Strife: Part Three (The Strife Series Book 3) (2 page)

DMITRI

“So, is your name really Dmitri Strife? I know a lot of famous people use monikers,” Pepper asks, wrapping her hands around her water to pull it towards her. It's the first time I've noticed that her nails aren't manicured. She keeps them short, and it looks like she chews them as well.

I take a deep breath, pretending like the answer is embarrassing. “Dmitri is my real first name. Strife isn't my real last name though. It sounded a lot better than Witkowski.” I wrinkle my nose, and she bursts out laughing, quickly grabbing her napkin to cover her mouth.

“Oh my God, you're Jewish?” Her eyes widen in shock. I nod slowly, and she laughs again. “A blonde-haired, green-eyed Jew. That's new to me.”

I lean across the table, glancing around to make sure no one is listening. Catching on that I'm about to tell her a secret, she leans in as well. “In case you haven't noticed by the facial hair, I'm not actually a natural blonde.”

She slaps my shoulder, realizing that I'm teasing her. I chuckle as I sit back in my chair. I'm having a lot more fun with her than I had originally anticipated. She's cute, funny, and I'm enjoying her personality the more I get to know her.

“So, if you're Jewish,” she wiggles in her chair, “does that mean you're?” She nods downwards.

“Does that mean I'm what?”

“You know.” She tilts her head downwards again.

As soon as my mind processes the meaning of her question, my face heats up like someone just stuffed hot coals into my cheeks. For a moment, my mouth falls agape from her boldness, but then I do my best to recover, averting my eyes, still embarrassed.

“You'll never know,” I tell her, fully aware that my words will sting.

“Is that so?” There's surprisingly no hint of offense in her tone.

I turn to look at her seconds before feeling her foot between my legs. The sensation of her pantyhose sliding against my crotch causes my breath to hitch. Damn, is she ever brave. Thankfully, the table cloth is long so no one can see what she's doing.

“Trying to find out for yourself?” I flirt.

“Maybe.” She scrunches up her face, looking absolutely adorable.

For a second, I think about allowing her to continue molesting me. I know that it's wrong though. Worse than that, it's turning me on. And this is the last place I want to have to make an emergency fap stop. Beating it off in the stall of a restaurant is just awkward.

I slide my hands under the table and grab her foot, holding it while I knead my knuckles into her sole. Her eyes roll into the back of her head as she lets out a soft moan, and she clutches onto the sides of her chair to keep stabilized, her toes curling. I grin at her expression, feeling like I'm getting at least a little bit of retribution.

“That's absolutely divine. You can do the other one next,” she purrs.

“You're kind of greedy. Maybe you do have what it takes to be an escort after all,” I quip.

The content expression she was wearing falters, and I feel her foot jerk in my grip though she doesn't pull away. “This isn't what I wanted for myself, you know.”

“What did you want for yourself?” I press my thumbs into the pads of her toes, rotating them.

“What everyone wants. A real life. A real future.”

“Life is real, no matter what we're doing.”

“That's not what I mean.” She pulls away from me, setting her foot back down on the floor even though I haven't finished. I expect her to prop her other foot up on my leg, but she doesn't. A distant look takes over her, but I refuse to let it linger. I need to keep her engaged.

“Tell me about your dreams, Pepper.” I wipe my hands on my napkin before propping my elbows up on the table.

She bites her bottom lip, drawing my attention to her mouth. Part of me regrets not kissing her. Those lips were made for kissing, but not by me. She needs someone her own age. Someone who is willing to love her.

“It's embarrassing,” her voice is practically a whisper.

“Probably not as embarrassing as telling you that my last name is really Witkowski.” I smile at her, hoping to drag her out of her shell with kindness. It works on most people.

“It's not your name that made you.” She glances up at me, her expression earnest. “You're brilliant. I know I didn't recognize you at first, but I definitely know who you are. I've seen you on television and listened to your music. You have talent in unlimited amounts.”

