Chapter 8 Tatiana
TATIANA
Smoke rises quickly from the pan and I grab it off the burner before the smoke alarm goes off.
The chicken is black on one side and nearly raw on the other and I've somehow managed to fuck up the simplest meal Dimitri could've asked for.
I dump the whole thing in the trash and lean against the counter while the kitchen spins around me.
The vodka bottle is three-quarters empty now. I started drinking after I made his bed this morning and saw the guns in his nightstand drawer when I foolishly decided to snoop a little. I haven't been able to stop since.
"What's burning?" I hear booming from the living room, and Dimitri walks into the kitchen, making me straighten too fast. I know I'm drunk on the job, but he's the idiot who forced a drink into my hand the first night on the job insisting I needed to stay loose around his guests.
I may just become an alcoholic because my work life is scarier than my home life—and I may have organized crime thugs following me.
I've seen that car twice more over the past few days.
"Nothing. I mean, the chicken. But I threw it out." The words run together and I have to concentrate on making my mouth form them properly. "I'll make something else."
He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. "How much have you had to drink?"
"I'm fine."
"That's not what I asked." He pushes off the frame and walks toward me. "How much, Tatiana?"
I gesture vaguely at the bottle on the counter. "Some. Not that much." My cheeks burn with embarrassment, but the normal panic I'd feel at being caught doing something like this is blunted by the swirl of alcohol in my head and chest.
He picks up the bottle and looks at how much is gone before setting it back down. "You've had at least six shots in the past few hours based on where this was when I last saw it."
"So?" I try to move past him, but he steps in front of me and blocks my path. "I'm technically off the clock. You only asked me to make dinner, so I was being nice, staying here to do it."
"Sit down before you fall down." He points at one of the bar stools by the island.
"I don't want to sit," I grumble, but my knees are shaking and the floor feels uneven, so I lower myself onto the stool anyway.
He pours water into a glass and slides it across the counter toward me.
"Drink that." Even when he's trying to play nice, he's a callous jerk. I should’ve known better than to accept this position in his penthouse. Who wants to work so closely to the person in charge who can scrutinize every breath they take? Quitting would’ve sucked, finding a job even worse, but I wouldn’t be getting wasted just to get through a shift.
"I don't want water."
"I don't care what you want right now." He scowls at me, and I know arguing with him is pointless. But at least he's not groping me. "Drink it."
I pick up the glass and take a sip while he watches me with his arms crossed. The water tastes flat and wrong after the vodka, and I set it back down after swallowing.
"Why are you doing this?" He moves around the island until he's standing directly across from me. "You've been drinking yourself sick the past few days. You're supposed to be relaxed, not wasted, and you seem scared shitless all the time. What's going on?"
"Nothing's going on." I stare at the water glass instead of looking at him. "I just hate this job. That's all."
"You're lying." He reaches across the counter and tilts my chin up until I have to meet his eyes. "You're terrified of something and you're using vodka to numb yourself enough to function. So tell me what it is."
I pull my face away from his hand. "I already told you.
I don't want to be your maid. I want to go back to working the floor where I actually belong.
" It's not easy hiding my true feelings, but Dimitri isn't the sort of man I'd ever tell my secrets to.
He's an ogre of a man with no heart, and he thinks with his cock.
Not to mention, if those men come after me because they know what I saw, who's to say it isn't men taking orders from him?
He might kill me if he knows what I saw.
"You're lying," he grumbles, and I'm done with this.
I stand without thinking and turn toward the door, but he moves into my path and stops me.
The alcohol has made me feel clumsy and slow, and I should be cooking his food, not being lectured, but all I can think about right now is going home and sobering up.
He can take his stupid frustrations out on some poor delivery guy for all I care.
"Move out of my way." Grumbling, I push him back to get past, but his arm hooks around my waist and I find myself pinned to the wall with his elbow planted beside my head and his body leaning in closer to mine.
He smells like expensive whiskey and faintly of cigar smoke, and his eyes bore into mine steadily.
