Isn't It Bromantic (Bromance Book Club #4) by Lyssa Kay Adams

            * * *

            Elena pulled into a parking spot in front of an office building with a sign announcing the law offices of Gretchen Winthrop, the immigration attorney Alexis had recommended. Elena fed some quarters into the parking meter and locked the car. A bell over the door jingled when she walked into the unassuming square of worn cubicles and stained carpets in the street-level corner of a building a few blocks from Alexis’s café.

            The waiting room was a small square with two rows of beige chairs and the odor of mold. A receptionist sat behind a raised counter to the right of the entry. “Can I help you?”

            Elena approached the counter. “I am Elena Konnikova. I’m here to see Gretchen Winthrop.”

            The woman smiled. “Do you have an appointment?”

            “Yes. I called this morning.”

            “Have a seat, and I’ll let her know you’re here.”

            The walls of the waiting room were lined with framed newspaper articles about immigration cases and signs listing know your rights and what to do if ice shows up.

            “Elena?” She stood as the receptionist returned. “You can head on back.”

            The office was small enough that she needed no other directions than that. Gretchen’s was the only office with its own door, which now stood open. Elena knocked and Gretchen waved her in.

            “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, gesturing toward the chair facing her desk for Elena to sit. “Alexis gave me a heads-up that you’d be calling. What can I do for you?”

            “I’m just exploring some options right now, and I have some questions.”

            “Hopefully, I will have some answers, but I should warn you that I don’t specialize in your type of immigration.”

            “I know,” Elena said, setting her purse at her feet. “I’m not just here about me.”

            Gretchen leaned back in her own chair. “Okay.”

            “I wonder if you ever work with victims of sex trafficking.”

            Gretchen lifted an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

            “Yes, I am serious.”

            Gretchen smiled. “That was sarcasm. Nearly half of my clients are victims of some kind of human trafficking. Why?”

            “What options do they have? Immigration wise, I mean.”

            “Some are given refugee status in the U.S. if they were brought here illegally and against their will. It varies widely.”

            “What about Russian or Ukrainian girls? Have you ever helped them?”

            “Some. Why?”

            Elena crossed her legs. “My visa does not allow me to work here.”

            Gretchen squinted at the sudden change of subject. “That’s correct. Your status allowed you to attend college, but you cannot hold a job under your visa.”

            “Do you know why I had to leave Russia?”

            Gretchen covered her ears. “If you’re about to confess something about the nature of your marriage, I strongly advise you to stop now.”

            “What I mean is, are you aware of what happened to my father?”

            “No.”

            “He went missing while working on a story about sex trafficking of girls. I believe the story is why he was—” She stumbled on the words. “Why he disappeared.”

            “I’m afraid I’m not following.”

            “If I stay here, is there any way I can work as a journalist without violating the terms of my visa?”

            “Well, I assume you and Vlad will petition for green cards at some point. Most professional athletes do.”

            “But that could take years, yes?”

            Gretchen shifted in her chair. “Look, Elena. I hope this doesn’t come across as rude, but this is not exactly a bad problem to have. You’re married to a very wealthy man who is all but guaranteed permanent residency. What is the rush?”