“I want you to find her,” Ovi insisted. “Why it take so long?”
“Alex, do you know how many people there are in DC? And you don’t even know if she lives here. It’s not that simple,” Roger protested. This was the third time in as many days that the security specialist had this argument with the star. He ran his fingers through his thinning blond hair. Alex Ovechkin would be the death of him at some point. As if protecting him wasn’t bad enough, now he had to find some woman that his client had become increasingly obsessed with.
“What? You have her name. She little, brown eyes, long brown hair. Very pretty. How hard can be?”
Roger threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “Alex, I can fill Verizon Center with the women that would be more than overjoyed to fuck you. Why this one?”
“She different.” There was nothing else. That’s all he would ever say.
Roger sighed, “I’m working on it.”
“I tell you she has friend name Katerina… Cath-er-ine,” he pronounced it Americanized which sounded incredibly strange coming from his mouth. Roger nodded and left the room, muttering under his breath about the proverbial needle-in-a-haystack.
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