Chapter 29

50 2 2
                                    

AAA's gettin' with Double D? Anton says: "I am not bangin' Denise Dietz!"

August 3, 2008

Jeremy Lee

The Russian Bad Boy of Tennis is vehemently denying that he and Sports Illustrated supermodel Denise Dietz are dating...despite the fact that it'd be totally awesome if it were true—because these two hotties would make one good-looking couple.

Reports surfaced this morning that Mr. AAA and Ms. Double D were spotted making out at an NY restaurant on Thursday evening...which naturally had the tabloids buzzing. Denise Dietz was previously rumored to be dating New York Mets baseball player Scott Donnelly, while Anton just recently broke up with model Anais Renault.

But Anton insists that there is no truth to the rumors...tweeting: "I don't even know Denise Dietz. I'm not dating her! It is NOT TRUE!"

EDIT: Anton followed up with another tweet, which is totally going on our quotable quotes for the week: "Why do people think I am sleeping with someone just because I am seen walking with them in public?!"

Denise Dietz also tweeted: "Is that what they're saying? OMG!!! It's NOT true!!!"

Oh Denise, that's Hollywood for, "Yes, we're totally sleeping with each other."




SOPHIE

The next day, John sends me to Anton's place to bring over suits from Tom Ford and the mockup of the redesigned website. On the intercom, I buzz Anton, and he says, "Who is it?"

"It's me," I answer. "Sophie."

"Who?"

"It's Sophie Rosenbaum."

"Shto?"

"Sophie Rosen—" Then I roll my eyes, sighing. "Devochka," I finally say.

"Okay."

Upstairs, he opens the door and I follow him to the kitchen where breakfast is laid out. Bananas, muesli, milk, orange juice, toast and eggs—which is all he ever ate for breakfast when we were in Toronto. Kirill said that his nutritionist and Henry made him eat this sort of food. I know I'd be grumpy too, if I had to eat this boring and depressing food all the time.

I take out my laptop and put it on the table. "I've got something here for you to look at—"

He says nothing and just sits back at the couch. He plucks at the strings of his racket. He appears to be testing the tension of his racket strings.

I carry my laptop to the living room and sit on the armchair next to him. "If you could read this—"

"Shto?" He puts down the racket and takes a look at my screen.

"The photos for that magazine came in. You want to look at them?" Today, I have come prepared. I did my homework, thoroughly reviewed all of the material John gave me, got myself up to speed and everything. "Tom Ford wants you to start wearing some of their clothes. And—John wanted to know what you think of the photos. He says you'll decide later with a stylist what best fits your image."

"Image? Who cares about this?"

"I guess the fans care. You have to be consistent in public. John thinks it's time for a new, more fashionable and streamlined Anton Alexandrovich Akhmerov." I shrug.

"This is stupid. You decide what I must wear?"

"I don't. The stylists do. You'll meet them tomorrow." I glance at my phone. "And then, there's a meeting with some graphic designers tomorrow about your website. John wanted you to know, but you don't have to come. He'll take care of it."

Hello, Privet! #1: Hello/Привет Where stories live. Discover now