Dmitry's Closet (3 page)

     Royal watched him carefully. She was young, barely 23, but she knew money when she saw it. And if his car was any indication, Dmitry was very wealthy.

     Dmitry drove calmly through the streets, not caring for theatrics. He did not have to prove himself. And his confidence was apparent, probably because he was driving a four-hundred thousand dollar car and wearing a suit that cost more than her tuition. His long body fit perfectly into the gray leather chairs. His curly blonde hair shined like spun gold in the sunshine.

     He looks perfect, Royal thought to herself as she glimpsed over at him.

     Dmitry looked over and smiled softly at her.

     As quickly as they had pulled onto the streets of downtown Memphis, they were pulling off into the back alley of a renovated building. Dmitry parked and helped Royal out of the car.

     "I want you to get full effect," he said, taking her hand. "So, we must go around to front."

     The building sat across from the fire department and the National Civil Rights Museum only entries away from the popular boutique Muse. His place was swank and modern. A real attention getter. The architect had paid extra close attention to the detail of the brick masonry and custom limestone design. The boutique screamed money, even before she saw the inside.

     "You believe in facing the competition head on," Royal observed, looking at the customers pile into the neighboring store.

     "This is healthy, yes? The customers now have true variety." He took the keys and opened the huge wooden double doors that mildly reminded her of his restaurant.

     "These doors are beautiful," she noted.

     "I had them flown in from Moscow," he said proudly. "Well, here it is."

     As the doors opened, the light shined in on the dark boutique. It was clean and empty, awaiting clothes to fill its hollow shell.
Dmitry's Closet
had massive potential. The floors were a shiny alabaster wood. The mirrors were over exaggerated and designed with beautiful gold frames. Crystal chandeliers hung from the tall ceilings illuminating the room with sparkling light as the sun shined in from the front door. The large windows were covered in beautiful stain glass and the walls were painted in Dmitry's signature crimson.

     Royal shook her head. "It's so... beautiful." She touched the mirrors and looked around in awe. "This whole place is like a dream."

     "This is what I want. When women come in to buy best in clothing, I want them to feel as though they are in best that Memphis has to offer. I, of course, had to give it a little old time Russian flare."

     "Yeah, like the restaurant," Royal chimed in delighted.

     "This is what you business majors call
buying into the vision.
Yes?"

     "Exactly," she giggled.

     Dmitry looked down at her and bit his lip, as he captured a glimpse of the beauty mole on her neck—ever so feminine, ever so inviting. Her bright brown eyes gazed up at him oblivious to his thoughts. In her mind, she just wanted a job. However, he wanted to reach down, grab her soft, caramel face and kiss her satin pink lips. But he could see she would resist him. He stepped away, removing himself from the close proximity of her body and the heat that she naturally radiated.

     "I think that I've definitely bought in, and I haven't even seen the apartment."

     "It's upstairs," Dmitry said quietly, bringing himself back from his trance. "And there is surprise for you. Well, not you specifically, but for whomever, I choose for job."

     Royal followed him out the shop into a beautiful back office with a dark cherry wood credenza, continued Russian elegance and expensive furniture.

     "This is where you will keep inventory," he said, barely stopping so that she could see the office.

     She followed carefully, felling a little weary of where she was going. What if Dmitry had only one intention—to get her upstairs and rape her?

     Her heart fluttered at the thought. No one knew where she was or what she was doing. As quickly as all of this had happened, it could end. She stopped on the first step and looked up.

     "What is the matter?" he turned and looked at her staring at him like a deer in headlights. Royal did not speak.

     "Strange man, strange place?" he asked, realizing her concern.

     "Something like that," she answered, sighing in relief that he understood.

     "Do you have cell phone?"

     "No."

     "Here, use mine." He pulled his Blackberry from his coat jacket and offered it to her. "Call someone.
Anyone.
Tell them where you are. And that way, you have peace of mind."

