Nikolai
It’sa thirty-minute drive from my Upper West Side condo to Krasivvy on Second Avenue in midtown east. Charlotte has kept her eyes on her phone the entire drive. She’s not scrolling social media, not text messaging anyone, just cradling it in her hands and glancing at the screen every few minutes.
Maybe she’s waiting to hear back from the chicken shit of a brother of hers. When I took the phone from her this morning, I’m pretty sure I heard him choke on his own breath before he hung up on me. I’m a powerful man, but even I can’t murder someone through a cell phone connection.
Viktor pulls up in front of Krasivvy and gets out to open her door first. I get out on my side and walk around the car, brushing him away and giving her my hand. She looks up at me and then to my outreached hand with confusion.
“I’m okay,” she says, then scoots to the edge of the seat and hops down to the sidewalk. I raise my eyebrow at her, but she doesn’t even notice. After closing the door, I put my hand on her back and walk her to the boutique.
Alina Ivanoff waits for us at the door. She has her blonde hair loose around her shoulders in large, thick curls, and her perfume nearly suffocates me as I step into the cloud of it.
“Nikolai.” She smiles brightly, her white teeth a direct contrast to her dark red lips. I think she’s had one of those injections since the last time I saw her; her lips are twice the size I remember. She grabs hold of my shoulders and leans in to kiss each of my cheeks.
“Alina.” I give a curt nod when she pulls back, still smiling up at me. I slide my arm around Charlotte’s waist and pull her closer to me. “This is Charlotte. The appointment is for her.”
Alina’s gaze slithers over Charlotte. Her jeans and t-shirt aren’t doing anything to impress Alina, but it doesn’t change the fact Charlotte is here with me. While she keeps her smile intact, Alina’s eyes narrow just enough that it gives away the fact she sees Charlotte as a threat.
“Hi,” Charlotte says and sticks out her hand. Alina takes it softly and gives a short shake before dropping it. She wipes her hand on her hip. Charlotte tenses.
“We should get started,” I say.
Charlotte’s shoulders drop a fraction, but she nods.
“Right this way.” Alina turns on her heel and saunters across the boutique, putting an extra sway to her hips.
“I think she likes you,” Charlotte whispers to me as we follow across the open space. Another woman sits with one of the designers at a desk on the other side of the shop. Other than them, it’s empty.
“She always walks like that,” I mutter.
“I’m not talking about her walk. I’m talking about the way her eyes tried to eat you up when we walked in, and how much she hates seeing me with you,” she says, keeping her voice down. “Maybe we should tell her that I’m just the flavor of the month. Give the girl some hope.”
I look down at her. I don’t like the way she’s talking, like she doesn’t matter in the least.
“Nikolai sent over your size last night, and I had some things pulled for you. But I didn’t realize your hair coloring was so… soft. Maybe something a little more subdued.” She’s holding a black dress with a deep v cut in the front and the back. How can a black dress not go well with chestnut-colored hair?
Charlotte touches the end of her hair. Her cheeks redden but only a moment before she shoves her hair over her shoulder and puts her full focus on the dress.
“I think this one is good. And I love the blue one here.” She steps away from me to flip through the dresses hanging on the rack in front of us. All of these dresses look like they belong on a runway model.
“Well, then I guess we should get started.” Alina rolls the rack toward a dressing room for Charlotte to utilize. I take a seat in the armchair that’s been brought out for me. Two glasses of champagne sit on the small table beside the chair along with a large bowl of fresh strawberries. Alina is slipping. A bottle of vodka would be more suitable.
Charlotte disappears behind the ivory curtain and from the open space below I watch sandals kicked off and bare feet step this way and that until she emerges wearing the black dress Alina had held up.
I swallow hard. Fuck, she makes that dress look it was made just for her. She has gentle curves that her jeans hide, but in this dress…
“Yes,” I nod. “Next.” I gesture for her to go back and try another one.
“Don’t I get a say?” She puts her fists on her hips and raises her eyebrows. It’s a small act of defiance; maybe she’s trying to give Alina hope.
“Not today. Try the next one.”
She narrows her eyes but whips around and goes back behind the curtain. The next one has a wide neckline that gives a sampling of her cleavage. The hem is also too high; if she were to bend even a little the entire room would see her pussy.
I shake my head.
“Why not?” she asks, though there’s a playfulness to her tone.
“I don’t like it.” I don’t like that the other men in the room will see her in it. I don’t like the thoughts they will entertain when they do.