"Why won't you tell me why you're so rattled, Tatiana?
Haven't I been kind to you? Since you started working up here, I haven't tried to pressure you once.
I've been nothing but respectful, and you're making way more than you were.
" Dimitri's arm rises and with the tip of his pinky on his left hand, he pushes a stray hair off my face.
It makes my heartbeat kick up a notch and my mouth instantly feel dry. God, I need a drink.
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine," he repeats, and I try to turn away, but I can't take my mind off his lips so close to mine, I can see how they're slightly chapped.
We're standing too close and the vodka's made my head fuzzy enough that I can't seem to make myself pull away. His hand drops to my waist, and the way he's looking at me makes my stomach flip.
"You did good work today," he says quietly, and strangely, his tone puts me at ease.
"The kitchen was spotless when I checked this morning.
The bedroom looked perfect. Even this disaster with the chicken isn't your fault when you're this scared.
" His thumb strums my hip bone softly as I swallow my nerves.
The praise does something to me that it shouldn't. My hand is still on his chest and instead of pushing him away, I find myself feeling his heartbeat under my palm. He's calm as can be while I'm feeling like a frightened rabbit.
"I should go," I mumble, but I don't want to go. My body is reacting to his being so close, and maybe I want to see what might happen if I don't shove him away, for a change.
"Yes, maybe you should." His hand slides from my waist to the small of my back. "But if you stayed, I could help you calm down. You know, give you someone to talk to." When the tips of his fingers find my bare flesh and dance across my skin, I shudder.
"You're my boss and this is such a bad—"
He kisses me before I can finish the sentence. It's searing, melting my insides to lava in an instant, and it steals my breath. Then the vodka and the fear and the exhaustion all combine into something reckless and I kiss him back.
His hands are in my hair and on my back and gripping my hips, and I can't keep track of where he touches me because it's everywhere at once. I pull him closer, and he crushes me against the wall until I'm trapped against his body.
One of his hands slides under my shirt and grips my breast, and I whimper, a bit embarrassed by how much he's turning me on. His mouth moves to my neck, and I tip my head back while my fingers tangle in his hair.
"Dimitri—" I don't know if I'm trying to stop him or encourage him, but it doesn't matter because he spins me around and lifts me onto the counter, stepping between my legs.
His hands spread my knees as he nestles his hips between them and his mouth finds mine again. This kiss is deeper, more demanding, and I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer while my hands work at the buttons of his shirt.
He groans against my mouth and his hand slides higher up my thigh, and I'm about to lose whatever's left of my mind when I hear the door open.
"Dimitri, we need to—"
A man's voice stops abruptly as reality crashes into me, and I shove Dimitri away so hard he actually stumbles. I slide off the counter and my legs nearly give out, but I manage to stay upright long enough to grab my purse from the chair where I left it.
My heart is hammering, lips kiss-swollen and raw, and I keep my head ducked as I move swiftly toward the door. I can't even look at them, but when the man speaks again, he sounds amused.
"I'll come back."
I can't even respond. I just head for the elevator as fast as my unsteady legs will carry me while trying to make my boob stay in my bra cup and fix my hair.
"Tatiana, wait—"
Dimitri's voice follows me, but I'm already in the elevator jabbing the button for the ground floor five times in rapid succession. The doors open to accept me, and I lean against the wall while my heart pounds and my face burns with embarrassment.
I would've had sex with him, right there on his kitchen counter with his buddy about to walk in. And the worst part is that I wanted it. Even knowing what he is and what he's capable of, I wanted him.
What the actual fuck is wrong with me? Don't my hormones know what sort of shit I'm already dealing with? I can't sleep with my boss and complicate things more.
The elevator opens, and I walk through the casino on autopilot. Someone calls my name, but I don't stop. I continue walking and push through the employee exit into the cold night air, then keep walking until I'm two blocks away.
Only then do I stop and lean against a building and try to catch my breath.
What the hell did I just do?