Dmitry's Closet Nelson, S. (best reads TXT) 📖

or the trace of Anatoly’s gun in all of his jeans, but I would never want to get on Dmitry’s bad side,” Cory said, turning around in the mirror to examine his butt. “And my pants are not tight.”

“Shut up,” Renée said quickly. “Here comes the prom queen.”

Royal walked inside of the boutique with lunch from the Arcade, the oldest restaurant in Memphis, in white oily bags full of fried treats. She entered beaming brightly as usual and wearing a gold silk Dolce and Gabbana sundress, a denim jacket, white D&G shades with Swarovski crystalsand cultured pearl accents, a matching yellow leather and white purse and flip flops. All together, she was wearing about ten thousand dollars worth of clothing and accessories. The thought made her blush. Dmitry spoiled her beyond belief now, surprising her with diamonds, pearls, expensive and exotic gifts all the time.

“Sorry it took so long,” she said, taking off her shades.

“It’s okay. No one has come in since you left,” Cory said, helping her with the bags.

They all made their way to the back office to eat lunch and watch out for any clients who might pop up. Sitting around the credenza, they opened the oily bags and set the table for a hearty meal.

“Did we get anymore calls for the VIP showing of the Cyrille Gassiline collection?” Royal asked, stuffing her face with a large juicy hamburger. She wiped the excess grease from her mouth with a wad of napkins.

“No, but so far, we are at 150 people with a 175 max capacity,” Cory answered, wolfing down a hand full of French fries. “Man, a beer would be great with this,” he saidbelching.

“It’s barely noon, lush,” Renee snapped at Cory. “I thought gay men were supposed to be refined.”

“Stereotypes coming from a black woman? Really?” Cory raised his eyebrow.

“Enough you two,” Royal interjected between the catty couple. “We only have 25 more people to place before we close the event. This is a good sign.” The thought was comforting.

It had been hell to bring the trunk show to Memphis. Royal had desperately wanted to bring the popular Russian designer Gassiline’s designs to her shop for months, but she had been turned down due to tight scheduling. Then, after a call from Dmitry, things were worked out, and she was able to bring the hottest trends in Moscow to the Southern belles of Memphis for fall. When her VIP list of clients received the invitation, they went mad calling to reserve seating for them and their friends and family, who would be flying region-wide to get her shop on October 1st.

Dmitry laughed the night last month when Royal got the call from Gassiline’s American contact in the middle of the night. When the phone rang, they were in her bed watching reruns of Criminal Minds. She reached over and answered it, then screamed so loud when she hung up; he had to cover his ears. “Thank you!” she exclaimed as she kissed him over and over again on his full mouth. For a woman who was not at first even a decent dresser, Royal had blossomed into quite the connoisseur of fine clothing. Dmitry had been pleased to help her, pleased to see her pleased and pleased that in her excitement she would pleasehim. He quickly seized the opportunity to strip her naked and turn his attention from the make believe FBI agents to his real Royal Flush.

“Someone’s coming in.” Renée wiped her mouth with the napkin.

“Oh, I’ll get it,” Royal said, jumping up from her seat. “Really. You guys finish eating.”

A tall man, nearly the size of her Dmitry stood with his back turned to her looking at a rack of Chanel dresses as she approached him. Her footsteps tapped on the hard-wood floors and echoed throughout the empty shop as she made her entrance, but the stranger did not turn around. Royal eyed his frame curiously, wandering if he was one of the NBA locals picking up a something special for a girlfriend or wife, which had become quite typical since she opened.

“Can I help you?” Royal finally asked, her voice pleasant and soft.

“Yes, I’m looking for Dmitry Medlov,” the man said, turning around to face her. His voice was deep, baritone and strangely familiar.

“He’s not here. May I help you with…something?” Royal’s eye twitched.

“Ah. You must be Royal,” he said, fixing his eyes on her.

Royal stood stunned for a minute with a waded up napkin in her hand unable to say anything. She was struck by his features and his accent. All Russian. All familiar. He wore the same type Armani black tailor-made suit Dmitry wore. His face was perfectly chiseled; every line faultless, free of blemish and full of beauty like Michelangelo himself had carved it from marble stone. He was nearly as tall and definitely as muscular as Dmitry.

However the contrast in the men was undeniable in their hair, their complexionand their polarized demeanors. Where Dmitry had heavenly golden locks, this man had inky black waves that were cut low and highlighted by his naturally arched black menacing eyebrows and high cheeks bones. His skin was milky white and completely free of a tan. He had a faint, stubby beard that etched his breathtaking features, giving him a rogue quality. But his eyes were what truly captured her. They were even more intense than Dmitry’s. Liquid blue, bold and bright like a clear sky on a Sunday morning. He looked at her now with a threatening stare.

“How do you know my name?” she asked, stepping away. As beautiful as he was, there was something about him that scared her speechless.

“The magazine article,” he said, raising the Memphis Magazinein his large right hand. He walked towards her slowly, his long strides closing the distance between them.

“Right. What can I do for you?” she asked, walking quickly behind the counter to ensure her space.

He chuckled. “If I told you, would you do it?” He licked his lips.

Royal scoffed and narrowed her eyes at