Chapter Text
“Welcome to Metro Architecture, Kip will be with you in a moment. Can I get you something to drink?” The practiced words fell from Shane effortlessly, his eyes trained on the spot between the man’s eyebrows.
“Vodka. But I change mind, I want you,” the accent was thick around the clipped words and Shane flicked his eyes to meet the Adonis’. They were a piercing blue and made Shane flush, dropping his hand.
“I-I’m sorry Mr..?”
“Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov,” more clipped words. Shane had to repress a shudder as he turned to glance at Kip, the taller man sliding next to them with a cheery smile.
“Mr. Rozanov, I’m sorry but Shane here isn’t an architect. He works in logistics and accounting but is helping cover administration while Jackie is on maternity. With a custom home you will need an architect and registered designer if you want your timeline followed,” Kip’s smile was blinding professionalism while Shane tried to slink back, face falling into his usual blank stare.
“Ah yes, numbers and delivery. Very boring. I still want him,” Mr. Rozanov grabbed Shane’s wrist before he could move further away and Shane stiffened, “I want boring man. Just means more money, no?”
“Mr. Rozanov, Shane has no training in design or architecture and is busy assisting other projects,” Shane could hear Kip’s voice strain with the lie. There weren’t other projects right now, not really. Times were tough and since they focused on residential projects, they fought over clients with a half dozen other firms. Kip’s husband had been the one to bring this lead in, saying he recently moved to Ottawa from Boston.
“Is lie. Your ancient husband wouldn’t speak to me unless he wanted to save your job. No more lies. You need money. I have big signing bonus and I want him. He plays hockey, understands my needs better than fancy art student,” the man wouldn’t take his eyes off Shane as he spoke, only releasing his wrist once Shane moved forward again. Shane could feel his cheeks flushing pink the longer the man stared. It felt like a pair of blue lasers and he dropped his gaze to avoid thinking about it too much.
Kip stiffened and Shane understood, having been around plenty of drunk Kip when he ranted how it wasn’t just art. Mentally, Shane was going over the numbers in the proposal they had prepared to present. It was supposed to be the biggest build since Yuna had died three years prior.
Shane was in his head. Calculating. He didn’t have his mother’s keen eye of design, but he was honed on numbers. His mother joked a lot that she birthed her mom’s ideal son. These numbers were important though. Enough to cover the debt they collected, to hire someone else to do his job. Two people if they were honest.
“Fifty thousand a month then, on top of the fifteen percent of your budget you’re paying us for design and sourcing,” Shane stared at Ilya blankly, giving nothing as Kip tried to keep composure. There was a brief, silent contest between the two before Ilya laughed, clapping a hand on Shane’s shoulder.
“Mr. Hockey has balls. Fine, I have my agent wire six hundred thousand over today. I expect very…close attention from you for that though, that’s about half of what we agreed to for my home,” Ilya leaned in close to Shane and the breath was hot on Shane’s ear, “I cannot wait to see what our little Olympian can make for me.”
Then the contact was gone and Ilya was sauntering to the meeting room. The rest of the meeting went smoothly, Kip running through what the process was and what to expect. Shane knew Ilya wasn’t watching the presentation because Ilya was watching him. The Russian’s eyes were like hot lasers, burning into his skin. Things were wrapping up to concept before Ilya raised his hand to stop Kip.
“Your concept is stupid,” The words were tough and mean. Shane refused to turn to look at Ilya, staring at Kip instead as the American started to lose his composure, “do you think I want some..neo-Gothic shithole just because I’m Russian? If I wanted to live in Russian shithole, I wouldn’t have come to Canadian shithole team to get residency. Very stupid.”
Kip was flapping his lips, face burning redder by the second. Shane’s own fingers were cutting into his palms, trying to think what his mom would’ve said. His brain scanned through the stacks of articles he read, what he remembered about Boston. Shane hadn’t paid attention to hockey since he quit with his mother’s death.
“You liked Boston, didn’t you? What about a more minimal, brutalist look with moody interior?” Shane really couldn’t believe what his mouth was saying. He swore the ghost of his mother was crawling up his throat, standing to next to Kip as he flipped into the cloud. Shane’s fingers flew into his mother’s old files, pulling up the cottage sketch. His mother had never made a floor plan but he pulled it onto the iPad, coloring the wood grey, “keep the concrete of your first home city but scaling it back to highlight big windows with one way glass.”
Shane looked up and paused, realizing he had in fact made a design opinion. Kip was staring at Shane like he had grown two heads and honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had. Shane hadn’t had a single opinion related to the look of anything the entire time Kip had been there. Kip had started about two years before Yuna’s death and always joked the only love Shane had was hockey.
Ilya was grinning though, giving a slow clap and lounging in his chair like he owned the room, “ah Mr. Hockey does have ideas. I like that. I want that. I will wire money then be back after training camp for..idea development?”
“Concept development. We make quick sketches of floor plans and pull some materials to give you a feel of the direction,” Kip corrected, seemingly snapping out of his stupor.
“Yes, that. Have Mr. Hockey review them then me and him will have lunch and he can show me,” Ilya didn’t give any room for argument. Ilya shook their hands, clasped Shane’s shoulder and left with a wink. Shane touched his shoulder, really not believing the past hour.
“Shane…how did Mr. Rozanov know you played hockey?” Kip was the first to break the silence, glancing down at the iPad, “and wasn’t that your mom’s plans for the lake house when you got into the MHL?”
“Hockey guys talk. I mean the Olympics were in Russia, he probably was watching or played with one of the Russians,” Shane played it off with a smile, not answering the second question. It had been his mom’s plans for the lake house but Shane knew that was a pipe dream now.
Shane had been in the CFL for 4 years, managing to earn a half million a year those last two years. That money had all funneled into investment funds that were still locked for two more years or he would’ve drained it all into this place by now. Yuna had forced him to do that, ranting about how most players put all their money into stupid shit as they were young idiots.
Yuna’s death had been hard. Shane had just put the winning shot for the Olympics in the goal just as a defenseman had slammed him into the boards then woke up in a Russian hospital to be told by Hayden that his mom was dead but after three days in a coma he wouldn’t get to fly home for the funeral.
While hockey channels mourned the loss of the next Sidney Crosby, Shane was mourning the loss of his family. Most of the Olympics were up in smoke to his memory, though Hayden had told him he left every party thirty minutes in and had been in their shared room by time he came back. To Shane, that meant nothing had happened and he stopped thinking about by the time he was home a few weeks later when he was cleared to fly.
~ Ilya ~
Ilya sat in the car, the uber driver having given up on any conversation. His lips played into a smile as he remembered Shane, memorizing the new freckles on his cheeks. Shane looked good, a bit taller and more muscled than in Russia. That week had been the best sex of his life, and still had been. Shane had been everything he wanted and once he realized Shane had quit hockey, he had spent the last three years of his contract working a trade to Ottawa. Scott giving him a better excuse than stalking Shane to see him again was just a lucky bonus.