“I wouldn't say unlimited.” I rest my head on top of my clasped hands.

“You can sing. You can dance. You can play an instrument. You can act. You've got...an amazing body. You're confident.”

“Alright.” I hold my hand out, worried that she might go on forever. “That's enough. I don't want to talk about me anymore. I want to talk about you. I want to know what you want.”

She inhales deeply, averting her eyes. “Well, I came to California to be an actress.”

“You and everyone else,” I can't keep the sarcasm from my tone.

“But if that doesn't happen, then I want to go to college to become a health visitor. That's why I'm really doing all of this. To keep a roof over my head and pay for school and books. I know that being a movie star is a stretch and that I need to look for more realistic opportunities too.”

“It sounds like you have a good head on your shoulders.” I nod approvingly.

“Thanks.” She grins for but a moment. “It feels so far away though.”

“Have you started school yet?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “You were my first client. Are my first client,” she corrects herself. “Mister Sumner hasn't paid me yet. And I really need to get out of the apartment I'm in first. I'm sure that if I keep working as an escort, I can still start school this summer. That's my goal, at least.”

The waiter arrives with our food, and I'm a bit sad that it didn't take longer. I'm really enjoying talking to Pepper, finding out more about her.

“So, what's a health visitor?” I pick up my fork and knife.

“A health visitor is a type of nurse who assists parents in raising their children. They're kind of like a guidance counselor. It's a lot more detailed than that, but basically they make sure that parents know what they're doing and that children get the care that they need.” She cuts her fish into bite-sized pieces.

“So you like kids?”

She shrugs. “They're okay. I mean, I'd like my own someday. There's no rush for that. I just want to make sure that they're treated well. I don't want anyone to grow up the same way that I did.”

I take a bite of my steak and stifle a moan as the juices fill my mouth. Rare and perfectly seasoned, just the way I like it. The hotel was not wrong to recommend this place.

“Tell me more about your childhood?” I ask.

“I'd rather not.” She stabs a piece of fish with her fork and draws it up to her mouth.

“Why not?”

“Because it's too personal. There's too much bad. I'd rather talk about your childhood,” she sighs softly.

“You can read about my childhood online.”

“I don't have a computer.”

“Oh.” I feel guilty for assuming. In my world, everyone owns electronics. It's been a long time since I've known what poverty was like, and a long time since I've been around it aside from when I travel abroad for charity events.

“So tell me about the illustrious growing up of Dmitri Witkowski.” Her face brightens though I can tell it's mostly forced.

I laugh at her usage of my real name. “Well, it wasn't that illustrious.” I poke at the wild sauteed mushrooms that came with my meal. “I was born into a very crowded family. One of twelve, actually.”

“Twelve. Holy shit, that's a lot of siblings.”

“I know, right?” I smirk.

“Your dad was a busy beaver.”

“Well, nine of us were from a previous marriage. Only three of us were from my father. I'm actually the youngest of the bunch.”

“I can't even imagine having that many siblings.” Pepper shakes her head, her eyes wide. “You must have had a hard time fighting for attention.”

“Not really. There's such a big age difference between the first group and the second group. By the time I was a teenager, all of my other siblings had moved out beside my full siblings.”

“So, was it like The Waltons?” She cracks a grin.

“Not hardly.” I chuckle. “We lived in a bad neighborhood. We didn't have much, and what we did have, we shared. It was a hard life, but not a bad one.

“My father had to work so much to support us that he was never around. Literally. He pretty much just came home to sleep, and then he was back to work again.

“My mother was a stay at home mom. She sewed most of our clothes. Cooked every night. The classic old-fashioned Betty Crocker mom.”

“Sounds lovely.” Pepper smiles politely, and there's no mockery in her tone.

“It was different.” I nod, thinking about how my life has always been busy. Before I was surrounded by fans, I was surrounded by family. I guess I was born for the pressures of handling being around a lot of people at once.

“Are you close to all of your siblings?”

