Peter’s dark brows drew together. “His name is not Manny,” he said, his voice thickly accented with the tones of his beloved motherland, Russia.
“Manny. Male nanny. Watch VH1 or something,” Kat said again, crossing her arms and resting her elbows on the scarred tabletop of the booth they sat at. She’d insisted they both meet her in a public spot when her agent had called—surprise!—to say he was in town and he wanted a “quick chat” with her and her coach. Sawyer was never in town for good things. And involving Peter? Even worse news. But in a public place, Sawyer was less likely to lose his cool and yell.
Peter would yell anywhere. There was no saving her there.
Sawyer leaned back in his own seat and scowled. “Manny, mentor… Let’s call this what it is: your last chance. Nobody wants to touch you with a ten-foot pole, Katrina.”
“Kat,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Kat.” His dark gaze brightened as he flashed a smile at their waitress while she dropped off their orders. “Thank you, this looks amazing.”
The waitress, who was probably old enough to be Sawyer’s mother, blushed and gave a little pat on his shoulder. “Enjoy!”
“Suck-up,” Kat muttered.
Peter stared at his own serving of oatmeal, pancakes, and thick-cut ham. “This… is not breakfast.”
“It sure is in the US of A. Pass the hot sauce, please,” Kat said.
Peter passed it without a word and dug into his breakfast, as if ready to tune them both out in order to make eating the unpalatable food more appealing.
Sawyer watched in horror as Kat dumped at least a fourth of a cup of hot sauce over her eggs, then the hash browns.
“That… is a terrible idea.”
“A man who can’t handle hot sauce isn’t a man I want to know intimately.” She sucked off a drop from her finger as she slid the bottle back over his direction.
“Good thing I’m not in the running. Look, the fact is, you want to make a living playing tennis. You’re dropping in the rankings because you’re not practicing enough. You’re not practicing enough because you had to take on a part-time job. You had to take on a part-time job because you lost the few endorsements you’d already had secured.”
“There was an old lady,” Kat sang softly. Sawyer raised an eyebrow. “Who swallowed a cat. She swallowed the cat to catch the bird, she swallowed the bird to catch the spider…”
Peter began muttering in his native language. Thanks to her coach of nearly three years, she’d picked up a few Russian words here and there. If she wasn’t mistaken, she heard son of a bitch and damn in there.
She really only remembered the naughty ones.
Sawyer nudged Peter, who simply stopped muttering. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m here. I didn’t want to be.”
Her agent sighed.
Kat set her fork down, aiming for seriousness now. Apparently, bringing levity to the meeting wasn’t getting the job done. “I understand the concern. Losing the endorsement with Misanka hurt.” The new brand of tennis balls had been a fantastic score, and she’d been thrilled to jump on board before the launch. Being kicked off the launch team had hurt more than her wallet. Her pride…
Shaking that off, she went on. “I’m being noticed more. I’m getting more endorsement offers,” she reminded him, taking a bite of her bacon while her eggs and hash soaked up the sauce.
“The wrong ones. Oh, I’m sorry,” Sawyer added when she raised a brow. “Did you want to reconsider the endorsement for that website where the famous celebrity look-alike porn stars were featured? I could call them after breakfast.”
“Shut up,” she grumbled. “Why do you care, if you make a buck?”
“I care because if you stop playing, it all goes away, even the shit offers nobody sane would take. Everything. Dead halt.”
Exactly. At this rate, with injuries and just plain bad luck, it would all very soon be taken from her hands. So she had to get while the getting was good. “Can’t play forever.”
“But you can play for a few more years. I really wish you’d tell me more about this whole sex tape. What possessed you to—”