So Over You (Chicago Rebels #2)(40)

She slammed the door shut. “I’m a huge fan!”

“Of what?”

“Of you!” She shook her head in disbelief. Right there with ya.

The woman opened her mouth again and Isobel braced for more exclamation points, but whatever she was about to say was replaced by ferocious barking. A toast-colored Pomeranian stepped between them, protecting his owner. Pretty funny, really. Poms always thought they were much larger than their actual size, and this one obviously considered himself to be a Great Dane.

“Gordie Howe! Isobel’s not a threat.” The woman bent and picked up the dog, named after one of the most successful hockey players to ever grace the ice. Calling a cute, yappy pom after Gordie was its own sort of genius.

Before Isobel could comment, the greeter was back to talking Isobel’s ear off.

“Oh my God, that goal you scored to knock out Mother Russia in the semifinals in Sochi—wow!” She leaned in, secrets in a pair of mischievous blue eyes. “Yeah. Traitor. That’s me.”

Isobel pinned on a smile. After all, isn’t that what you do when a crazy person likes you? Confused because Loco Chick was (a) dressed like a schoolgirl, (b) speaking in an American accent, yet (c) referring to Mother Russia, Isobel was at a loss as to how to proceed.

Oh right. “Is Vadim around?”

A voice boomed from far away—super far away, actually, because Isobel now noticed they were in a very luxurious suite. Vadim Petrov might be a vodka-fronting, underwear-hawking, hockey-playing superstar, but the Rebels org was sure as shit not paying for this upgrade.

“Mia!” Followed by a stream of Russian that sounded angry, but then streams of Russian invariably sounded angry. Except when they included hot, sexy panting against a woman’s very receptive ear.

He emerged, wearing low-slung black sweatpants, a hot glower, and nothing else. As if she wasn’t already pissed enough at him.

He held a phone away from his ear. “Why are you still here, Mia? Alexei is expecting you down in the lobby.” On seeing Isobel, his frown deepened. “Ah, I am in trouble.”

“Damn straight, Russian.”

He said something to the young woman in his native tongue.

She rolled her eyes. “English, bro. You know I don’t understand that BS.”

Bro? He’d never mentioned a sister, and there was nothing in his files, but Isobel saw the resemblance now. Aristocratic cheekbones, startling blue eyes, and a runway model–tall frame. God help the men of New York.

His sister—Mia—divided a look between them, revealing one more way they were alike: a stubborn set to her chin. “I’d like to stay and talk to Isobel.”

“It’s eleven o’clock at night, and you have school tomorrow. Now say good-bye.” With another unintelligible mutter into his phone, he hung up.

“I’m Mia, by the way,” his sister, who Isobel was now realizing was an actual schoolgirl, said to Isobel. “Mia Wa—” With a nervous lip bite, she shot a glance at Vadim. On seeing his mouth hitch in a half smile and the decline of his head in a regal nod, she turned back to Isobel, her chin raised in—pride? “Mia Wallace. It’s so great to meet you. Honestly.”

Isobel’s body prickled with awareness. That name—why did she know it?

“Wait. Mia Wallace? Hockey phenom Mia Wallace?”

A blush suffused her features, making her appear younger, and she smiled shyly. “I play.” Her bashful glance slid to her brother. “Nowhere near as good as Vadim, of course.”

Everyone in hockey had heard of Mia Wallace, touted as the next big thing. She was the full package, already being scouted by NCAA (though that was technically against the rules because she was too young at sixteen), the women’s league, and companies for big sponsorships. She also had a backstory the media loved: a cancer diagnosis from which she’d rebounded just over a year ago. This girl was one tough cookie.

Mia squeezed Isobel’s arm. “We are so excited Vadim’s going to be playing again. He said he has you to thank.”

“He did, did he?”

“Oh yeah. He’s your biggest fan. After me.”

Vadim’s scowl pronounced him to be most definitely not Isobel’s biggest fan. “Mia, Alexei is waiting.”

“?’Kay, I’ll see you at the game tomorrow.”

Oh dear. That sounded like she didn’t know about his suspension. Maybe Isobel could soften the blow a little. “If you’re going to the game, you could hang in the visitors’ box with us. If you’d like.”

The girl looked like every wish she’d ever had was coming true tonight. “Really? Vadim, can I?”

“If Isobel has invited you, of course you can. But only if you leave now and get some sleep. Your mother—” He snatched back the words. “Time to go, Mia.”

Placing the dog down, the girl rolled her eyes and threw her arms around Vadim’s neck, murmuring something that melted the ice in his eyes. Then Mia gave Isobel the same treatment. Not knowing what to do with this hug from a stranger, Isobel patted the girl on the shoulder, all while Vadim stared at the two of them intently.

“Say bye-bye, Gordie Howe!” Mia picked up the dog.

“Good-bye and good riddance, little-dog-with-big-shits,” Vadim deadpanned.

Mia laughed her head off. “I’ll text you tomorrow, bro! See ya, Isobel!” And then she was gone, with the puppy yapping the exit music.