“Only the ones born from my father. The rest kind of moved on and did their own thing. And I wouldn't exactly say that we're close. I talk to them maybe twice a year. Same thing with my parents.”

“That's not close at all.” She scrunches up her face.

“Well, it kind of happens when you become an adult. People get married and move on.”

“Or become mega-rich rock stars.” She rolls her eyes at me.

“Or that.” I point my fork at her, smirking.

“I bet your parents aren't in poverty anymore.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I bought them a house and send them money from time to time.”

“Of course, you do.” There's a hint of bitterness in her voice.

We spend the rest of the meal in silence. The happiness that Pepper displayed earlier seems to have worn off with the conversation. It makes me feel kind of bad, but I'm not sure how to fix it.

PEPPER

You'll never know.

Such painful words. No rejection could be more blatant than that.

I'm done trying with him. The truth of the matter is that Dmitri Strife doesn't want me. Maybe his body does, but he—as a man—does not.

This is where I feel unwanted and unattractive again, where I realize that tonight is going to be all about awkward conversation and just...I don't know. I don't understand why he would want to pay for someone's company when he can go out into the world and find companionship for free. There are thousands of women in this city who would pay for what I'm getting, an exclusive Dmitri Strife experience.

We finish our meal and head back to the Chateau Silverbridge, enjoying another long silent cab ride. The whole way there, I wonder what the rest of the night will hold for us. Hopefully, he doesn't try to entertain me again. I'm tired of watching him and wanting him and getting depressed because I'll never have him. All I want to do is veg out and not think. Perhaps I'll suggest watching a movie. That will keep my mind sufficiently distracted until it's time for bed or for him to send me home.

We get back to the hotel, and I follow the drill, keeping my head low as we rush to the elevator. This time, we're not quite so lucky. A bunch of girls get in Dmitri's path, stopping him so that they can get his autograph. I stand on the sidelines, trying to keep my face obscured from view and pretending like I'm an inanimate object instead of a person.

The way they dote on him makes me sick. More than that, it makes me jealous. I feel possessive. He paid for my time tonight. I should have him to myself; shouldn't have to share him. That's reverse thinking though. He's the one who paid for me, not the other way around.

It's interesting to see Dmitri in fan-pleasing mode. He's as sweet as pie, hugging the girls and taking pictures with them and being polite and the perfect gentleman. Except that it's not an act. That's who he really is. And the more I realize it, the more I understand how he got to be so popular. He's so fucking perfect, both physically and emotionally, that it's almost unbelievable.

I grind my teeth as I watch the girls giddily touching him while they hug, their hands gripping and wandering just one step short of molestation. I don't like that they're touching him. I don't want them to touch him. And it bothers me that he gets touched like this on a regular basis.

Stop it, Pepper. He's not yours. He never will be.

It seems like as soon as one group of girls leaves, another shows up. I'm practically forgotten while the droves amass around him. Finally fed up with watching, I decide to go up to Dmitri's room. While I might not be able to get in without him, at least I won't have to keep standing there being subjected to my unmerited jealousy.

By the time I reach the top floor, I'm a frazzled mess. I step out of the elevator and pause in front of a mirror hanging on the wall in the hallway, staring at my reflection and scrutinizing over why he doesn't want me. Am I not pretty enough? My boobs not big enough? Would he rather sleep with one of the girls downstairs? Maybe I'm just in his way.

I feel the urge to cry, but I push it back. This is definitely not worth crying over. No man is. No man ever will be.

You said you wouldn't get attached. You can't get attached. He's nothing to you. No one. Just a client.

It's a lie though. My emotions are getting tangled up with hope. I like Dmitri Strife. A lot. More than I ever should have allowed myself to.

The minutes tick by like hours. My feet start to hurt, so I slide down the wall, hugging my knees. Who knows how long Dmitri will be downstairs with those girls. Maybe he forgot about me completely. I'm not exactly memorable.

I'm half passed out by the time I hear the elevator ding. Drowsily, I rub my eyes, then I silently curse myself for smearing my makeup.

