Page 23 of Dirty Damage

“What?” Mara tosses the dress onto the bed and rushes over. “Is it bad? Is he making you do the walk of shame through the entire office?”

I can’t find words.

I simply hand her the phone.

“He’s not firing me,” I finally manage, my voice one notch above a whisper. “He’s… offering me a new position. He wants to meet tomorrow morning instead.”

Mara scans the email, her eyes widening. “Holy shit, Sutton!”

I grab the phone back, reading it once more to make sure I’m not hallucinating:

Ms. Palmer,

Upon further consideration, I believe our scheduled meeting today would be better postponed until tomorrow morning at 9 AM.

I have a proposal regarding a different position within Pavlov Industries that may better suit your… unique qualifications.

My assistant will email you the details.

Do not be late.

Oleg Pavlov

Chief Executive Officer

Pavlov Industries

“What the hell does ‘unique qualifications’ mean?” I ask, heat filling my cheeks. “Is that code for ‘nice rack’?”

Mara snatches the phone back, re-reading. “I don’t know, but it sure as hell beats ‘clean out your desk.’”

I stand up, pacing the small area between my bed and vanity. “This doesn’t make sense. What kind of position couldhe possibly think I’m qualified for? Professional juice-spiller? Company exhibitionist? Naked sushi platter?”

“Maybe he wants you to be his personal assistant,” Mara offers, sitting beside me. “You know, bring him coffee, take notes, occasionally pose in lingerie…”

“Stop it!” I grab a pillow and smack her arm with it. “This is serious. What am I going to do?”

“Um, go to the meeting? See what he’s offering?” Mara says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

I groan. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

The navy dress catches my eye, draped across my comforter.

Tomorrow. I have until tomorrow to figure out what this means.

To prepare.

To breathe.

One more day before I walk into Oleg’s office and ask him which position he wants me in.

7

OLEG

Tangy lemongrass and raw fish soak the air of my private executive lounge. My security team is sprawled across the dark leather furniture, their attention fixed on steaming poke bowls while mine is riveted on the file in my hands.

“She’s got ties to the Martineks. Through the ex-boyfriend.”

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