Page 17 of Snap Shot

“Oh...no, no, no, nooooo!” How did I not figure this out sooner? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Your? Your who?” Wade calls after me. “Finish the sentence!”

Scrambling to put on socks and hopping into my favorite cognac Wingtips, I fumble towards the door. It hits the wall behind it with a comicwham.A couple of the boys peer over their shoulders at the crash from where they stand with Cooke.

Good news: she's at the end of the hall and I can catch up with her. Bad news: she's with Cooke, too, confirming my fears. Her arms cross, pushing that already perky rack up and together. Snap out of it, Landy. This is no time to think about tits!

I puff out my cheeks, mentally prepping myself for the consequences of this brand-new dumpster fire. It's like I've got a target on my back for disaster after disaster. My strides slow as I approach. Szecze and Jaeg sidestep and back away, their faces cringing once they're out of Cooke's sight. And my lawyer.Mylawyer. Who saw me naked as the day I was born.

My stomach twists. Her eyes are no longer soft, cheeks no longer flushed. They're flat, deadpan, the same as her expression. She shoots a stoic stare my way. How did she flip a switch like that? One second, she's blushing and flustered and the next, she acts like nothing happened.

“Radek!” My overzealous agent claps his hands together and waves me closer. “Get over here.”

Her glance fires over from him to me, seemingly unimpressed.

I clear my throat. “Landon Radek,” I say, extending a hand.

She doesn't miss a beat, returning a firm shake and polite, professional half-smile.

“This is Indira Davé.”

Hold up. “IndiraDavé?” And I thought her brown eyes couldn't get any bigger. They stretch when I repeat myself. “IndiraDavé?”

“Yes, Ms. Davé was recommended by—”

She jolts at the surprised laugh I interrupt Cooke with.

I can't fucking believe it.That'swhy she looked so familiar. “Indi?”

Chapter 6: Everything’s Fine

Indi

Now I've gone and done it. Why didn't I close my eyes and runimmediately? I should have apologized for intruding, for staring, but thepenises.Theywere right there, so big and distracting. My palm slaps my forehead. This temporary lapse of judgment may have cost us a major client contract. Top-notch work, Indi.

Cooke smirks as I return to the hall, dropping his phone into his pocket. “You look like you've seen some things.”

‘Things’ is right.Plural. Alright, play it cool, Davé. You could still bag this. Repeat after me: partner, partner, partner. My eyes relax and I straighten my shoulders, releasing the tension knotted in my neck. “Not really,” I say, cool and composed.“Mr. Radek must have been occupied.”

“Hmm.” He twists his mouth. “I swear he was in there.” His feet shift against the low carpet, and he pulls out his phone again. When the door to the locker room re-opens, my breath hitches. But it’s not him.

Two suit-clad starters emerge instead. Cooke beckons them with a sharp whistle.

“Derrick Jaeger. Blake Szeczin. This is the lawyer we're hoping will take Radek's case.”

They nod as we shake hands. “Indira Davé.”

Szeczin narrows his eyes a bit, dipping his ear in my direction. “Sorry. Say that again?”

“Davé.D-a-v-e—”

“Ohhh. Dave!” He cuts me off. “Why didn't you say that the first time?”

Excuse me? Absolutely not. “It's notDave.It'sDavé. Duh-vey.Theehas an accent.”

“Dave, Davé. Same difference, hey?”

I thought being undermined and unaccepted—in hockey, university, law school—was a thing of the past, sheared away by professional success and a significant glow-up. Old insecurities threaten to resurface, but I push them down. These jerks have no idea who they're dealing with.

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