Oh, so did I pay you also for staying late in office?”
Shane glances sideways at him. “Everything should have been detailed in the invoice we sent you.”
“I did not read invoice, I just paid,” Ilya tells him, waving a hand in the air. “Maybe you will hear soon from my accountant. I think you would get along, you are both very boring.”
Shane lets out a choked laugh. “Fuck off.”
“Oh!” Ilya looks delighted. “So you do know how to swear! I thought you could only speak in legal words.”
Shane claps a hand over his mouth rather belatedly. For a moment, he’d forgotten where he is - in his office, eating with a client. “I’m so sorry, that was inappropriate of me. You’re a client, I should not have said that.”
Ilya puts down his food and leans back on the couch, tilting his head at Shane. “Is this why you said no when I asked you on date? You think I am still client?”
Shane blinks, his heart lurching sharply. “You were asking me on a date?”
Rose is never going to fucking shut up about this, is his first thought.
Ilya rolls his eyes. “What do you think, I just ask everyone out to dinner? My lawyer, my accountant, my gardener also?”
Shane rubs his palms anxiously against his thighs. “I…I don’t know. I thought it was just a business dinner or whatever.”
“Shane. I am not your client anymore. Trust me, I don’t have plans to get any more divorces. It will not be…,” Ilya trails off, frowning out the window as he tries to find the words. "Conflicted interest or whatever you say.”
Shane chuckles nervously, his heart still hammering wildly. “Now who’s using legal words?”
He feels a warmth settle on his hands and he looks down. Ilya has a large palm placed on top of his, stilling them.
Shane inhales sharply. It sounds loud in the quiet room.
“I asked you out because I think you are smart, funny. Very handsome. I would like to get to know you better.”
“Ilya. I don’t…I can’t date.”
“Ahh.” Ilya nods and removes his hand from atop of Shane’s. “You have boyfriend already? Or girlfriend?”
Shane shakes his head. “No. I just…I don’t do relationships.”
Ilya’s voice is gentle when he replies. “Is just dinner, Shane.”
“Dinner,” Shane echoes.
Maybe he’s being overly presumptuous, Shane thinks. Ilya’s not asking for a relationship. He asked for a dinner, which could also be his way of asking, hey, wanna fuck?, except he’s too polite to come out and just say that.
After all, he’s a good-looking, rich athlete. He just got divorced, for Christ’s sake, never mind the fact it was a green card marriage. He probably has a thousand other ‘dinners’ already lined up.
Shane will just be one of them. What’s the harm?
“Dinner,” Ilya repeats.
Before he knows what he’s doing, Shane nods. “Okay. Yeah. We can have dinner.”
Ilya’s answering smile is bright in the dim office.