     Royal took the phone and looked at it. She really didn't have anyone to call. The thought mildly angered her. No best friends. No sisters. No brothers. Her adopted parents would not be at their apartment this early in the afternoon. She shook off her pain and looked back up.

     "Whatever, just show it to me," she snapped and walked past him on the stairs.

     "This is what I'm trying to do." He put the phone away, realizing that this must be a very touchy subject for her.

     There was only one door on the second level of the entire building. It was a sprawling creation with the same wooden cherubs that were carved on the front of the restaurant doors at
Mother Russia.
Again, he took a key and opened the large oak double doors to an airy, romantic loft.

     As the doors swung open, a fresh cinnamon aroma drifted out to greet her. He walked in first, and Royal soon followed absently. Her mind was still wrapped around her lonely existence until she saw the luxurious space.

     Expecting to see white walls and simple fixtures, instead she was greeted with elegant luxury that rivaled anything she had ever witnessed firsthand, and she had worked in a four-star hotel. In amazement, she wondered around the airy place engulfed by its exquisiteness and imagining what it would be like to live there.

     "Do you see my surprise? It's fully furnished." He hit the lights and the large living room lit up. Leisurely, he sat down on the plush leather couch and checked his cell phone.

     "Dmitry, this is gorgeous. I can't believe it." She paused for a moment. Walking aimlessly through the loft, she marveled at the endless, intricate beauty of the magnificent baby palace.

     From one room to the next she wondered until she arrived at the master bedroom. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, standing beside the king size canopy bed, draped in fine fabrics under the wooden vaulted ceiling and dimming lights of her future bedroom.

     Dmitry finished sending his text messages and met her at the door of the bedroom, where he found her sitting on the side of the bed rubbing the comforter. He leaned against the door but refused to cross into the room.

     "My thought was that if woman who runs my shop feels what it's like to live in luxury, she might better understand what quality of
Dmitry's Closet
must be." He smiled cleverly. His wide pink mouth showed signs of age. "You are very impressed, yes? I can tell. You have... sparkle in your eyes."

     "Very impressed," she repeated, getting off of the bed.

     She stood in the room tapping her foot with her arms crossed and smiling. An overwhelming sensation of accomplishment consumed her. This all could be hers.

     "So, you want me to run the shop and live here?" she squeaked, shaking her head in astonishment. Placing her hand over her throat, she smiled and cleared her throat again. Why did she keep choking up around him?!

     "No, I want much more from you than that. I want you to transform my vision of
Dmitry's Closet
from fantasy into reality. I have clothes being flown in from every stretch of the United States, Europe, Asia, Africa and mother Russia. I want this to be international house of style for southern belles of Memphis, and I want
you
to make them feel as though they cannot get this experience anywhere else in city."

     Royal felt a little tipsy from the wine and vodka that she had earlier, so she sat back on the bed as she listened quietly. Dmitry went on like a professor in a lecture series about his marvelous ideas for the store and what he expected from her. During which time, he barely looked at her or took a breath, rather he looked towards the ceiling and around the room, as though he was envisioning the tasks that he was laying before her come to fruition before his very eyes.

     When he finished, he zoned back in and realized that Royal was still sitting there.

     "Did you get all of that?" he asked with a half-smirk on this face.

     "It's a grand plan, Dmitry," she sighed and shook her head. "But as much as I want it, why would you pick me? I don't know anything about rich people, rich women, or expensive designer clothes. I mean, Jeez. I'm poor. Have you checked out my suit?" She pointed at her clothes and sneered.

     Dmitry stood listening to her quietly berate herself with his hands folded against his large chest and his eyes glued to her mouth, not only listening to what she was saying but how she said it. Such doubt. He finally spoke, cocking his eyebrows as he did so.

     "You are not rich. Okay, but you are beautiful, and you are mysterious and what you do not have, you must learn to fake, until you can obtain it. Trust me. I know little something about this."

     Dmitry was mildly entertained by the humble creature. She was so beautiful, it was hard to look at her, yet one did so with ease because of her constant humility. She was a marvelous spectacle to him, only she did not know that she was a spectacle at all.