Dmitri exits the elevator, his chest deflating as a look of relief takes over his face. “There you are. I was wondering where you'd gone. I looked all over for you.” He takes long strides to get to me.

I pull myself up off of the floor before smoothing out the front of my skirt. “I'm sorry. You just looked like you'd be busy for a while, and I felt like I was in the way.”

For a moment, he seems contemplative. I expect him to say something, to apologize for leaving me alone, but he doesn't. He simply slides his keycard into the lock and opens the door, letting me in.

I wrap my arms around myself, walking to the living room to sit on the sofa. He diverts to the kitchen.

“Do you want something to drink?” he calls to me.

“Alcohol, if you have it.” I know he does. I need to relax. This night has been...Well, it's been something else.

“What kind of alcohol?” Comes the expected question.

“Surprise me.”

“I don't know what you like.”

“Surprise me,” I repeat, and I swear that I can hear him sighing all the way from the kitchen. What a disappointment I must be to him, in all regards. The thought just depresses me more. Why am I feeling this way?

He returns shortly with two glasses of Crown and coke. I can't help but smirk at his predictability. I hate whiskey, but right now it doesn't really matter; I'll drink just about anything to make these feelings go away.

I take the glass from him and down the contents in a few long gulps. The amber liquid burns the back of my throat and makes an incredible heat take up residence inside of my stomach. I cringe from the aftertaste.

Dmitri raises an eyebrow at me. “Slow down there, tigress. There are still a lot of hours left in the night.”

“More hours for me to get drunk.” I hand my empty glass back to him and then instantly feel bad for treating him like my servant.

He offers me his glass and then sets mine on the coffee table, sitting beside me, his body rigid. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, Dmitri.” My shoulders slump as guilt floods me. “I'm just not used to all of that.” I gesture absentmindedly before sipping his cocktail, wondering if his lips have touched the rim of the glass. The fact that the thought excites me is almost disturbing. A reminder of how pathetic I am, of how strong my desire for him is.

“It can be a bit overwhelming.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“It was. I'm sorry I ran off like that. I just...”

“Don't worry about it.” He shakes his head before standing to take my glass back to the kitchen, presumably to refill it.

I twist his glass in my hands, looking for lip prints. When I find them, I lift it back up to my mouth, placing my lips on top of his and sipping lightly with my eyes closed. It's nothing like a kiss. Just cold. Cold like how I want to feel inside.

He returns with my refilled glass, taking a long drink before glancing down at me. “I see you haven't finished that one off yet.”

“Do you want me to?” I smirk up at him, feeling the alcohol beginning to take effect. I'll be in my happy place soon, not worrying about stupid adult things like love and work and impressing him.

“No. I'd prefer for you to stay sober,” his tone is serious, instantly killing my returning good mood.

I scowl, setting my drink on the coffee table. His drink. Our shared drink. I suppose it doesn't matter whose is whose now.

“So what do you want to do for the rest of the evening?” he asks.

“Television,” I reply almost before he has a chance to get the question out. “Movie.”

“Alright.” He leans forward to grab the remote, turning on the TV. “Any preference?”

“Anything that doesn't involve love or horror.” I stare at the glass on the table, watching the ice melt and turn the liquid inside a lighter shade. Despite him telling me not to drink, all I can think about is getting smashed.

“That cuts out a lot.” He flips through the channels, but I'm not paying attention.

My head is starting to feel hazy. My insides, warm. I like the feeling. I want more of it.

Finally, I give in to temptation, taking up my glass again. I pull it to my chest, sipping my drink so that I don't seem like an alchy. Dmitri settles on an action flick starring Charles Maurer and Marie Overton, two of the biggest movie stars in Hollywood right now. I try my hardest to get into the movie, but it's halfway over, so it's hard to figure out what exactly is going on. Subconsciously, I think I'd rather be paying attention to Dmitri anyway.

