Page 121 of Dirty Damage

This isn’t the Palmer family curse.

It can’t be.

She catches my expression and smiles. “I can tell by the way you look when you talk about him. Whatever’s going on between you two, it’s not what Sydney has with Paul.”

No, what Oleg and I have is much more complicated.

A business arrangement wrapped in attraction, wrapped in secrets neither of us is willing to share.

“I should go,” I tell Mara. “Got some wedding stuff to look at.”

It’s a lie, but she buys it. Thank God.

After we hang up, I curl up on the obscenely expensive couch and stare at my phone. At the last message I sent Sydney, still unread after two weeks.

The urge to grab that burner phone is almost overwhelming. But Drew’s updates come with strings attached—they always do. And I promised myself I wouldn’t be that girl anymore. Wouldn’t follow the Palmer family tradition of trusting the wrong men.

Yet here I am.

Following him anyway.

Some patterns are harder to break than others.

35

OLEG

I squint at the seedy strip club through tinted windows as my fingers drum an impatient rhythm on the steering wheel.

Uncle Boris practically lives here these days, conducting his “business meetings” between lap dances and overpriced champagne.

What a fucking joke.

“Sure he’ll show?” Artem slouches in the passenger seat, looking about as thrilled to be here as I am.

“It’s Wednesday at noon. Prime time for married men to get their rocks off while their wives are at Pilates.” I track another insurance executive ducking through the front door, tie loosened and wedding ring conspicuously absent. “Boris knows his clientele.”

“I still can’t believe we’re reduced to staking out a titty bar.” Artem checks his phone for the hundredth time. “You’ve got that board meeting at three.”

“Canceled it.” Two security breaches in forty-eight hours—one in Palm Beach, another in Miami. The timing is too perfect to be coincidence. I can’t afford any other distractions. “This takes priority.”

“Your mother will be thrilled.”

“My mother can kiss my ass.”

Though he’s not wrong. Oksana Pavlova loves nothing more than to sharpen her claws at the biweekly board meetings. Denying her the fun will have her in a pissy mood, but it’s worth it to figure out what game Boris is playing.

My phone vibrates with a text from Sutton. I scan it quickly. Something about her spa day with Faye being cut short.

I click out of it before I can fully read it, trying to ignore it, even as her name on my screen does things to my chest I’d rather not examine.

“Speaking of complicated women…” Artem is halfway across the center console, reading over my shoulder and waggling his eyebrows.

“Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying, that contract of yours seems to be?—”

“Working exactly as intended.” I cut him off with a growl. “No confusion. No messy feelings. Just business.”

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