     "I don't want to let you down," Royal professed, feeling a little overwhelmed. "This is a lot to offer any one person. It's a great opportunity." She sighed.

     "May I come in?" Dmitry asked, still behind the threshold of her bedroom. He looked down at the doorstep menacingly but never let his large leather shoe cross it.

     "I'll come out," she said, very happy to keep the barriers intact. Quickly, she walked out of the bedroom and followed him down the long corridor through the large living room to the breathtaking dining room, where they both sat at the elegant wooden dinner table.

     Dmitry sat down across from her with ease. His long body sprawled out in the plush velvet-bottom seats as he crossed his legs. His swagger was almost too much for Royal. Did he intentionally try to seduce her?

     His ice cold blue eyes were fixed on her as he began to talk. His baritone treble was silky smooth and crystal clear. It shook his Adam's apple and the words that twisted menacingly around his accent. Yet, he talked with ease and his voice soothed a lonely, dark spot in her heart.

     "When I first came to this country, I was just a little younger than you. I was not poor, but I was not rich like I dreamed of becoming. So, I faked it until I got where I wanted to be. It's not easy, you understand, but it is not hard, if you think of other option."

     "What is the other option?" Royal asked, sitting across from him with her hand on her face listening carefully.

     He sighed and smiled. "The other option is to fail—to go back to your family with your tail tucked between your legs and pray that someone has mercy on you." He leaned forward pulling her deeper into their conversation.

     "I don't have a family that will take me back. And I don't have a tail to tuck." She did not blink.

     Royal's game face emerged. While she did not always master a thing, she did not believe in quitting. And to assume or presume that she would, hit a nerve that created a faint sense of offense in her tone.

     Dmitry instantly picked up on it and enjoyed the frustration and desire that boiled in her stomach.

     She breathed heavily as she listened, her cat-like eyes burned through him, and the veins in her neck pulsated. He watched her—nostrils flared—make her case. Royal was a fighter. He could tell.

     "Well, now's the time. Tell me what you think that you have to offer. I think that I know, but it means nothing if you don't know yourself," he lectured.

     "Well, I may not have the best grades, but I don't have the worst. I may not have two dimes to rub together, but I have pride. If you want me to do this job, and you trust me to give it my all, I will, because I'm no coward. If I do it, I'll do it right and face every challenge head on. I just want you to know up front that I'm no glamour queen. I'm not part of the
in-crowd,
and I don't come from money."

     "Well, good. Because neither do I. We're just couple of people chasing the American dream." Dmitry smiled.

     She was incensed that he had insinuated that she could not perform.

     He liked that. He liked her.

     Royal smiled, eased by his observation. "Okay then, if you're okay with that, I'll do it. I'll run your shop."

     "I have great confidence that you will," Dmitry said.

     He reached in his pocket and pulled out a key. He stopped as she reached out.

     "Has man ever given you apartment on first date?" he asked playfully.

     "No," Royal said as she reached out and took the key from him.

     "Well," he hunched his shoulders. "There is first time for everything."

Chapter 3

     The airstrip stunk of burned rubber and jet fuel when the latch snapped open to Dmitry's private jet. Hot winds blew through his hair and singed his cheeks as soon as he ducked out of the plane. He took a deep breath and smiled. Home. He and his party unloaded quickly, perspiring instantly as their feet hit the steel stairwell.

     Dmitry was glad to be back from his short trip to Manhattan. The grueling meetings had all but exhausted him, and he longed for the slower, simpler life of Memphis. Plus, he was eager to get back to see the progress of the new shop and Royal.

     Feeling the high-noon rays beaming down on him, he quickly threw shades over his Arctic eyes and ducked into the back of his limo. As his driver loaded his luggage into the back of the black Mercedes, he checked his voicemails and text messages. Two texts from Anatoly. Nothing from Royal. That was not hard to believe. She worked like a scared horse, bucking at anyone who got in the way of her progress.