He seems engrossed in the film, his eyes fixed on Marie every time she enters a scene. I scowl at her, wondering if that's what type of girl he's into. She's perfect. Shiny raven hair, light brown eyes, flawlessly pale skin. Her body is small, her features big. Every guy on the face of the planet wants to bone her. I bet Dmitri is no exception.

A sex scene comes on, and I find myself feeling uncomfortable. My eyes keep darting to Dmitri's crotch, watching to see if he's getting turned on. He shifts his weight, throwing his arm across the back of the couch, a classic guy move when they want to get closer to a girl. Well, a classic move for most guys. I have no idea what's going on inside Dmitri's head. He's not looking at me, so maybe I'm reading him wrong.

I decide to delight in the possibility that he might want to touch me anyway, scooting a bit closer. He looks down at me for a fraction of a second but then quickly returns his attention to the television to finish watching the sex scene play out. All of that moaning and naked skin is getting me riled up again. The alcohol isn't helping either.

I bite my bottom lip, wishing I was anywhere but here. Who knew that being as escort would be so hard? All this time, I thought I'd just be stuffing back my emotions while old, wealthy men fucked me until they got their fill. This is my second day on the job, and I haven't even had sex yet. Thinking about it, it's kind of surreal.

The movie finally ends, and another one comes on. Since Dmitri hasn't tried anything, I submit to the fact that he was just getting comfortable. It's disappointing, but I suppose he means to stick to his word about me never knowing if he's circumcised or not. It was a question in bad taste. Too personal. I never should have asked.

I wait for Dmitri to finish his drink before I drain the rest of mine, wanting to be polite this time so that he doesn't have to get up twice. He returns to the kitchen to get us both a refill and then we sit there and drink through the rest of that movie as well.

The hours tick by, and the alcohol makes me sleepy. Eventually, I decide to close the distance between us, nuzzling against his side. He glances down at me with an affectionate smile, and I curse that he's being such a gentleman.

By the time the second movie ends, I'm fighting to stay awake. I'm not sure why I'm trying so hard. It's not like I have to worry about him molesting me if I fall asleep. Come to think of it, it's odd knowing that I'm safe in the presence of someone who is practically still a stranger to me. Kinda nice.

“You alright?” Dmitri leans forward to turn off the television.

I jolt back to consciousness, blinking a few times to readjust my eyes. “Yeah. I'm good.” I take a deep breath before yawning.

“It looks like bedtime to me.” He looks down at his wristwatch.

“Bedtime it is then.” I pull myself off of the sofa. “Do you want me to leave now?”

“No. You can stay.” He tosses the remote onto the coffee table before picking up both of our glasses and taking them to the kitchen.

I shamble around the living room absentmindedly, wondering if I should go to the bedroom and get undressed or wait for him. He doesn't take long enough for me to decide. Within minutes, Dmitri is by my side, placing his hand on the small of my back to urge me forward.

I take a misplaced step, my ankle twisting. The floor rushes to greet me and I panic. Dmitri tries to catch me, but he's too late. His hand wraps around my arm, pulling me up, which only causes my body to spin. The wind is knocked out of me as I land on my back, but I quickly recover.

When I open my eyes, Dmitri is on all fours over me. It looks like I dragged him down with me. That thought makes me fall into a giggling fit. Stupid alcohol.

Surprisingly, he laughs along with me. We simply stay on the floor, giggling like idiots for what feels like forever. My lungs burn from it, my neck arching back as I try to catch my breath.

Dmitri's scent invades my nostrils, making me stupidly happy. I like this closeness to him.

When the laughing ceases, I expect him to crawl off of me, the joke now over. He doesn't though, staying on all fours staring down at me. His expression has changed, the humor giving way to something else.

His eyes fall to my lips, looking at them curiously. Then he traces from my brow to my cheek with his fingertips. My breath stills as I watch his eyelids grow heavy. My mind barely has time to process what's going on before his lips descend on mine. Then all I see is fireworks.